The matter that most perplexed her had to do with herself. She had told him she was British and therefore neutral in this controversy between the North and the South. But was she? She was fast coming to the conclusion that she was neither neutral nor British in her feelings. She began to find the American part of her taking a vital interest in the things that went on about her. She was no longer a visitor to America. She did not wish to be that. Her mother had been an American—one of these kindly Southern women whose charm made them a welcome wherever they went. In her heart Dorothea felt the stirrings of her American blood and a nearer kinship to these aunts and cousins with whom she had been living. “You know, Harriot,” she said, after a long silence, “I don’t think the English people know very much about our country after all.” The girl beside her looked up with wide-eyed surprise. “What has that to do with peanut pralines?” she demanded. “Here I’ve been talking about really interesting things and the first word you’ve said for hours is something that doesn’t make any difference one way or the other. I think you _must_ be in love.” Dorothea laughed outright and brought her thoughts back to her immediate surroundings. “I was just thinking aloud,” she remarked lightly. “That’s the way I always act when I’m hungry,” Harriot replied practically. “When we get home I’ll get you a glass of milk or some clabber. Aunt Decent says that’s the best thing there is for an empty stomach.” CHAPTER XX A DEBT TO BE PAID Two days later Hal showed such marked improvement that Dr. Hardesty rubbed his hands with satisfaction and declared his patient would soon be out of the woods and that all danger was practically past. At which news Mrs. May quietly fainted away, and April faced the double burden of an exhausted mother and a wounded brother. Then it was that Dorothea slipped into the breach. “I can take care of Hal,” she told April. “If he needs anything that I cannot attend to, I promise to call you; so you can stay with Aunt Parthenia.” April thanked her cousin gratefully. “I knew I could count on you,” she said, with something of her old warmth of manner. “I don’t dare to trust Harriot. She would be stuffing him with dried persimmons, like as not, the minute my back was turned. And the servants are no good with sick people.” So Dorothea, feeling glad to be of use, sat down beside the bed where Hal seemed to be lightly sleeping.