“I don’t think it could have helped,” she whispered. “I had forgotten all about it till this morning, when Eugenie told me what was in the paper. It was one day when Gretel went shopping with Mrs. Chester. I was in our room when she came home, and she seemed rather queer and excited. She cried about the war, and kept saying how terrible it was, and that night I heard her crying, too. I thought some one had hurt her feelings by saying something about her being German. But she wouldn’t tell me when I asked her, and I was a little provoked because we always tell each other everything. She seemed all right again the next day, but I spoke to Jerry about it and he thought, as I did, that some one had been rude or unkind. Afterwards we both forgot about it, and I don’t suppose I should ever have remembered it again if it hadn’t been for that horrid story. There was a horrid little boy--a cousin of Ada Godfrey’s--who said something about Gretel having run off with the Germans, but nobody paid any attention to him, and Jerry punched his head for telling such stories. You don’t suppose it could have been a German she met that day, and that he could have carried her off and shut her up somewhere, do you?” Mrs. Douaine hesitated. “I scarcely think it likely,” she said. “What possible object could any German have in doing such a thing? I will tell Percy when he comes in, though, and he will do what he thinks best about informing the police. We must not keep anything back that may prove a possible clue. Of course, it is possible that Gretel might have met some old German friend of her father’s, and not mentioned the fact to any one, but I don’t for a moment believe it had the slightest connection with what has happened.” “I suppose we shall have to tell everything,” sighed Geraldine, “but I can’t bear to have people saying and thinking horrid things about Gretel.” “My dear,” said Mrs. Douaine, gently, “when we know a thing to be untrue ourselves, why should we mind what foolish people may say? We know positively that Gretel did not go away on purpose, that whatever happened was through no fault of hers, so let us try to forget all the unkind things people may say, and just keep on hoping and praying all the time. What is it, Dora?” “A lady to see you, ma’am,” announced Dora in the doorway. “I told her you couldn’t see anybody, but she seems awful upset and says she must see either you or Mr. Douaine. I think”--lowering her voice--“I think she’s German.” “Show her up,” said Mrs. Douaine, with sudden eagerness. “It may be a clue,” she added to Geraldine, as Dora left the room. There was a moment of silence; then the sound of approaching footsteps. “I’ll go and meet her,” Mrs. Douaine said, rising, but before she could reach the door, the visitor was already on the threshold. “Fräulein!” cried Geraldine, springing to her feet, “why, it’s Fräulein.” And she hurried forward, both hands outstretched.