. The Saturday evening post. r tables;and then, alas, departed. The words were perfectly courteous; but in spite of theold mans smile and his grasp of Holts hand, I suspectedan underlying reproach in that speech, a charge of in-gratitude against English soldiers. Perhaps we had beena little careless of French susceptibilities. Perhaps we hadforgotten friendly favors too quickly. I am inclined tothink that some of us made war an excuse for lack of cour-tesy. Indeed, that afternoon I had an idea of somethingmore tragic than that, as far as French womanhood was in-volved in the ghastly drama of w
. The Saturday evening post. r tables;and then, alas, departed. The words were perfectly courteous; but in spite of theold mans smile and his grasp of Holts hand, I suspectedan underlying reproach in that speech, a charge of in-gratitude against English soldiers. Perhaps we had beena little careless of French susceptibilities. Perhaps we hadforgotten friendly favors too quickly. I am inclined tothink that some of us made war an excuse for lack of cour-tesy. Indeed, that afternoon I had an idea of somethingmore tragic than that, as far as French womanhood was in-volved in the ghastly drama of war, even if they were onthe safe side of its red tide. Holt asked, and I thought it was tactless of him, tosee the album of portraits which Yvonne de Maresquel hadpainted in water colors when his battalion was billetedabout the chateau grounds. At first she refused, with alaughing plea that they were badly painted; but when hepressed her she yielded, and unlocked a little cabinet andtook out the book. (Continued on Page 142). s THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 4, 1920
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