“Can we help it, Jane?” Then her weariness appealed to him. “It is a shame to keep you up. I have given you a hard day, Jane.” She shook her head. “And there is no use waiting. We can only say good-bye.” He rose from his chair. Should he kiss her, he asked himself. He had had no hesitation in kissing Helen an hour ago. That seemed a light thing to him, but somehow he shrank from offering to kiss Jane. If he could only say sincerely, “Jane, I love you,” then he could kiss her, but this he could not say truly. Anything but perfect sincerity he knew she would detect; and she would be outraged by it. Yet as he stood looking down upon her pale face, her wavering smile, her quivering lips, he was conscious of a rush of pity and of tenderness almost uncontrollable. “Good-bye, Jane; God keep you always, dear, dear Jane.” He held her hands, looking into the deep blue eyes that looked back at him so bravely. He felt that he was fast losing his grip upon himself, and he must hurry away. “Good-bye, Larry,” she said simply. “Good-bye,” he said again in a husky voice. Abruptly he turned and left her and passed out through the door. Sore, sick at heart, he stumbled down the steps. “My God,” he cried, “what a fool I am! Why didn't I kiss her? I might have done that at least.” He stood looking at the closed door, struggling against an almost irresistible impulse to return and take her in his arms. Did he not love her? What other was this that filled his heart? Could he honestly say, “Jane, I want you for my wife”? He could not. Miserable and cursing himself he went his way. CHAPTER XX THE GERMAN TYPE OF CITIZENSHIP