“So everybody says. He struck me as an uncommonly decent, high-minded fellow. Knows a lot more to-day, of course, than he’ll know when he gets a little older. Just out of medical college, isn’t he?” “He was overseas in 1917,” she replied, a trace of warmth in her voice. “He had been an interne for more than a year when he enlisted. He’s young, of course—but we are all young once, aren’t we? He is considered a very able—” “Lord love you, Jane,” he broke in hastily, “I’m not questioning his ability or his record. He’s got a smashed leg to show for his work over there, and that’s more than I’ve got. As for his—” “You have two or three medals,” she broke in softly. “You got them for bravery, didn’t you?” “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I got them for foolishness. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread! I had a fool’s luck, that’s all. The battlefields and trenches were full of dead men who ought to have had ten medals to my one. Lansing, for instance—wasn’t he hurt in an air raid over a field hospital a few kilometers back of the lines?” “Yes.” “I sometimes think, in fact, I know—that it takes more real courage to fight with your back to the enemy than it does to face him—if you see what I mean. It’s much easier to be brave in the light than it is in the dark. Besides,” he went on in his dry, whimsical manner, “you know which way to run if you can see the enemy coming toward you. And usually you run away from him a lot faster than you run toward him. I know I did.” “You used to be a very good runner,” she said, smiling. “But that was ages ago.” “Ages,” he agreed, and then both fell silent. They watched the approach of an automobile along the tree-lined street. It slowed down as it neared the Sage home, coming to a stop at the front gate. Jane shifted her position quickly. She uncrossed her legs, drew them up into a less comfortable position, and attended to some slight though perhaps unnecessary rearrangement of her skirt. This action did not escape the notice of Oliver. It was significant. It established the line she drew between him and other men. She didn’t mind him and she did mind—well, say, Lansing, for it was the young doctor who clambered out of the car and came up the walk. The house stood back a hundred feet or more from the street, so Oliver, recognizing the newcomer, had ample time to say to Jane, with a mischievous gleam in his eye as he looked up at her: “Hullo! Here comes the doctor. Why didn’t you tell me some one was sick in the house?” “Sh! He will hear you,” cautioned Jane, frowning at him. “Bless your heart, Jane,” he whispered impulsively, and again she looked at him in stark surprise.