“And so you have absolutely nothing to reproach yourself with,” said she. “How fortunate in these days.” “I'm sorry, Mrs. Carstairs, if I--” “I was born in the United States,” she said, without a trace of annoyance, “but not in Nebraska. You have the advantage of me there, I fear. And of poor Mr. Zimmerlein, too. He was born in Boston,--were you not?” “In Marlborough Street,” said Zimmerlein, drily. “My father was Irish, as you can tell by me name, and me poor mither was Irish too. Her name before marriage was Krausshof.” Mr. Cribbs's face was scarlet. To cover his confusion, he wedged his way a little closer to the windows and glared at the dull red light that crept slowly out of the darkness off to the south. The crests of the hills were beginning to take shape against a background shot with crimson. “Just the same,” he muttered, “I'd like to see the men who are responsible for that fire over there burning in hell.” “I think we can agree on that point, at least, Mr. Cribbs,” said Zimmerlein, with dignity. “Who wants to run over there with me in my car?” cried the other, excitedly. “It's only a few miles, and it must be a wonderful sight. I can take six or seven--” “Stay where you are, Cribbs,” said Carstairs sharply. “When those shells begin to go off--Why, man alive, there's never been anything on the French front that could hold a candle to it. Don't forget what happened when Black Tom pier was blown up. Pray do not be alarmed, ladies. There isn't the slightest danger here. The shells they are making at the Reynolds plant are comparatively small. We're safely out of range.” “What size shells were they making, Carstairs?” inquired one of the men. “Three inch, I believe--and smaller. A lot of machine-gun ammunition, too. Cox, the general manager, dined with us the other night. He talked a little too freely, I thought,--didn't you, Frieda?” “He boasted, if that is what you mean,” said Mrs. Carstairs. “Well,” said a big, red-faced man on the outer edge of the group, “it's time some of these blooming fools learned how to keep their mouths shut. The country's full of spies,--running over with 'em. You never know when you're talking to one.” Silence followed his remark. For some time they all stood watching the crimson cloud in the distance, an ever-changing, pulsing shadow that throbbed to the temper of the wind.