One of the things that had lately seemed to come between her and her husband was the war, which was odd because they were completely united both politically and patriotically. While she thrilled to victories abroad, avidly read details of the agonizingly slow progress in the Pacific or pored over maps or photographs in the papers, he became increasingly depressed. He seldom discussed it; she knew he suffered as if personally over the wanton slaughter; but the extent to which he had been keeping his feelings to himself was brought home to her by an episode which occurred a few weeks ago. Though he knew nothing about this—didn’t know she had discovered it, that is—it had revealed to her his tragic and even morbid concern, or perhaps his sense of guilt for being out of it, his identification with all that was going on abroad without him.

One morning when he was at class she had gone into his study to tidy up. She knew how he hated having his study cleaned; the regular cleaning woman, for example, was not allowed in the place. On the other hand, a man could let his workroom go just so long; there came a time when someone had to step in and clean up for him, his preferences in the matter notwithstanding. She opened the windows and vacuumed the carpet; she dusted the mantel, emptied the ash trays, and put back books and papers strewn about the floor or left lying in a disordered heap next to his favorite armchair. The desk was forbidden ground; he was right in refusing to let anyone disturb the papers and reference books he had been using. But if she were careful to dust around the edges without leaving evidence that she had done so, his worktable would be the more efficient for it. She finished dusting across the back and sides of the desk, and then, to complete the job, she picked up the desk blotter to dust underneath.

It was a sizable affair, mounted, with leather corners; on its rectangular expanse were a number of scraps and notes meaning­less to her. She lifted the blotter by its substantial binding and, carrying it flat so that nothing would be disarranged, set it on the couch where he slept. As she did so, she uncovered a clipping which had been tucked under the blotter out of sight—some months ago, from the looks of it, though its subject was timely enough.