"I want to ask you something. You--you said to me that if you thought me a spy, you would not help me to escape from England. You said so, didn't you?" "Yes." "You mean it, don't you?" "I am afraid I do." "Why? You are not English. You are an American. America is neutral. Why are you an enemy to Germany?" "I can't tell you why," he said. "_Are_ you an enemy to Germany?" "Yes--a bitter one." "And if I were a spy, trying to escape from England--trying to escape--death--you would refuse to help me?" She had turned entirely toward him on the seat beside him; her child-like hands clasped on the robe over her knees, her child-like face, pale, sweet, wistful, turned to his. "Would you abandon me?" she asked. "The situation is impossible----" "Yes, but tell me." "I don't care to think of such a----" "Please answer me. Is your partisanship so bitter that you would wash your hands of me--let me go to my death?--go to your own, too, rather than help me?" "Miss Girard, you are losing your composure----" "No; I am perfectly composed. But I should like to know what you would do under such circumstances with a girl nineteen years old who stood in danger of death." "I can't tell you," he said, perplexed and impatient. "I can't tell now what I might do." "Would you denounce me?" "No, of course not." "Would you feel--sorry?" "Sorry!" He looked at her; "I should think I would!" "Sorry enough for me to help me get away?" "Yes." "Even if I carried military information to Germany?" He looked into her eyes searchingly for a moment. "Yes," he said; "I'd do what I could for you to get you out of England." "Even if I had lied to you?" "You couldn't lie to anybody." "But if I could? If I have lied and you found it out, would you still try to help me to get away?" "You are asking something that----" "Yes, you can answer it. You can think a while first and then answer. I want you to answer. I want to know what you'd do with me." "You make it a personal matter?" "Yes. I don't want to know what you'd do in theory; I wish you to tell me what you, personally, would do with me, Karen Girard, if you believed me to be a spy, and if you came to the conclusion that I had lied to you." "Why do you ask all this? You are over-wrought, unstrung----" "I am absolutely mistress of myself. And I wish to know what you would do with _me_? Would you let me die?" "No." "You'd stand by me still?" "Yes. There's no use mincing matters. Yes, I would." "You'd help me to leave England?" "Yes." "Why?" There fell a silence between them, and his face slowly reddened. "I am not sure why," he said slowly. "I am. Shall I tell you?" "Yes, tell me," he said, forcing himself to meet her clear gaze. "Very well, I'll tell you. It is because we are friends. And that is the real truth. I realize it. From the very beginning it was a friendship, without effort, instantly and mutually understood. Is it not true?" "Yes."