Henri and Jean came often. And more than once during the first ten days
Jean spent the night rolled in a blanket by the kitchen fire, and Henri
disappeared. He was always back in the morning, however, looking dirty
and very tired. Sara Lee sewed more than one rent for him, those days,
but she was strangely incurious. It was as though, where everything was
strange, Henri's erratic comings and goings were but a part with the rest.
Then one night the unexpected happened. The village was shelled.
Sara Lee had received her first letter from Harvey that day. The maid
at Morley's had forwarded it to her, and Henri had brought it up.
"I think I have brought you something you wish for very much," he said,
looking down at her.
"Mutton?" she inquired anxiously.
"Better than that."
"Sugar?"
"A letter, mademoiselle."
Afterward he could not quite understand the way she had suddenly drawn
in her breath. He had no memory, as she had, of Harvey's obstinate anger
at her going, his conviction that she was doing a thing criminally wrong
and cruel.
"Give it to me, please."
She took it into her room and closed the door. When she came out again
she was composed and quiet, but rather white. Poor Henri! He was half
mad that day with jealousy. Her whiteness he construed as longing.
This is a part of Harvey's letter:
You may think that I have become reconciled, but I have not. If I could
see any reason for it I might. But what reason is there? So many others,
older and more experienced, could do what you are doing, and more
safely.
In your letter from the steamer you tell me not to worry. Good God, Sara
Lee, how can I help worrying? I do not even know where you are! If you
are in England, well and good. If you are abroad I do not want to know
it. I know these foreigners. I run into them every day. And they do not
understand American women. I get crazy when I think about it. I have had
to let the Leete house go. There is not likely to be such a chance soon
again. Business is good, but I don't seem to care much about it any
more. Honestly, dear, I think you have treated me very badly. I always
feel as though the people I meet are wondering if we have quarreled or
what on earth took you away on this wild-goose chase. I don't know
myself, so how can I tell them?