Andree!... He had scarcely remembered her existence for twenty-four hours. And only the night before last he had been telling her that he loved her, and kissing her good-by! He felt ashamed of himself. He felt ashamed because he felt that he was not being true to the love he professed for her—in his thoughts and in the pleasure which he found in the presence of Maude Knox.... He _was_ in love with Andree, but—confound it all!—was it possible he could be falling in love with Maude Knox, too? He had heard that people and books asserted a man could be in love with two women at once.... If this were so, he said to himself, it would create a devilish unpleasant situation ... and a situation not without an element to cause laughter. If a man loved two girls, he would have to choose one of them. In which case he would be, at the same instant, in a state of bliss because he had won a sweetheart and in a state of heartbreak because he had been thwarted in love!... “I wish you could know Andree,” he said. “She—she’s educating me, I guess. I don’t understand her, of course. She is constantly startling me. I never knew anybody who in the least resembled her.” “Of course not.... She’s French. She’s a war-time Parisienne.” “But she’s good,” said Kendall, as if Maude had brought some charge against Andree. “Why not?” Maude smiled a trifle. “You mustn’t think—” he began. “I’m thinking nothing. It’s none of my business.” She paused. “Frankly, I don’t care.... Now don’t misunderstand that. I like you, Kendall. I’m interested in you. There was a time when, if I suspected of a man what you seem to think I suspect of you, I would have cut him in a hurry.... And the girl—I would have been horrified.... But now—I don’t quite understand myself—I wouldn’t in the least object to knowing your Andree.” “But I tell you—” “Of course you do—and I don’t believe you. So there!” Kendall was embarrassed and a trifle angry. “I don’t see why you should suspect anything—just because Andree is French!” “And because you are American? And because lots of things?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Would you marry a man you knew had been having an—an affair with a girl like Andree?” “It would depend. There are affairs and affairs.... Somehow I don’t think I should marry a man who had an affair with an American woman, one of these squalid, scandalous things we hear about in New York or Detroit.... But in war conditions—with a girl like Andree, as you say, why, if I loved the man of course I would marry him.... I think I would—if I loved him.” “Where is the difference?”