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WAR
had found Jon. Evelyn was between the two. Dave was swinging her one hand and singing:
"Dear Evelina,
Sweet Evelina,
My love for you shall never, never die!"
Jon looked as joyous as any of them—holding Evelyn's other hand—stiff and solemn. But, somehow, I pitied him. And it was strange, afterward, that I always thought of my two boys as poor old Jon and happy little Dave. Sorry for the one and glad for the other.
And that was my trouble—seeing my two boys in love with one girl, and that one girl in love with only one of them! What was I to do? What I might do for Dave would be against Jon—and vice versa. So I did nothing; I couldn't. My hands were tied.
