It was four o’clock, and Gretel was at the piano in the dismantled drawing-room, playing softly to herself. The afternoon had been, on the whole, a pleasant one. She had spent an hour looking over her old treasures, which included a bundle of letters, tied together with a red ribbon. They were her greatest treasure of all, for they were all from her father--letters he had written her on his brief absences from home, when she was sent to stay with their kind old German friend Frau Lippheim. Gretel always read those letters over at least once during the holidays, and generally cried a little during the reading, but even that was not altogether unpleasant, for Gretel possessed just enough German sentimentality to rather enjoy the luxury of a few comfortable tears. She had cried rather more than usual to-day, and as she put the old letters back in the drawer of her desk, had whispered softly: “Dear Father; you were so good and kind to every one. Surely there must be other good Germans in the world as well as you.” Then she had had another little chat with Dora, and been shown the photograph of the hero Peter--Dora’s younger brother--taken in his uniform, and now she had gone to the drawing-room for an hour of music. She had just finished the first movement of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata,” when she was rather startled by a ring at the front door-bell. The house had been so quiet all the afternoon, that any sound would have been startling, and, thinking her brother might have arrived earlier than he was expected, she paused in her playing to listen. She heard the front door open, a murmur of voices, followed by approaching footsteps, and the butler appeared in the doorway. “A lady to see you, Miss Gretel.” “To see me, Johnson!” and Gretel sprang from the piano stool in surprise. The next moment she had caught sight of another figure, close behind Johnson, and was hurrying forward to meet it. “Why, Fräulein, how good of you to come so soon! I only got home this morning.” Gretel’s tone was cordial, but she was conscious of a sudden sinking of her heart. She was glad to see her old friend, she told herself, of course she was very glad indeed, and yet--and yet--she could not help wishing Fräulein had not come quite so soon. “How delightfully cool it is in here!” exclaimed the German woman, sinking wearily down upon the sofa. “The streets are like an oven. This American heat is frightful.” “Let me fan you,” cried Gretel, eager to atone for that slight feeling of discomfort, and seizing a fan from the table, she began plying it with rather unnecessary vigor. “It is refreshing,” murmured Fräulein, half closing her eyes. She was really looking very worn and tired, Gretel thought. “Oh, it is good to see you again, my child. Have you missed me?” “It seemed very strange after you went away,” said Gretel, trying to evade a direct reply to the question. “I missed my German lessons very much. How did you know I was coming home to-day?”