THE GAY COCKADE
and Anne, living the aftermath, of it all, facing, perhaps, disillusion
"Oh, not that," Christopher told himself, "she'd never grow less—never anything less than she is—if she could once—care"
For he did not know whether Anne cared or not. He might guess as he pleased—but there had not been a word between them.
Once more the thought flashed, "If I were a gipsy to follow the road"
As his train sped through the countryside, he became aware of flaming bill-boards—a circus was showing in the towns—the fences fairly blazed with golden chariots, wild beasts, cheap gods and goddesses, clowns in frilled collars and peaked hats. He remembered a glorious day that he had spent as a boy!
"I'll take Anne," was his sudden decision.
He laughed to himself, and spent the rest of the way in seeing her at it. They would drink pink lemonade, and there would be pop-corn balls—the entrancing smell of sawdust—the beat of the band. He hoped there would be a tom-tom, and some of the dark people from the Far East.
He reached his destination at seven o'clock. Dunbar met him at the station. Anne sat with her husband, and Jeanette was in the back seat. Christopher had, therefore, a side view of Anne as
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