“And one is treated like this, for nothing,” cried Harriet, again in tears. “For nothing, but just because I wasn’t born English. Yet one has married an Englishman, and they won’t let one live anywhere but in England.” “It is more than that. It is more than the fact that you are not English born,” said the officer. “Then what? What?” she cried. He refused to answer this time. The police-sergeant looked on with troubled blue eyes. “Nothing. It’s nothing but that, because it _can’t_ be,” wept Harriet. “It can’t be anything else, because we’ve never done anything else. Just because one wasn’t born in England--as if one could help that. And to be persecuted like this, for nothing, for nothing else. And not even openly accused! Not even that.” She wiped her tears, half enjoying it now. The police-sergeant looked into the road. One of the louts clumped downstairs and began to look once more among the books. “That’ll do here!” said the officer quietly, to the detective lout. But the detective lout wasn’t going to be ordered, and persisted. “This your sketch-book, Mr Somers?” said the lout. “No, those are Lady Hermione Rogers’ sketches,” said Somers, with derision. And the lout stuffed the book back. “And why don’t they let us go away?” cried Harriet. “Why don’t they let us go to America? We don’t _want_ to be here if we are a nuisance. We want to go right away. Why won’t they even let us do that!” She was all tear-marked now. “They must have their reasons,” said the young officer, who was getting more and more uncomfortable. He again tried to hurry up the detective lout. But they were enjoying nosing round among other people’s privacies. “And what’ll happen to us if we don’t go, if we just stay?” said Harriet, being altogether a female. “You’d better not try,” said the young man, grimly, so utterly confident in the absoluteness of the powers and the rightness he represented. And Somers would have liked to hit him across the mouth for that. “Hold your tongue, Harriet,” he said, turning on her fiercely. “You’ve said enough now. Be still, and let them do what they like, since they’ve the power to do it.” And Harriet was silent. And in the silence only the louts rummaging among the linen, and one looking into the bread-tin and into the tea-caddy. Somers watched them with a cold eye, and that queer slight lifting of his nose, rather like a dog when it shows disgust. And the officer again tried to hurry the louts, in his low tone of command, which had so little effect. “Where do you intend to go?” said the officer to Somers. “Oh, just to London,” said Somers, who did not feel communicative. “I suppose they will send the things back that they take?” he said, indicating the louts. “I should think so--anything that is not evidence.” The louts were drawing to an end: it was nearly over. “Of course this has nothing to do with me: I have to obey orders, no matter what they are,” said the young officer, half apologising.