He was silent a moment; then he said, as if dazed by the thought: “I loved you.... I could love you. I thought you were everything good and glowing in the world. I worshiped you.... It was never you I loved, but a girl who never existed, some one I mistook for you; ... some one who never could have become what you have become; ... some one who was honest, not a friend and partner of spies; ... some one who could never have been touched by squalid defilement—”
She reached toward him and clutched both his cheeks with tense fingers, drawing his face toward hers. “Could I help it?” she said, fiercely. “Was it my fault? Could I say to God, I will not have this blood in my veins, and force Him to change it?...”
“German blood,” he said, moodily.
“German blood,” she repeated after him. “Do you think I would keep a drop of it if I could open a vein and let it out? It’s there. I can never get rid of it.”
“But it doesn’t compel you to this. It’s possible to be German and loyal.”
“I tell you I am loyal, Potter Waite—as loyal as you.”
“Who is Cantor?” he said.
“I don’t know,” she answered.
“And you call yourself loyal.... This minute, if he is awake, he is plotting to blow up the shops where I am making motors for America’s aeroplanes. He’s plotting to blow up and destroy other factories that work for the government.... What if he succeeds?... If he could destroy our plant and half a dozen more it would be a greater victory for Germany than the capture of an American army.... You can stop it. You can tell me what you know—all you know. It will show me how to reach him, for I can’t reach him now.... I know he’s guilty. You can tell me how to prove it.”
“I can’t. I tell you I don’t know.... Suspicion? What is suspicion? You don’t know what you are asking.”