The taxi-driver snipped the strands of their gaze as he whisked her away.
Marie Louise felt a forenoon elation in the cool air and the bright streets, thick with men and women in herds hurrying to their patriotic tasks, and a multitude of officers and enlisted men seeking their desks. She was here to join them, and she hoped that it would not be too hard to find some job with a little thrill of service in it.
As she went through Georgetown now M Street was different––full of marketers and of briskness. The old bridge was crowded. As her car swooped up the hills and skirted the curves to Polly Widdicombe’s she began to be afraid again. But she was committed to the adventure and she was eager for the worst of it. She found the house without trouble and saw in the white grove of columns Polly herself, bidding good-by to her husband, whose car was waiting at the foot of the steps.
Polly hailed Marie Louise with cries of such delight that before the cab had made the circle and drawn up at the steps the hunted look was gone and youth come back to Marie Louise’s anxious smile. Polly kissed her and presented her husband, pointing to the gold leaves on his shoulders with militaristic pride.
Widdicombe blushed and said: “Fearless desk-fighter has to hurry off to battle with ruthless stenographers. Such are the horrors of war!”
He insisted on paying Marie Louise’s driver, though she said, “Women will never be free so long as men insist on paying all their bills.”
Polly said: “Hush, or the brute will set me free!”
He kissed Polly, waved to Marie Louise, stepped into his car, and shot away.
Polly watched him with devout eyes and said:
“Poor boy! he’s dying to get across into the trenches, but they won’t take him because he’s a little near-sighted, thank God! And he works like a dog, day and night.” Then she returned to the rites of hospitality. “Had your breakfast?”