"Yes," said Miles, "that makes it hard. I tell you what I'll do. Will you let him come and live with me and Mrs. Miles? Next year he can go to boarding-school. This thing can't last forever. You'll be back in a little while." "Well," said Peter, "that's nice of you but I don't know how it'll work out." "What are you planning for the boy?" "Why, I've always figured that as soon as he got old enough I'd try to get him on the paper. I want him to be a newspaper man." Miles broke in so eagerly that he even neglected to do his three preliminary tilts. "That's fine. Don't you see how that all fits in? You go to France for us and I'll promise you a job for the boy on the Bulletin. You won't have to just think about it. The thing's done. He's nominated for the Bulletin right now. And you can start him off the minute you think he's old enough. Don't fret about that. I'll give him an ear full of shop. Is it a bargain?" "All right," said Peter, "I'll go over for the paper for a little while." The little while lasted almost five years. CHAPTER II It was a June night in the fourth year of the war when Peter saw Maria Algarez. He was walking up the Avenue de l'Opera when a woman cut across in front of him, turning into a side street. The street was crowded with soldiers and women, sauntering and peering, but this woman was walking fast. She almost bumped into Peter. They were under a shaded light which fell on her face as she looked up. Peter looked at her without much curiosity. He did not want to invite friendliness. Hospitality had been hurled at him all the way down the avenue. He knew instantly that it was Maria. When she left him she had seemed a child. After seventeen years there was the same youthful quality in her face. The only change was, it was much more tired. And there was paint. "Hello," said Peter. Maria smiled at him without obvious recognition, but made no answer. "I'm Peter Neale." Maria's smile grew broader. "I thought I have made a conquest," she said, "and it is a husband." She held out her hand. Peter took it, but his eager surprise at seeing her was chilled by a sudden thought. "You're not--," he said, but he could not phrase it. He tried again. "You're not walking here alone?" Maria's smile became a laugh. "And what then?" she asked. "Good God!" said Peter in horror. And then almost to himself, "And it might have been any other soldier on the avenue." "There, there," said Maria, checking her laughter and patting him on the arm. "It is not right for me to laugh at you. I should not forget to remember that you are the worrier. You think that maybe it is my living to walk in L'avenue de L'Opera and to look for the good-looking soldier. It should please that it is you I have selected, Peter. But no, there, it is not so. Come with me. My car it is around the corner. Do not let us stand here where maybe you will be compromised. We will drive to my studio. There we can talk."