quiet hour, sunned themselves at the summit. Eighteen hours he had spent with her in all (he counted them up at the end of the fourth day) and not once during all that time had she shown the least curiosity as to his scar or disabled arm. She hadn't asked a single question about his uniform, nor wondered why he had discarded it. She hadn't even remotely referred to the war. Even when their conversation had veered near it—as it had often, of course,—she had swerved it away with a dexterous twist and turn.
"What's the disagreeable affair to us?" was her determined attitude. "The Planet Mars, in spite of the warlike god whose name it bears, is not involved. Why should we concern ourselves?" Whatever the small community offered in way of entertainment she was always ready for—eager for—at Vincent's slightest suggestion. The pursuit of pleasure was her chief interest in life, apparently, and she offered no excuse for it either.
Vincent asked her on the summit of the hill, as she sat perched upon a rock beside him, if all young women from Mars were so delightfully irresponsible as she.
"Yes, disgraceful young pagans, all of us," she smiled at him from beneath the soft brim of a round felt hat which made her look more like
