“Don’t you think perhaps she might prefer being by herself?” she suggested. Gretel shook her head. “I think she would like to see me,” she said, and turned resolutely in the direction of the staircase. More than one pair of eyes looked after her curiously. “What can she see in that German woman to like so much?” said Kitty Sharp. “I can’t bear Fräulein myself, she’s so silly and sentimental, and did you see how she looked when Miss Minton told us war had been declared? I suppose she’s scared to death now we’ve gone into the war.” “Gretel likes her because she’s half German herself,” said Ada, scornfully. “If I were in Gretel’s place I should change my name. I wouldn’t be called Schiller, it’s so horribly German.” “Better not let her hear you suggest such a thing,” laughed Molly. “She’s terribly proud of her father. He really was a great musician, you know.” “Well, suppose he was,” scoffed Ada. “Nobody cares about German music now. If I were in Gretel’s place, I would never mention my father’s name. Her brother’s name is Douaine. I’m sure she could take it if she wanted to. If I had a German name I’d change it as quick----” Ada’s eyes snapped, and her lips tightened. Meantime Gretel had mounted the stairs, and made her way along the wide corridor to Fräulein’s room. The door was closed, and she received no response to her first gentle tap, but after waiting a moment, she turned the handle, and went in. The room was in darkness, but the light from the hall dimly revealed a motionless form lying on the bed, and at the opening of the door, the figure suddenly lifted its head. “Who is it?” inquired Fräulein, in a choked voice. “Only I,” said Gretel, and having closed the door, she made her way in the darkness to the bed. “I came to see if I could do anything for you. Oh, Fräulein dear, I’m so sorry! I know how unhappy you are.” Fräulein buried her face in the pillow, with a sob. “Oh, Liebchen,” she moaned, “it is frightful. My poor, dear country!” Gretel gave a start, and the color rushed up into her face. “I--I wasn’t thinking about your country,” she stammered; “I was only sorry because you are so unhappy.” “But it is of my poor country that I am thinking,” sighed the German woman. “My dear ones have suffered so cruelly. My two uncles were killed the first year, and the cousin to whom I was affianced is a prisoner in Russia.” “But the other countries have suffered just as much,” said Gretel, “and, after all, it was Germany that started the war.” Fräulein sat up suddenly. “You say that because you will only listen to one side,” she cried, and her voice shook with sudden anger. “You, who are a German yourself, should have a broad mind.” Gretel’s cheeks grew hotter, and even her heart began to beat rather fast. “I am not narrow-minded,” she said, indignantly, “and--and, I think you forget, Fräulein, that I am an American. My mother was an American, and I was born in New York.” Fräulein began to cry again.