This was six years ago and the natural end of the story, but a surprising sequel happened later. I was asked to assist at a war-work council of academic cast, where it was hoped to enlist the interest of women-students. After laying off my heavier wraps I crossed a hall to enter the room, whence proceeded the sound of many voices, and in the act came face to face with Mrs. Montrose. We both stopped involuntarily. I was never more taken aback in my life.
"Didn't you go?" I asked with something very like a gasp.
"Yes, but we came back again," she replied in a low tone, her old composure beginning to replace the startled look. She seemed many years older. The eyes had crow's feet around them, I had never seen before, and there was a furrow in the soft cheek. But her poise was the same; in the deep look there was the old inscrutable fire, and in her bearing was the same invincible calm. I took up a loose fold of her black sleeve with an inquiring gesture. I could not ask in words.
"My husband," she said in a faltering whisper, turning her eyes away. "He—he left us soon after we reached home."
