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But although he searched the gayest crowds with his eyes, those
hilarious groups of which she had been so frequently the center,
he did not find her. And there had been no letter save a brief
one without an address, enclosing her check for the money she had
borrowed. She had apparently gone, not only out of her old life,
but out of his as well.
At one of the great charity balls he met Nolan, and they stood
together watching the crowd.
"Pretty expensive, I take it," Nolan said, indicating the scene.
"Orchestra, florist, supper - I wonder how much the Belgians will
get."
"Personally, I'd rather send the money and get some sleep."
"Precisely. But would you send the money? We've got to have a
quid pro quo, you know-most of us." He surveyed the crowd with
cynical, dissatisfied eyes. "At the end of two years of the war,"
he observed, apropos of nothing, "five million men are dead, and
eleven million have been wounded. A lot of them were doing this
sort of thing two years ago.


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