His wasted hour caused Barton to miss the office force at the factory; but he went that way to the station, hoping to see Mayberry at least. His mastery of the Hapwood-Diller Company’s affairs seemed a long way behind him now. Indeed when a man faces war the past grows small to him in any case. It is what is going to happen to him that completely obsesses his thought. Barton thrust his head in at the office door, having opened it softly. A single strong light was ablaze over Ethel Clayton’s desk. The remainder of the room was in shadow. The girl had evidently finished the task that had kept her so late, for her desk was cleared up and she sat back in her chair, dreaming. Her gaze was fixed on the door of the private office; but Frank Barton could not see her face until he spoke. “Nobody here but you, Miss Clayton? I am certainly glad to see you. All the rest gone?” She turned her face toward him slowly, appearing not to be startled at all by his coming. “They are all gone, Mr. Barton,” she said quietly, and reached up quickly to turn the shade of the electric lamp so that the light no longer fell on her face. “Mayberry gone, too?” he asked, coming in with his hand held out. “He is out of town, I believe,” Ethel told him, her voice unshaken, rising to meet him. “I am sorry I missed them all,” Barton said, grasping her hand for a moment warmly. “You will have to give them my regards and best wishes.” “Will you not stay over night?” “I fear that will be impossible. I am on my way to catch the eight-ten.” “You are not going away _now_? Not for _good_?” Barton laughed. “I hope to come back safely,” he said. “But this is good-bye for some time, Miss Clayton----” He caught her arm and steadied her as she swung against the desk. Her eyes closed and he saw suddenly that she was very pale. “Are you faint? You’re working too hard!” he cried. “Look here, Miss Clayton, you must take better care of yourself. I shouldn’t feel half so safe in going away if you were not right here on the job. You’ve got to be good to yourself.” “I--I was a little faint. It’s all right, Mr. Barton,” she murmured. “Nothing serious, I assure you. I’m not one of the fainting kind, as you know.” “No indeed!” he cried admiringly. “I bank on you and your very good sense, Miss Clayton. You are not like other girls. I did not know for a moment but that my announcement startled you. I should have been flattered!” and he laughed. She was silent. He could not see her face well, for she kept it turned from the lamp. Finally she said: “Naturally I am troubled that you should be going--so far away. Oh, this war is terrible, Mr. Barton!” “Yes. All wars have been terrible. The one that touches you nearest seems the most terrible. But after all, Miss Clayton, it doesn’t matter much how one dies as long as death is inevitable.”