The Waterbury Democrat., 1941-01-31
CHAPTER XXIII

Martha Marshall drove to camp the following Sunday with the same, heavy weight of dread press ing on her that had been with her all week. Bills urreasoning jealousy must stop. In some way, she must end it.
 But how? Hadn't she done everything a woman could do? She blamed herself bitterly for not having stuck to her resolve to stop seeing Paul. Yet, was it her fault he had insisted on coming to Bay vile that Friday night? Was it her fault that Paurs being hurt had so upset Suzanne she lost her head and made a scene?
 The seeds from which her trou- bles had sprouted, she realized helplessly, had been sown long ago. They had been planted that day she looked up for the first time into Bill Marshalrs blue eyes. She had tilted Paul. But nothing she could do - not even her mar riage to Bill - had served to kill Paul's love for her.
 50 now" her mind said, miser- able, T ought to hate him. Because he kept on loving me Because on his account, Bill and are tortur- ing each other"
 Driving into the now familiar canotonment, she did not see her husband among the olive drab ranks of waiting men who eyed the incoming cars. "Is he sulking?" she thought. Her heart sank. Jeal- ousy did not wear off, it seemed. It grew worse, more deeply in grained. "Oh, I must do some thing!"
 A tall man waved to her. Then he was coming closer. She slowed down. She recognized him now. Have you seen Bill?' It was Top Sergeant Moore the one Bill called "the top kick" - Aggie Moore'S husband
 The fact is, Mrs. Marshall he said slowly, Bills in the guard house.
 "In the guardhouse?" All her vague dread crystalized into quick leaping fear. But why? What has he done? Is it serious?"
 Just little disagreement over discipline" the sergeant said. We try to go easy on the men. But well-looks like he's been begging for ia. I'm sorry"
 Sho wondered, stabbingly, if Aggie Moore had repeated any of that conversation in the NCO club /! room. May I see him?"
 "Yes." He hopped up on the running board. Turn to your left here. I'll fix it."
 The guardhouse was not especial 1y sinister from the outside. A SOL dier patrolled leisurely before it. AL most, she expected him to say. Stop, and give the countersign. 7 He didn't.
 Inside, there was a small bare room, not very different from the other rooms she had seen on the post. Another soldier on duty nod ded when Sergeant Moore ex- plained, and moment later she was sitting with Bill on a bench and asking, What happened, dar- 1ing?"
 Bill was sulky. "The Army's idea of cute stunt! Bread and water stuff, as if I were a child!"
 Are you on bread and water?" She was mortified
 "Oh, not literally!" He was i'm patient, annoyed. But more alarm ing than anything else was that look of stubborn anger that childish sulkiness she had never seen in him before. If they think they can make me come around by locking me up"
 Bill /" She clasped her hands, tightly. Bill, you're not trying to fight the Army, are you? The whole Army, all by yourself?"
 "Go on, be coy about it!"
 "Oh, Bill" She bit her lip, and turned her head swiftly. She must not cry.
 Don't you want to tell me about it?" she asked after a while. Out side the soldier on duty was rat ting newspaper. She wondered in disjointed little flashes, whether there were other prisoners in the guardhouse; whether they were all like Bill, sullen and surly; whether some other girl would come into this bare room, soon, to sit on a bench and try to be tactful. And l thought maybe today I could talk him out Of his ealouSy-maybe to- day we could clear up this thing that has been tearing us apart"
 There's nothing to tell Bill said curtly. All can say is that it's a fine mess, all right. The government sticks me out here in a damn Army camp, to play at dunn war games. while you"
 Her spine stiffened. While ] what?"
 She should not have said it. She