– "I have heard so… It is possible that I might be suspected and detained… I had rather you did not attempt to go with me… Because – I do not wish you to get into any difficulty – on my – account."
"Nothing serious could happen to either you or me through anything that you have done."
"I am not sure."
"I am," he said. And added in a lower voice: "It is very generous of you – very kind."
Her own voice was lower still: "Please don't go with me, Mr. Guild. Let me go to the wharf alone. Let me take my chances alone. If there is any difficulty they will arrest you, too. And if I – were convicted – "
"You could not be. That is utterly impossible. Don't think of such things, Miss Girard."
"I must think of them. Will you tell me something?" She turned and looked at him curiously, almost wistfully.
"I want to ask you something. You – you said to me that if you thought me a spy, you would not help me to escape from England. You said so, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"You mean it, don't you?"
"I am afraid I do."
"Why? You are not English. You are an American. America is neutral. Why are you an enemy to Germany?"
"I can't tell you why," he said.
"Are you an enemy to Germany?"
"Yes – a bitter one."
"And if I were a spy, trying to escape from England – trying to escape – death – you would refuse to help me?"
She had turned entirely toward him on the seat beside him; her child-like hands clasped on the robe over her knees, her child-like face, pale, sweet, wistful, turned to his.
"Would you abandon me?" she asked.
"The situation is impossible – "
"Yes, but tell me."
"I don't care to think of such a – "
"Please answer me. Is your partisanship so bitter that you would wash your hands of me – let me go to my death? – go to your own, too, rather than help me?"
"Miss Girard, you are losing your composure – "
"No; I am perfectly composed. But I should like to know what you would do under such circumstances with a girl nineteen years old who stood in danger of death."
"I can't tell you," he said, perplexed and impatient. "I can't tell now what I might do."
"Would you denounce me?"
"No, of course not."
"Would you feel – sorry?"
"Sorry!" He looked at her; "I should think I would!"
"Sorry enough for me to help me get away?"
"Yes."
"Even if I carried military information to Germany?"
He looked into her eyes searchingly for a moment. "Yes," he said; "I'd do what I could for you to get you out of England."
"Even if I had lied to you?"
"You couldn't lie to anybody."
"But if I could? If I have lied and you found it out, would you still try to help me to get away?"
"You are asking something that – "
"Yes, you can answer it. You can think a while first and then answer. I want you to answer. I want to know what you'd do with me."
"You make it a personal matter?"
"Yes. I don't want to know what you'd do in theory; I wish you to tell me what you, personally, would do with me, Karen Girard, if you believed me to be a spy, and if you came to the conclusion that I had lied to you."
"Why do you ask all this? You are over-wrought, unstrung – "
"I am absolutely mistress of myself. And I wish to know what you would do with me? Would you let me die?"
"No."
"You'd stand by me still?"
"Yes. There's no use mincing matters. Yes, I would."
"You'd help me to leave England?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
There fell a silence between them, and his face slowly reddened.
"I am not sure why," he said slowly.
"I am. Shall I tell you?"
"Yes, tell me," he said, forcing himself to meet her clear gaze.
"Very well, I'll tell you. It is because we are friends. And that is the real truth. I realize it. From the very beginning it was a friendship, without effort, instantly and mutually understood. Is it not true?"
"Yes."
"And that – the instant liking – was the basis for our confidence in each other. Was it not?"
"It must have been. I trusted you without hesitation."
"And I you… And I did tell you the truth… But not all of it."
"What have you left untold?" he asked.
"Enough to – to frighten me – a little. I am beginning to be afraid – just enough afraid to feel troubled – rather deeply troubled about – you."
"About me!"
"Because – we are friends. I don't understand how it has happened so quickly. But it has happened to us – hasn't it?"
"Yes," he said, "it has. I – I am already – devoted to – our friendship."
"I am, too. It seems odd, doesn't it. I have had no friends among men. This is new to me. I don't know what to do about it. I want to be so loyal about it – I wish to be what a man – such a man as you are – desires of a friend – what he requires of friendship… Do you understand? I am really a trifle bewildered – with the surprise and pleasure of friendship – and with its obligations… But I am very sure that unselfishness is one of its obligations and that truth is another."
"Both are part of you."
"They seem to be now. And so – because we are friends – don't go to the wharf with me. Because I think I may be – arrested. And if I am – it may go hard with me."
She said it so gently, and her eyes were so clear and sweet that for a moment he did not grasp the subtler significance of her appeal.
"You can't be involved seriously," he insisted.
"I'm afraid it is possible."
"How?"
"I can only guess how. I may be wrong. But I dare not risk involving you."
"Can't you tell me a little more?"
"Please don't ask."
"Very well. But I shall not leave you."
"Please."
"No. You ask too little of friendship."
"I do not wish to ask too much. Let me get clear of this affair if I can. If I can't – let me at least remember that I have not involved you in my – ruin."
"Your ruin!"
"Yes. It may come to that. I don't know. I don't know exactly what all this tangle means – what really threatens me, what I have to dread. But I am afraid – afraid!" Her voice became unsteady for a moment and she stared straight ahead of her at the yellow haze which loomed nearer and nearer above the suburbs of London.
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