THE BALANCE

CHAPTER I

O

I

H, DICK, it has been lonesome waiting for you!"
Richard Norton and Lola Stewart were to-

gether in the Italian pergola in the garden, whose luxurious bloom added beauty even as its formality gave dignity to the famous Stewart estate in Norcross. Below them were masses of Oriental larkspur, the tall, closely-set spikes rising majestically above the graceful foliage in its full July splendor. Nearby were heavy clusters of Madonna lilies, the purity of their whiteness contrasting sharply with the varying shades of blue in the neighboring larkspur.

Three years before, had Lola spoken these words, Richard would have had her in his arms, covering her lips with kisses. Today he felt instinctively that such an act would be taking unwarranted liberty. Yet she was the same Lola and he the same Richard! The youthful impulsiveness of those earlier days had disappeared, and each now felt a sense of repression as inexplicable as it was uncomfortable. She was changed,

but to him still adorable; to her he represented the ideal of manhood, .. yet they seemed to meet as friends rather than as lovers, each unconsciously feeling the necessity of learning how to express that which before had been instinctive.

"Curious," Richard commented; "but I always dreamed of you in this frame, always here in this garden; and the perfume of the roses in Germany made me frantic to get home to you."

"The roses were in full bloom when you me to marry you," she reminded him quietly.

"Whosoever enters here let him beware, for he shall nevermore escape or be free from my spell," Richard quoted from the warning carved in stone at the entrance to the garden. "I have never been free from the spell, dear; the season made no difference. Roses always meant Lola to me, and to think of you was to inhale again the wonderful fragrance which comes to us now as it did then."

The girl's hand slipped shyly into his and he pressed it tenderly.

"The fragrance is almost the only thing that has remained the same," he added, with a touch of bitterness. "Think what has happened since!"

"No, no, dear," she cried impulsively; "we must try to forget. We have been robbed of three years of our life together. Now we must make up for it."

II

The pergola had been their favorite trysting place, for flowers are ever confidants of lovers; but this was

the first July profusion Lola and Richard had enjoyed together since their greatest and most momentous circle had been completed, and they had returned to the same point whence they had set out. Life, after all, is but a succession of such circles.

"How wonderful to be here again!" the traveler exclaims, believing that his pleasure comes from revisiting familiar scenes or greeting again familiar faces. It is all part of the sheer joy of completing another circle! Day by day old circles become memories and new ones begin, until that time comes when each of us awaits in contemplation the completion of the last and greatest of them all.

Richard's circle had carried him through the inferno of the Marne-Aisne offensive and the St. Mihiel attack, being temporarily broken by a period in the Base Hospital at Toul as a result of a bullet through his lung, but continued when he was assigned to the Army of Occupation and stationed at Coblentz for months after the armistice had ended actual hostilities. Lola's circle had been smaller, but its curve also crossed the seas, and before completing its arc it merged her individuality into the composite Red Cross nurse in hospital service. Thus, for a time, the symbolic veil concealed the mass of wonderful chestnut hair that was her birthright; and the uniform, sacred in the eyes of every soldier, during this same period robbed a charming personality of its identity.

July was a month of memories for the pergola. Here Richard had told Lola that he was among those fortunate enough to be ordered overseas, and this message

brought to them a realization that they were no longer merely friends but lovers. Here, protected from curious eyes by the twining honeysuckle, their lips first met, sealing the confession which was to merge their lives in one. The following July found the pergola deserted, with the honeysuckle in luxurious but riotous disorder; for Richard was in action at St. Mihiel and Lola on duty at her hospital. Again the July flowers bloomed, but their fragrance meant little to Lola, now turned by war experience from girlhood into comprehending womanhood, sitting there alone, longing with anticipation mingled with apprehension for her lover's

return.

Now they were together again. She had been home over a year and he for six months. They had compared their experiences, regretting that at some point over there the circles had not touched. They had tried to forget what they had seen and to become again a part of the life they had lived before, which on its surface appeared to be going on as if the war had been only a hideous nightmare. The pure white lilies in the garden were not stained with blood as had been the lilies in France! The larkspur reflected the colors of the cerulescent sky unclouded by smoke from bursting shells. But the lilies and the larkspur had their own circles to complete, and fulfilled their function when by their beauty they served to take one's thoughts away from the horrors of battle. Yet neither the lilies nor the larkspur would have asked us to forget that the horrors had been. What of the people in the streets and in the counting-houses and in the homes, untouched

by the toll of war? Had they the right to forget so soon?

III

"The garden hasn't changed a bit," Richard continued, as they looked down over the riot of gorgeous color. "I used to wonder if I should ever again see it in its prime."

With an effort Lola threw off the mood which had sobered her, and turned to him with a smile so forced that he felt the effort it cost her. Her face was far too mature for a girl of her age, and this phase was accentuated by her present attitude. The color he remembered in her cheeks when he kissed her good-bye so long ago had vanished. The light which shone through the tears glistening in her eyes as she bravely wished him a safe return had disappeared. With a spirit like hers Richard had not been surprised when he heard that she had joined the ministering army, but even with his knowledge of what she endured he had never imagined that so great a change could be wrought.

He recognized how much had come to her in compensation. The quiet maturity which replaced the girlish enthusiasm gave character to her face and poise to her bearing which in itself was beautiful; her allembracing sense of responsibility expressed a selfeffacement and an unselfishness which made her presence inspiring and ineffably sweet. Yet the changes, whatever they were, produced an invisible barrier incapable of analysis, which had not before existed.

"I never meant to let you catch me in one of my