"Queen Vic's all right," Quin declared stoutly. "Her only trouble is that she's been trying to play baseball by herself; she's got to learn team-work." The play happened to be "The Better 'Ole"; and from the moment the curtain rose Eleanor was oblivious to everything but the humor and pathos and glory of the story. She followed with ready tears and smiles the adventures of the three Tommies; she thrilled to the sentimental songs beside the stage camp fire; she laughed at the antics of the incomparable Corporal Bill. It was not until the second act that she became conscious of the queer behavior of her companion. Quin sat hunched up in his wedding suit, his jaw set like a vise, staring solemnly into space with an expression she had never seen in his face before. He seemed to have forgotten where he was and whom he was with. His hand had crushed the program into a ball, and his breath came short, as it always did when he was excited or over-exerted. Eleanor, whose emotions up to now had been pleasantly and superficially stirred, suddenly saw the play from a new angle. With quick imagination she visualized the great reality of which all this was but a clever sham. She saw Quin passing through it all, not to the thunder of stage shrapnel and the glare of a red spot-light, but in the life-and-death struggle of those eighteen months in the trenches. Before she knew it, she too was gazing absently into space, shaken with the profound realization that here beside her, his shoulder touching hers, was one who had lived more in a day than she had ever lived in a life-time. They said little during the last intermission, and the silence brought them closer together than any words could have done. "It takes a fellow back--all this," Quin roused himself to say in half-apology. "I know," said Eleanor. They walked home in the autumn twilight in that exalted, romantic mood in which a good play leaves one. Now that the tension was over, it was quite possible to prolong the enjoyment by discussing the strong and weak points of the performance. Eleanor was surprised to find that Quin, while ignorant of the meaning of the word technic nevertheless had decided and worth-while opinions about every detail, and that his comments were often startlingly pertinent. They reached the Bartletts' before they knew it, and Quin sighed ruefully: "I wish Miss Enid and Mr. Chester could get married every Wednesday! When can I see you again?" "Some time soon." "To-morrow night?" "I am afraid that's too soon." "Friday?" "No; I am going to a dance at the Country Club Friday night." Still he lingered disconsolately on the lower step, unable to tear himself away. "Do you know," he said, gaining time by presenting a grievance, "you never have danced with me but twice in your life?" She looked at him dreamily. "The funny thing is that I remember those two dances better than any I've ever had with anybody else." He came up the steps two at a time.