“Do you mind my sitting here?” she asked with a smile.
Helène was so surprised at being spoken to by her that she could only nod her assent. She passed her gloved hand quickly over her face to wipe away the tears that had fallen unbidden.
“Don’t mind me, Fräulein. I know how you feel. I’ve been in trouble myself.”
Helène looked up and met two kindly brown eyes looking in sympathetic admiration into hers. The face, with its healthy coloring and expression of good nature, drew her in spite of herself. She could not resist its strong appeal. Smiling bravely, she said:
“I am in trouble; but I feel ashamed of my weakness in giving way. Thank you for your sympathy.” And rising, she made as if to go.
But the other put a restraining hand on her arm.
“Please, don’t let me drive you away. I’m a stranger here. Won’t you sit awhile for a chat. I think I saw you at the Art Exhibit. My name is Margaret Fisher. I am an American and am here on business. Don’t be frightened, I can assure you I’m a perfectly proper person. I may be able to help you, if you will let me, Fräulein.”
“You are very good,” replied Helène, reseating herself. “I, too, am a stranger here. This is my first visit to Hanover. My name is Helène—Helène Barton.”
“Helène—what a pretty name! Then you are not a native, though you talk like one. Well, I’m not looking for information, thank goodness. Are you staying long here, Miss Barton?”
“For a few weeks only. Both my parents were German born, but I know no one in this city.”