"Please don't joke, Doctor. I am troubled about these dear people. I talked to Mr. Rivers about it, and he is troubled and says it is the mills and money. I know that, but at the bottom of it all is the war. Now Aunt Ann is reading the papers again—I think it is very strange; it's confusing, Doctor."
"Here," reflected the doctor, "is at least one person with some sense."
She went on, speaking slowly, "Uncle Jim comes home tired. Aunt Ann eats her dinner and reads, and is in bed by nine. The house is as melancholy as—I feel as if I were in a mousetrap—"
"Why mouse-trap, my dear?"
"It sounds all right. The mouse is waiting for something awful to happen—and so am I. Uncle Jim talked of asking people to stay with us. It's just to please Aunt Ann. She said, 'No, James, I don't want any one.' He wished to please her. She really thinks of nothing but the war and Uncle Jim, and when Uncle Jim is away she will spend an hour alone over his maps. She has—what do you call it—?"
"Is obsession the word you want?"
"Yes—that's it."
"Now, Leila, neither you nor I nor Mark Rivers can help those two people we love. Don't cry, Leila; or cry if it will help you. When you marry, be sure to ask, 'what are your politics, Jeremiah?'" His diversion answered his purpose.
"I never would marry a man named Jeremiah."
"I recommend a well-trained widower."