Page:A Son at the Front (1923) Wharton.djvu/112

late was untouched, and that the smile had stiffened on her lips.

Since his talk with Adamson he could not bring himself to be seriously alarmed. Fear had taken him by the throat for a moment in the station, at the sound of the girl's sobs; but already he had thrown it off. Everybody agreed that the war was sure to be over in a few weeks; even Dastrey had come round to that view; and with Fortin's protection, and the influences Anderson Brant could put in motion, George was surely safe—as safe at his depot as anywhere else in this precarious world. Campton poured out Adele's coffee, and drank off his own as if it had been champagne.

"Do you know anything about the people George was dining with last night?" he enquired abruptly.

Miss Anthony knew everything and everybody in the American circle in Paris; she was a clearing-house of Franco-American gossip, and it was likely enough that if George had special reasons for wishing to spend his last evening away from his family she would know why. But the chance of her knowing what had been kept from him made Campton's question, as soon as it was put, seem indiscreet, and he added hastily: "Not that I want———"

She looked surprised. "No: he didn't tell me. Some young man's affair, I suppose. . . " She smirked absurdly, her lashless eyes blinking under the pushed-back veil.