“Somebody had to. He lied to those poor creatures. I––I couldn’t stand it!––” Her voice broke a little. “And if there is truly a god in me, as I believe, then I should show Christ’s courage ... lacking His wisdom,” she added so low that he scarcely heard her.
Ilse, walking ahead with Brisson, looked back over her shoulder at Palla laughing.
“Didn’t I tell you that there are some creatures you can’t educate? What do you think of your object lesson, darling?”
CHAPTER XII
On a foggy afternoon, toward midwinter, John Estridge strolled into the new Overseas Club, which, still being in process of incubation, occupied temporary quarters on Madison Avenue.
Officers fresh from abroad and still in uniform predominated; tunics were gay with service and wound chevrons, citation cords, stars, crosses, strips of striped ribbon.
There was every sort of head-gear to be seen there, too, from the jaunty overseas bonnet de police, piped in various colours, to the corded campaign hat and leather-visored barrack-cap.
Few cavalry officers were in evidence, but there were plenty of spurs glittering everywhere––to keep their owners’ heels from slipping off the desks, as the pleasantry of the moment had it.