"Oho!" cried Sherwood, delighted to have drawn her. "Now we have it!
But what made you think I was on that side?"
"Why—didn't you just say—"
"Oh," said Sherwood comfortably, "I was using real meanings, not just word tags. In my opinion real law and order, orderly doing of things, et cetera, are all on the other side."
"And the men—" cried Nan, aglow.
"The men are of course all noble, self-sacrificing, patriotic, immaculate demigods who—" He broke off, chuckling at Nan's expression. "No, seriously, I think they are doing a fine work, and that they'll go down in history."
"You're an old dear!" cried Nan, impulsively kissing his cheek.
"Take care," he warned, "you're endangering my glasses and making my wife jealous."
Nan drew back, a little ashamed at having shown her feelings; and rather astonished herself at their intensity.
In the course of these conversations the pendulum with her began again to quiver at the descent. Through the calmly philosophical eye of the ex-gambler, John Sherwood, she partly envisaged the significance of what was happening—the struggling forth of real government from the sham. Her own troubles grew small by comparison. She began to feel nearer Keith in spirit than for some time past, to understand him better, even—though this was difficult—to get occasionally a glimpse of his relations toward herself. It was all very inchoate, instinctive, unformed; rather an instinct than a clear view. She became restless; for she had no outlet either for her own excitement or the communicated excitement of the times. It was difficult to wait, and yet wait she must. For what? She did not know!
On the crucial June evening she sat by the lamp trying in vain to concentrate her attention on a book. The sound of the door bell made her jump. She heard Wing Sam's shuffle, and his cheerful greeting which all her training had been unable to eliminate. Wing Sam always met every caller with a smiling "Hello!" A moment later she arose in some surprise as Mrs. Morrell entered the room.