“Oh, I don’t believe they care how anybody looks,” said innocent Molly. “They are only too thankful to get away for a little rest. Steve says they work like dogs at the submarine base. But, of course, you can come up to my room if you want to.” And she led the way indoors. “Where’s Gretel?” Ada inquired, on the way up-stairs. “In her room, writing letters,” said Molly. “She’ll be down by and by.” Ada lowered her voice. “Do you know, Molly, I think it’s a great pity Gretel hasn’t given up that horrid German name. She could call herself Douaine just as well as not, and it would be so much less embarrassing.” “Embarrassing,” repeated Molly, “I don’t see anything embarrassing about it. What do you mean?” “Why, in introducing her to people, of course. Nobody wants to meet a person named Schiller in these days, and some people even think it unusually kind of your father and mother to have Gretel here just now. Mrs. Appleton was speaking to Mother about it the other day, after the Red Cross meeting.” “I never heard of anything quite so silly in my life,” exclaimed Molly, indignantly. “Gretel is just as much an American as any of us. Lots of Americans have German names.” “Oh, I’m not saying anything against her,” protested Ada. “I only said it was a pity she wasn’t willing to be called Douaine instead of Schiller. Is this your room? How pretty it is.” And Ada, possibly judging from Molly’s expression that she had said enough on the subject of German names, hastened to lead the conversation into smoother channels. Gretel, in her own room, was finishing a long letter to Barbara. It was a pleasant, cheerful letter, telling of the little every-day happenings, and containing no word that would lead Mrs. Douaine to suppose her sister-in-law had a care in the world. And yet, as Gretel finished the last page, and addressed her envelope, her heart was far from being as light as Barbara imagined. “If I could only tell her and Percy about it,” she said with a sigh, “it would be so much easier. Percy is so wise and broad-minded, he would be sure to know what to do. But Fritz asked me not to mention him to any one, and he was Father’s best friend. Oh, I can’t believe that Fritz is doing anything wrong, and yet why should he object to people knowing who he is?” It was a very perplexing question, and Gretel leaned her chin in her hands, and thought long and earnestly. She heard the voices of visitors on the piazza, but felt in no hurry to go down-stairs and join her friends. It was a relief to be alone for a little while. Oh, why had she gone shopping with Mrs. Chester? Why had she ever met Fritz Lippheim? She resolved that, if possible, she would keep away from the town during the remainder of her visit. At last the clock on the stairs struck five, and Gretel roused herself with an effort.