If she did and the thing's mutual she'll give poor old Maria such
a shock that the war will look like ten cents."
"Possibly."
"You look really ill, Gora. No wonder you have headaches with that hair.
It's magnificent--but! Go to bed and I'll send up your dinner. Got any
aspirin?"
"Yes, thanks."
"Au 'voir."
CHAPTER XIII
I
The day was fine and Alexina took advantage of the brief interval of grace
and went for a walk. Gathbroke was in Paris but might come out any moment.
She wore a coat and skirt of heavy white English tweed with a silk blouse
of periwinkle blue. The same soft shade lined her black velvet hat.
She had a number of notes changed at the bank and struck out for one of the
ruined villages. She was in a mood to distribute happiness, and only silver
coin could carry a ray of light into the dark stupefied recesses of those
miserable wretches living in the ruins of homes haunted by memories of
their dead.
She felt a very torch of happiness herself. Her body and her brain glowed
with it. The currents of her blood seemed to have changed their pace and
their essence. The elixir of life was in them. She felt less woman than
goddess.
She knew now why she had been born, why she had waited. As long as this
terrible war had to be she was thankful for her intimate contact with the
very martyrdom of suffering; never else could she have known to the full
the value of life and youth and health and the power to be triumphantly
happy in love.
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