There are persons who seem to have their emotions under the control of push-buttons, as it were. They are capable of friendship and anger and love and jealousy, but they have been given the faculty of suppressing these emotions until it is their desire to allow them freedom. Maude Knox was one of these. It would be unfair to say that she was coldly calculating, but she was careful. Many of the minor inhibitions which rule American girls did not signify to her; she was broader of mind, capable of perceptions of which her sisters were incapable. But she did not fly into passions, nor was she given to headlong tumbles into love.

Her condition with respect to Kendall Ware was noncommittal. As a matter of fact, she was not in love with him, because he had not committed himself. If Ken had come frankly to her, declaring his love, and had asked her to be his wife she would by this time have been as much in love with him as he could have desired. Nobody could deny that they were suited to each other, and nature has seen to it that young people who are suited to each other, and enjoy propinquity with each other, do fall in love. It seems to be the law that everybody must love somebody; it also seems to be the law that propinquity is nine-tenths of the matter.... So Maude was in a receptive mood. She was ready to let go and be very much in love with Ken when a suitable moment arrived—if it ever did arrive.

Once she had released her controls she would be tender, faithful, a wife such as any man might boast of. His life would be her life. His concerns would be her concerns. Her career would be to make him happy and to make a success of the family of which he would be the head.

Just how much she realized of this condition it would be difficult to say. Just how much she desired Kendall to fall in love with her she herself did not know; but she did like him, liked him a great deal. He was on her mind, and perhaps she even schemed a little to have him near her frequently and so to give him the opportunity to love her if such a thing were to happen. But at the same time she held a serious doubt if she would marry him in any event—because of Andree.

True, she was of broad mind, and her life abroad had enabled her to perceive and to understand many matters which are obscure in America. These she could understand and condone or pronounce to be good and even virtuous—when they did not touch her directly. They were all right for others, but—but when they entered her own life that made of it another matter.

If she had been told that in a time past Kendall Ware had carried on an affair with a French girl—an affair that was wholly of the past—she might have dismissed it after small bitterness and have accepted him without more than a slight question. But this was present, going on under her eyes. She saw the workings of it, and saw that he actually loved this girl. That it was the sort of love he would one day give to his wife she did not believe. That did not seem possible to her.... On the other hand, there were many periods when she knew a fear that Kendall would marry Andree. She asked herself why he should not marry Andree. She had seen the girl, talked with her, found her beautiful and sweet—even good. Maude even felt a sympathy for Andree to the extent of warning Kendall against tampering with the girl’s happiness. Her sympathies were with Andree rather than with Kendall. She had never experienced the slightest aversion for Andree, none of that aversion which a woman safe in the possession of what she terms her virtue is entitled by ruthless custom to feel for the girl who is no longer a maid. She was able to conceive of a union such as Andree’s with Ken as possessing a sort of regularity, as being made more or less regular by the standards and conceptions of the society in which they were living.... But, nevertheless, when it came to marrying Ken her American prejudices and conceptions took on life and set themselves up as a barrier.

It was natural that she should be very curious about Andree and should wish the opportunity of meeting and studying the girl. She was rather frank and outspoken herself and could imagine herself discussing the situation with this girl and, perhaps, arriving at some determination. But the opportunity failed to present itself for days and weeks. Her brief chat with Andree on Bastille Day had proved nothing, and it was not until early August when a chance meeting in the Galeries Lafayette, where both girls happened to be shopping, gave her the opportunity she desired.

They met on one of the broad winding stairways of that enormous store, Andree descending, Maude ascending. Of the two Andree was the more self-possessed. She looked at Maude with that quaintly inquiring expression with which she seemed to greet all the world, but gave no other sign of recognition until Maude smiled and extended her hand.

“Bon jour, mademoiselle,” she said.

“Bon jour,” responded Andree.

“I’ve been hoping to see you for a long time. We hardly got acquainted in that little chat we had a month ago.”

“You are sure you wish to be acquainted?”

“Oh, very.”

“Pourquoi?”

“Why? That’s difficult to put into words, isn’t it? But I know about you—and you must know about me. We just ought to be acquainted better.”

“Eet is possible. You will know me. Ver’ well. I also would know you.”

“Suppose we have déjeuner together, then. Have you finished your shopping?”

“Ever’thing—all is completed.”

Maude turned and walked down the stairs with Andree. They did not speak until they had traversed the crowded aisles and reached the street. Each was thinking about the other, but with this difference: Maude was wondering what Andree thought about her, while Andree was not concerned in the least with Maude’s opinion of herself. She thought of Maude only as some one in whom Ken was more interested than she liked, and wondered what this American girl would say to her.... Maude was impressed, not exactly in spite of herself, with Andree’s appearance and manner. The girl was so slender, so dainty, so appealing, so childlike and fragile! One could not help wanting to defend her and befriend her.... But it was not befriending her to wish to take away the man she loved and who loved her, which was the thing that could not but rest in the back of Maude’s mind. She had a feeling that Andree knew that desire was in her mind....

“Let us go to the Petrograd—it is only a few steps. I am living there now. A great many of us American girls live there.”

“Ver’ well,” said Andree, who, it seemed, had placed herself on the knees of the gods and was prepared to let events wait upon her at their will.

They made their way to the rue Caumartin and turned to the right. Presently they entered the courtyard of the H?tel Petrograd and made their way to a dining-room well filled with American girls in the uniforms of the various war-service organizations. Selecting a table in a sheltered corner, they ordered luncheon, nor did they speak except of casual matters until they had finished. Andree addressed herself to her plate with that quaint absorption which always delighted Kendall. It touched Maude now, as everything about this appealing little girl touched her. She found herself actually growing fond of Andree as one might grow fond of a lovable child.... And yet she had a certainty that she would not find Andree altogether childlike; that in all matters appertaining to her love she would be all woman and amply potent to defend herself and her rights.

“Now we shall speak,” said Andree, looking into Maude’s face with directness, almost with challenge. Her own face, if it showed any expression at all, spoke of hesitation, diffidence.

“What shall we talk of?” Maude asked, experimentally.

“It is for you to say, mademoiselle. It is you who make the suggestion that we speak together....” Then, with disconcerting directness, “You wish to speak about Monsieur Ware, is it not?”

“Yes,” said Maude, “I should like to talk about him—and you.”

“It is ver’ well.”

Now that it reached the point of discussing Kendall, Maude was nonplussed for a moment. How should she open the discussion, if discussion there were to be? What could she say that would not be an impertinence to this girl, whom, somehow, she did not want to offend? Maude even respected her, perceived that about Andree which demanded respect and consideration. She hesitated. Andree smiled and leaned a bit forward.

“Mademoiselle,” she said, “perhaps it is that you are in love with thees yo’ng man also. Is it of that you wish to speak?”

“I am not in love with him, mademoiselle.”

“Ah ... but that is not the ver’ truth—no. I have seen. I do not know—maybe you theenk you do not love him, but you do love him. That is why I am willing to speak weeth you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I am willing to speak weeth you about Monsieur Ware bicause I love him ver’ much and bicause you also love him. I theenk it mus’ be bicause I know we both wish ver’ much to have him always be happy. Is it not?”

“But I do not love him.”

“Then, mademoiselle, it is not of a necessity for us to speak at all. If you are merely his frien’, his acquaintance, you have no right to speak weeth me about him. It is so. Mais, if you love him”—she lifted her shoulders—“that is ver’ different.”

“He has not asked me to love him.”

“That is well. I theenk he loves me very fidèle. Yes. But also he theenk of you ver’ much. I have seen. You are of his country and are ver’ pretty. He theenk of you and compare you weeth me. I am Fren............