Something hurt awfully, as I realized that to touch me now caused her no thrill. No woman will ever thrill again when I am near. Nina does know all about clothes! She is the best-dressed Englishwoman I have ever seen. She has worked awfully well for the war, too, I hear, she deserves her fortnight in Paris. "What are you going to do, Nina?" I asked her. She was going out to theatres every night, and going to dine with lots of delicious 'red tabs' whose work was over here, whom she had not seen for a long time. "I'm just going to frivol, Nicholas, I am tired of work." Nothing could exceed her kindness--a mother's kindness. I tried to take an interest in everything she said, only it seemed such aeons away. As though I were talking in a dream. She would go plodding on at her war job when she got back again, of course, but she, like everyone else, is war weary. "And when peace comes--it will soon come now probably--what then?" "I believe I shall marry again." I jumped--I had never contemplated the possibility of Nina marrying, she has always been a widowed institution, with her nice little house in Queen Street, and that wonderful cook. "What on earth for?" "I want the companionship and devotion of one man." "Anyone in view?" "Yes--one or two--they say there is a shortage of men, I have never known so many men in my life." Then presently, when she had finished her tea, she said-- "You are absolutely out of gear, Nicholas--Your voice is rasping, your remarks are bitter, and you must be awfully unhappy, poor boy." I told her that I was--there was no use in lying. "Everything is finished," I said, and she bent down and kissed me as she said good-bye--a mother's kiss. * * * * * And now I am alone, and what shall I do all the evening? or all the other evenings--? I will send for Suzette to dine. * * * * * _Night_--Suzette--was amusing--. I told her at once I did not require her to be affectionate. "You can have an evening's rest from blandishments, Suzette." "_Merci!_"--and then she stretched herself, kicked up her little feet, in their short-vamped, podgy little shoes, with four-inch heels, and lit a cigarette. "Life is hard, _Mon ami_"--she told me--"And now that the English are here, it is difficult to keep from falling in love." For a minute I thought she was going to insinuate that I had aroused her reflection--I warmed--but no--She had taken me seriously when I told her I required no blandishments. That ugly little twinge came to me again. "You like the English?" "Yes." "Why?" "They are very _bons garçons_, they are clean, and they are fine men, they have sentiment, too--Yes, it is difficult not to feel," she sighed. "What do you do when you fall in love then, Suzette?"