David held himself very still and apart. Then, what bound him to himself broke loose. What he did was splintering from his willed reserve so fast that soon all of his reserve was flown from him in action. His arms held her. All her body measured its panting frailty against him. His mouth hurt her lips. The rest of her was molten and not hurt half enough. Lois struggled. For five minutes, she played a painful game of coolness. Then, she was composed. David dared not to speak. Whatever it was that had happened must be nothing, since Lois denied it. Whatever it was must be for the last time. So now David was childish to have forgotten. But it was hard always to remember against one’s senses. The year was so intricate a thing for David. Hoping again, he said: “I am going to enlist, and go to Cuba.” Lois beaming and clapping her hands: “David! How wonderful! You’re going to be a soldier? Oh, I am glad!” She jumped up, she embraced him, she sprang quickly away before her lips on his cheek had left their taste. “When are you going?” This dancing, elate girl was not the prostrate figure he had imagined fondly for this scene. The need of service in the tropics shriveled in an icy blast. Lois accepted him as part of the parade they had applauded together through the open window? She was quite willing to have him offer his life--lose it perhaps--for her cold delectation. Well, she had gone too far. “None of your business!” he stamped away. “Leave me alone, now. I’m reading....” * * * * * America fought Spain. Santiago fell. Porto Rico was prostrate. August brought Peace. David had stayed in New York. His energies swirled back upon himself. Their bloom toward Lois was chilled: their bloom in War and adventure had been nipped. For the rest of the year, he was in silent and hidden turmoil. Young love could not live with comfort upon Lois. Comfort--the comfort of hot pleasure or hot pain--was what it craved. David withdrew fast. He had high-sounding names for the faults he found in his cousin. She was heartless, selfish, cold. She bruised his tenderness and misprized his service. The truth was she offended his pride. She had shown that she could deny herself the delight of his kisses: that she could survive even the picture of his death. Looking upon Lois for himself, the Narcissus of David’s love found a shrunken ego. It was a mere question of time when he would accept this failure and look elsewhere. But before he could redispose his forces for their new excursion David must gather them in. He returned to himself as a traveler comes home. Like the traveler he found how the magic of change and of adventure worked not only upon the highway. Once more in the familiar place whence he had gone, he found it strange and full of undiscovered things.