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 isolation natural to him was for her a new and trying experience. She continued to knit and make bandages, but worked in private, recoiling from the chatter about slackers and heroes. Unwittingly she antagonized shallow girls and noticed that Myrtle Wilcove, who had been a competitor for her position at the school, made the most of her advantage with public opinion.

When coercive measures began to be seriously discussed Phœbe was dismayed. It had been hard enough to be torn daily between the duty of teaching her pupils prescribed lessons in patriotism and that of defending an unpatriotic lover, but it was harrowing to guess the consequences of his attitude should conscription come into effect.

"What will you do then, dear?" she inquired timidly.

He was hurt by the implication that he might adapt his principles to the exigencies of society and made a truculent reply.

Phœbe was quiet for a while and they sat staring into the open door of the Klondike stove in her mother's sitting-room—a room embellished with shells and painted ostrich eggs.

"But Paul—they will—don't they?"

"Send one to prison, you mean? Don't be afraid to speak plainly, Phœbe. Now's a time for honest people to do so, now that highfalutin lies are being hoisted banner-like for folk to rally under. . . . No doubt I'll be sent to prison if the worst comes to the worst."

Her lips were quivering.

"They won't shoot me," he added bitterly. "Which proves that society, after all, has an embryonic conscience."

Then he relented and took her in his arms.

"I'm so selfish," she sobbed, as he petted her, "to make you supply courage for two, when I ought to be a source of strength to you."