Page:A Son at the Front (1923) Wharton.djvu/397

Mr. Brant shook his head. "Thank you. Thank you very much. But it's late and you'll want to be getting home. I'll be glad if you'll use my car." Together they strolled slowly across the station court to the place where the private motors waited; but there Campton held out his hand.

"Much obliged; I think I'll walk."

Mr. Brant nodded; then he said abruptly: "This clairvoyante business: is there anything in it, do you think? You saw how calm—er—Julia was just now: she wished me to tell you that that Spanish woman she goes to—her name is Olida, I think—had absolutely reassured her about. . . about the future. The woman says she knows that George will come back soon, and never be sent to the front again. Those were the exact words, I believe. Never be sent to the front again. Julia put every kind of question, and couldn't trip her up; she wanted me to tell you so. It does sound . . .? Well, at any rate, it's a help to the mothers."

The next morning Campton said to himself: "I can catch that goodbye look if I get it down at once———" and pulled out a canvas before Mme. Lebel came in with his coffee.

As sometimes happened to him, the violent emotions of the last twenty-four hours had almost immediately