Wings of the Eagles."
"Yes, and we're doing rather well."
"I haven't noticed it," Roger said. "Why don't you send a few of your
troops to help those plucky Frenchmen?"
"Because," she replied, "we have a feeling that this is a war where we had
much better help ourselves."
"High ideals," he snorted.
"Rome reborn," she remarked, unabashed. And her father scowled at her
whimsically.
"You're a heathen. I give you up," he declared. Laura had risen, smiling.
"Oh, no, don't give me up," she said. "For you see," she added softly, "I'm
a heathen with a great deal of love in her heart for thee, my dearest dad.
May I bring him down, my husband?"
"Yes--"
"I'll telephone to Deborah to-morrow and arrange it."
When she had gone he returned to his chair and sat for a long time in a
daze. He was still disturbed and bewildered. What a daughter of his! And
what did it mean? Could she really go on being happy like this? Sinning?
Yes, she was sinning! Laura had broken her marriage vows, she had "run off
with another fellah." Those were the plain ugly facts. And now, divorced
and re-married, she was careering gayly on! And her views of the war were
plain heathenish! And yet there was something about her--yes, he thought,
he loved her still! What for? For being so happy! And yet she was wrong to
be happy, all wrong! His thoughts went 'round in circles.
And his confusion and dismay grew even deeper the next night when Laura
brought her new husband to dine.
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