She had applied to but one organization—a Relief Unit formed by the alumnæ of her College soon after the United States had entered the war, and engaged in rehabilitating devastated portions of France.
"I don't believe I ought to become a member of such an organization. I might disgrace it," she argued to herself later that same evening, as she sat staring across the foot-lights at the mannikins upon the stage, prattling words to each other, utterly meaningless to her. "I don't believe it's right, just for the sake of saving my own face, for a creature like me to go over there, and eat up precious food, and take up precious space on the steamer. I don't believe it's patriotic. Besides there's my new war work here."
Mr. Weatherby had given Constance a wonderful toy a fortnight before—an automobile all her own. "A device to make me stop wondering why I was ever born—poor, troubled, helpless man," Constance had suspicioned. Device or not, the automobile had proved very engrossing, and as soon as Constance obtained her chauffeur's license she planned to join a woman's motor-corps, and volunteer to carry wounded soldiers from the ships to the hospitals, when once the heroes began to return. This amazing order to report in New York two weeks from Wednesday, and be
