Mrs. Burnham entered the room hurriedly, but, though frightened, she had not forgotten her grievance. “I suppose I can come in now,” she said, “since there’s a war or something going on.”
“Sure!” returned her husband, laughing. “It’s nothing, Gerty.”
Darkness fell while they sat there together, Mrs. Burnham soon ashamed of her pettishness and trying to think up little things she could do for Stacey, Burnham stretching his arms and legs to feel their returning strength, all three chatting about the most casual matters. A lamp sputtered alight in the street and shone in upon them.
Oddly, Stacey thought of that afternoon with Phil and Catherine in New York five years ago. He had the same sense of calm now as then.
But this sea of sound that roared dully in the distance, at times swelling for a moment so that Mrs. Burnham turned her eyes apprehensively to Stacey,—it had been absent then. Had it, though? What else was the war? Stacey thought fancifully.
“Well, I’ve really got to go now,” he remarked, and rose.
Mrs. Burnham tried stammeringly to express her gratitude, but Burnham only gripped Stacey’s hand and smiled.
“May I say good-bye to the children?” asked Stacey, and Mrs. Burnham, too, smiled at this and went in search of them.
“Now look here, Captain!” said her husband anxiously in a low voice as soon as she had left the room, “you won’t get mixed up in that mess in the streets, will you?”
Stacey shook his head. “No, no, I’ll be all right,” he replied reassuringly.