An experience like this made a man cautious about fixing boundaries either of time or space. It drove a man back of history to a primitive brotherhood which discovered men and women, of whatever clime and of whatever period, to be much alike. And yet he was inclined even now to make an exception of Wilmer. It was difficult for him to conceive any set of circumstances which could affect the cultivated poise of her calm nature or disturb to any extent her steady control based upon a fine intelligence. It amused him to imagine how she would have acted under the conditions existing in that little French town so suddenly shaken from its venerable security. He could not picture her then as any other than she was now. She would have remained had that been possible. If not she would have walked out calmly, looking upon the interruption as an ugly interlude, but quite unchanged by it. But she would be beautiful, with a sort of saintly beauty, both in going and returning. In many ways this steadiness, this assurance, this complete confidence in herself, the product of a ripe development a little beyond her years, appealed strongly to him. She stood out in his lately troubled world like the North star over a stormy sea. He welcomed her because she seemed to guide him back to that snug harbor in which he had ridden so safely at anchor beneath a golden sun and an azure sky until the war bade him set sail. In her presence he was able to dream pleasantly and lazily again as he had in college. And rather sentimentally too. This was an agreeable surprise. He thought all that had been burned out of him. During those few days at home he had been astonished at how unresponsive he had been to the pretty young faces about him. But they had chattered about the war and his nerves had been more jumpy than they now were. He had steadied down a lot since then. He could thank Wilmer’s deep brown eyes for that--and her soft, musical voice, never raised, but clear and distinct as a silver bell. He liked to listen to it in the evening as she read aloud to her father, though often he found himself hearing nothing but the voice. He was quite sure that if interested in the text he would do much better to read to himself. But he seldom was interested. He much preferred talking with her when she had no book in her hand.