"Don't let any reporters in," he said warningly."This is strictly our affair.It's a private matter.It's nobody's business what she did over there.She's home.That's all that matters."Belle assented, but she was uneasy.She knew that Harvey was unreasonably, madly jealous of Sara Lee's work at the little house of mercy, and she knew him well enough to know that sooner or later he would show that jealousy.She felt, too, that the girl should have been allowed her small triumph without interference.There had been interference enough already.But it was easier to yield to Harvey than to argue with him.
It was rather a worried Belle who served tea that afternoon in her dining room, with Mrs.Gregory pouring; the more uneasy, because already she divined a change in Sara Lee.She was as lovely as ever, even lovelier.But she had a poise, a steadiness, that were new; and silences in which, to Belle's shrewd eyes, she seemed to be weighing things.
Reporters clamored to see Sara Lee that day, and, failing to see her, telephoned Harvey at his office to ask if it was true that she had been decorated by the King.He was short to the point of affront.
"I haven't heard anything about it," he snapped."And I wouldn't say if I had.But it's not likely.What d'you fellows think she was doing anyhow? Leading a charge? She was running a soup kitchen.That's all."He hung up the receiver with a jerk, but shortly after that he fell to pacing his small office.She had not said anything about being decorated, but the reporters had said it had been in a London newspaper.If she had not told him that, there were probably many things she had not told him.But of course there had been very little time.He would see if she mentioned it that night.
Sara Lee had had a hard day.The children loved her.In the intervals ofcalls they crawled over her, and the littlest one called her Saralie.She held the child in her arms close.
"Saralie!" said the child, over and over; "Saralie! That's your name.I love your name."And there came, echoing in her ears, Henri and his tender Saralie.
There was an oppression on her too.Her very bedroom thrust on her her approaching marriage.This was her own furniture, for her new home.It was beautiful, ****** and good.But she was not ready for marriage.She had been too close to the great struggle to be prepared to think in terms of peace so soon.Perhaps, had she dared to look deeper than that, she would have found something else, a something she had not counted on.
She and Belle had a little time after the visitors had gone, before Harvey came home.They sat in Belle's bedroom, and her sentences were punctuated by little backs briskly presented to have small garments fastened, or bows put on stiffly bobbed yellow hair.
"Did you understand my letter?" she asked."I was sorry I had sent it, but it was too late then.""I put your letter and - theirs, together.I supposed that Harvey -""He was about out of his mind," Belle said in her worried voice."Stand still, Mary Ellen! He went to Mrs.Gregory, and I suppose he said a good bit.You know the way he does.Anyhow, she was very angry.She called a special meeting, and - I tried to prevent their recalling you.He doesn't know that, of course.""You tried?"
"Well, I felt as though it was your work," Belle said rather uncomfortably."Bring me the comb, Alice.I guess we get pretty narrow here and - I've been following things more closely since you went over.I know more than I did.And, of course, after one marries there isn't much chance.There are children and -" Her face twisted."I wish I could do something."She got up and brought from the dresser a newspaper clipping.
"It's the London newspaper," she explained."I've been taking it, but Harvey doesn't know.He doesn't care much for the English.This is aboutyour being decorated."
Sara Lee held it listlessly in her hands."Shall I tell him, Belle?" she asked.Belle hesitated.
"I don't believe I would," she said forlornly."He won't like it.That's why I've never showed him that clipping.He hates it all so."Sara Lee dressed that evening in the white frock.She dressed slowly, thinking hard.All round her was the shiny newness of her furniture, a trifle crowded in Belle's small room.Sara Lee had a terrible feeling of being fastened in by it.Wherever she turned it gleamed.She felt surrounded, smothered.
She had meant to make a clean breast of things - of the little house, and of Henri, and of the King, pinning the medal on her shabby black jacket and shaking hands with her.Henri she must tell about - not his name of course, nor his madness, nor even his love.But she felt that she owed it to Harvey to have as few secrets from him as possible.She would tell about what the boy had done for her, and how he, and he alone, had made it all possible.
Surely Harvey would understand.It was a page that was closed.It had held nothing to hurt him.She had come back.
She stood by her window, thinking.And a breath of wind set the leaves outside to rustling.Instantly she was back again in the little house, and the sound was not leaves, but the shuffling of many stealthy feet on the cobbles of the street at night, that shuffling that was so like the rustling of leaves in a wood or the murmur of water running over a stony creek bed.
