WORLD'S END

She really meant it, so she declared to her son. She had reached the limit of endurance. If Marcel went, la patrie could take care of him next time in some soldiers' home. She said it with hardness in her face that was a new thing to Lanny; one does not wrestle with duty for long periods without going back to the moods and even the facial expressions of one's Puritan forefathers. But five minutes later Beauty broke down; her lips were trembling, and she was asking whether perhaps it was her impatience and lack of art sense which were making the painter dissatisfied with his lot.

So there was no peace in this woman's soul until midsummer, when the German attacks on the great fortress slowed up. By that time she had managed to get her man started upon another project - to paint a portrait of her. It is a use that every painter makes sooner or later of the woman he loves; if Marcel had it in him to do any portrait, she would be it. Beauty had changed, and what Marcel saw was the woman of anguish who had prayed to his soul, the woman of pity who talked to crippled soldiers and helped them to want to live.

She put on one of her nurse's uniforms and went over to the studio and sat for hours every day; an old story to her. Marcel painted her sitting in a chair with her hands folded, and all the grief of France in her face. "Sister of Mercy," he was going to call her; and Beauty didn't have to act, because of the terror in her heart. She couldn't tell what turn the next great battle might take. She could only urge Marcel to take his time and get it perfect; she wanted him to have something he really believed in - so that he would stay a painter instead of a poilu!

X

Lanny's young dream of love died early in the month of May, and it wasn't a merry month for him. At that time the thoughts of English people on the Riviera turned to their lovely green island with its chilly breezes. Furthermore it developed that Rosemary's father had to be examined by surgeons at home; he was brought to Marseille, and from there north, and Lanny never met him.

"Darling, we shall see each other again," said the girl. "You'll come to England, or I'll be coming here."

"I'll wait for you - always," said Lanny, fervently. "I want you to marry me, Rosemary."

She looked startled. "Oh, Lanny, I don't think we can marry. I wouldn't count on that if I were you."

The boy was startled in turn. "But why not?"

"We're much too young to think about it. I don't want to marry for a long time."

"I can wait, Rosemary."

"Darling, don't think about it, please. It wouldn't be fair to you." Seeing the bewilderment in his face, she added: "It would make my parents so terribly unhappy if I were to marry outside our own sort of people."

"But - but" - he had trouble in finding words. "Wouldn't it make them unhappy to know about our love?"

"They aren't going to know about that; and it's quite a different thing. Marriage is so serious; you have children, and property settlements, and all that bother; and there'd be the question whether our children were to be Americans or English. You might want to go to America to live- - "

"I'm really not much of an American, Rosemary. I've never been there, and may never go."

"You can't be sure; and my people wouldn't be sure. They'd make an awful fuss, I know."

"Many English people marry Americans," argued the boy. "Lord Eversham-Watson - I visited them, and they seemed quite happy."

"I know, darling, it's done; and don't have your blessed feelings hurt - you know I love you, and we've been so happy, and will be some more. But if we tie ourselves down, and get our families to arguing and all that - it would be a frightful bore."

Lanny was imperfectly educated in modern ideas, and couldn't get the thing clear in his mind. He wanted his adored one all the time, and couldn't imagine that she might not want him. Why was she so concerned about her family in this one matter, and so indifferent, even defiant, in others? He asked her to explain it, and she tried, groping to put into words things that were instinctive and unformulated. It appeared that young ladies of the English governing classes who joined the movement for equal rights wanted certain definite things, like being able to write M.P. after their names, and to have divorce on equal terms with men; but they didn't mean to interfere with the system whereby their families governed the realm. They accepted the idea that when the time came for marriage each should adopt some honored name with a peculiar spelling, and become the mistress of some beautiful old country house and the mother of future viscounts and barons, or at the least admirals and cabinet ministers.

"It mayn't be so easy to find an upper-class Englishman," remarked the boy; "the way they're getting killed off in this war."

"There'll be some left," answered the girl, easily. She had only to look in the mirror to know that she had special advantages.