Coming up she had sat on top of the bus and watched with wide curious,
eyes the strange traffic of London. The park had fascinated her--the
little groups of drilling men in khaki, the mellow tones of a bugle, and
here and there on the bridle paths well-groomed men and women on
horseback, as clean-cut as the horses they rode, and on the surface as
careless of what was happening across the Channel. But she saw nothing
now. She sat back and twisted Harvey's ring on her finger, and saw
herself going back, her work undone, her faith in herself shattered.
And Harvey's arms and the Leete house ready to receive her.
However, a ray of hope opened for her at the Savoy--not much, a prospect.
The Savoy was crowded. Men in uniform, a sprinkling of anxious-faced
wives and daughters, and more than a sprinkling of gaily dressed
and painted women, filled the lobby or made their way slowly up and
down the staircase. It was all so utterly different from what she had
expected--so bright, so full of life. These well-fed people they seemed
happy enough. Were they all wrong back home? Was the war the ghastly
thing they thought it?
Long months afterward Sara Lee was to learn that the Savoy was not
London.
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