THE GAY COCKADE
their manhood but the best. He preached honesty and practiced it.
Yet as he climbed into the car Anne had little to say to him. Winifred, leaning forward, was emphatic in her praise:
"You have no right to bury yourself, Max."
"My dear girl, I'm not dead yet." He was a bit impatient. He had hoped for a word from Anne. But she sat silent, pulling the puppy's ears.
"He's asleep," she said finally as she caught the inquiry in her lover's eyes. "He's tired out, poor darling."
She seemed indifferent, but she was not. She had been much stirred. She had a strange feeling that something had happened to her while she had listened to Maxwell's speech. Some string had broken and her romance was out of tune.
She lay awake for a long time that night, thinking it over. She grew hot with the thought of the limitations of her previous conception of her lover. She had considered him a sort of background for the pleasant things he could do for her. She had fitted him to the measure of the boxes of candy that he had brought her, the luncheons in the House restaurant, the bountiful hospitality of the farm. How lightly she had looked down on him as he had stood below her on the stairs with her candle in his hand. How casually she had ac-
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