"But, my dear Sylvia, I can't possibly procure an English passport for her. She's not English."
"I want her to be my sister," Sylvia pursued. "I'm prepared to adopt her and to be responsible for her. Any difference in the name she has been generally known by can easily be put down to the needs of the stage. I myself want to take once more my own name, Sylvia Snow, and I thought you could issue two passports, one to Sylvia Snow, professionally known as Sylvia Scarlett, and the other to Queenie Snow, known professionally as Queenie Walters. Surely you won't let mere pedantry interfere with a deed of charity?"
"It's not a question of pedantry. This is war-time. I should render myself liable to—to—a court martial for doing a thing like that. Besides, the principle of the thing is all wrong."
"But you don't seem to understand."
"Indeed I understand perfectly," Philip interrupted. "This girl was born in Germany."
"Of an Italian father."
"What papers has she?" he asked.
"None at all. That's the whole point. She couldn't get even a German passport if she wanted to. But she doesn't want one. She longs to be English. It's the solitary clear ambition that she has. She was living in England before war broke out, and she only came away to help this girl who was kind to her. Surely the most rigid rule can be unbent to fit a special case?"
"I could not possibly assume the responsibility," Philip declared.
"Then you mean to say you'll condemn this child to damnation—for that's what you're doing with your infernal rules and regulations? You're afraid of what will happen to you."