Though she was not conscious of it, there was relief
in eating breakfast without Anthony's tired and worried face opposite
her. Now that she was alone she lost all desire to complain about the
food. She would change her breakfasts, she thought--have a lemonade and
a tomato sandwich instead of the sempiternal bacon and eggs and toast.
Nevertheless, at noon when she had called up several of her
acquaintances, including the martial Muriel, and found each one engaged
for lunch, she gave way to a quiet pity for herself and her loneliness.
Curled on the bed with pencil and paper she wrote Anthony
another letter.
Late in the afternoon arrived a special delivery, mailed from some small
New Jersey town, and the familiarity of the phrasing, the almost audible
undertone of worry and discontent, were so familiar that they comforted
her. Who knew? Perhaps army discipline would harden Anthony and accustom
him to the idea of work. She had immutable faith that the war would be
over before he was called upon to fight, and meanwhile the suit would be
won, and they could begin again, this time on a different basis. The
first thing different would be that she would have a child.
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