"Oh, yes. It was beautiful," answered Evanthia dreamily. "Very, very beautiful. They ride and shoot all the time, in America." "And have babies," added Mrs. Dainopoulos. "No!" said Evanthia with startling lucidity. "Fridthiof has been there." "I thought you had forgotten him, dear. You know I think he was not a good influence for you." Evanthia murmured, "Ah, yes," and smiled. "I don't think he always told you the truth. I am afraid he made things up to tell you." "I think he is gone to Athens." "Why?" "I speak to the old Anna Karoglou who sweep in the Consulate. She hear the Consul's wife say she has a sister in Athens." Mrs. Dainopoulos was not prepared to accept this as conclusive evidence, though she knew these illiterate people had their own mysterious news agencies. "Well," she said, "_you_ can't go to Athens just now, can you?" "The Englishman will get me a passport," answered Evanthia. "He said he would get one." "Did he though? That's very kind of him." "Yes, he will do anything for me, anything." "Have you sent word to your mother? I feel responsible for you, Evanthia dear." "Oh, I come back," said the girl airily, "I come back." "I don't believe you will," said Mrs. Dainopoulos gravely. "I don't believe you will." "Yes, yes. Come back to my dear friend." She did too, later on, very much damaged. She arrived in a crowded train of horse-cars, her clothes in a crushed old basket and a refugee ticket fastened to her blouse with a huge brass safety pin. She did not dwell on her adventures. So many women were going through very much the same thing. And Mr. Dainopoulos by that time was too rich and too busy getting richer to bother about a stray like her, and he did not ask. To the end it remained an impalpable grievance with her that she made no impression upon her dear friend's husband. She jumped up now, and, kissing Mrs. Dainopoulos, hastened away to see to the evening meal. Downstairs, standing in the doorway of the dining room, she caught the young girl putting some candied plums in her mouth and broke into a swirl of vituperation. Mr. Spokesly, coming in behind his employer at that moment, thought it was remarkably like a cat spitting. The servant suddenly slipped past Evanthia, eyes downcast and smouldering, and scampered out of sight. Mr. Spokesly looked after the lithe little form with the slender cotton stockings and little cup-like breasts under the one-piece cotton dress. He had an idea that that girl would like to knife both Evanthia and himself. He followed Evanthia out into the garden. "It's all right," he said. "I got everything on board. But no passport. Nothing doing." "No?"