“There is no hurry,” said Mrs. Chester, good-naturedly; “I have only just finished my errands. Mr. Fairfax is telling me about the dance they are going to have at The Griswold on the Fourth. All the sailors from the station are to be there, and all the proceeds are to go for the French Ambulance Corps. I must see about getting tickets at once.” [Illustration: GRETEL COULD NOT HELP NOTICING THAT THE YOUNG MAN WAS REGARDING HER IN A RATHER PECULIAR MANNER.--_Page 144._] Mr. Fairfax and Gretel shook hands, but though pleasant enough in his manner, Gretel could not help noticing that the young man was regarding her in a rather peculiar manner. She was very silent during the short drive that followed. Try as she might to fix her attention on what Mrs. Chester was saying, her thoughts would insist on wandering back to Fritz Lippheim and his strange request. There had never been anything strange or mysterious about Fritz in the old days, when he came to play his violin at her father’s studio. He had been just a kind, simple young man, who loved children, and was devotedly attached to his old mother. She had stayed with the Lippheims for a short time after her father’s death, and would never forget their goodness to her. But now--ah, it was quite true, war had indeed changed many things. What could Fritz be doing here in New London that was of such a private nature that he must not be recognized? Fritz was a German, born in Berlin. Oh, what did it all mean? Gretel felt suddenly cold and sick with apprehension. “I think that is one reason why we sisters have been so very close to each other all our lives,” Mrs. Chester was saying in her cheerful, placid voice, and Gretel came back to her present surroundings with the realization that she had not the slightest idea what her companion was talking about. “Yes, of course, it must be very lovely to have sisters,” she faltered, as Mrs. Chester paused, evidently expecting a comment of some kind. “Molly has told us about some of the funny times you used to have when you were little girls. You knew Mr. Chester then, too, didn’t you?” “Yes; he was a sort of connection of ours, and used to come and stay at the old house on Washington Square. His grandmother had married our grandfather, and we lived with her for some years after our mother died. I shall never forget the day my sister Dulcie lured Paul and me off to try to rescue a stolen child.” And Mrs. Chester was off again, on another story, during which I fear Gretel’s thoughts wandered more than once. They reached the station just as the train was coming in, and in the bustle and interest of meeting her sister Mrs. Chester quite forgot Gretel’s inattentiveness, which, indeed, she had scarcely noticed. Mrs. Chester’s “Literary Sister” was a tall lady, with a strong, clever face, and a crisp, rather abrupt manner, but her eyes and voice were kind, and her greeting to Gretel was a very hearty one.