"What things?"
"I can't tell anybody that. But it's because I didn't do something I'd promised, that's why Julian's here. Since there are things I can't do, it's my business to do what I can." Very wisely Newcomb sat silent; she, too, as long as she could bear it. "I've told you this,—you see how private it is,—but I've told you because—" Her voice clouded. She turned away her head.
"Isn't it because you realize that I'd like to be of some use if I could?"
"Would you—could you help about him—about Mr. Grant?"
Newcomb's moment of silence unnerved her.
"Oh, if you knew how we all tried to keep him in America!"
"Wouldn't he have stayed," Newcomb dared to ask, "if you had stayed?"
"No! no! Oh, you don't understand Julian. He has a duty—to the other men at home and to the country. He thinks he can help; you've heard him. 'While some men, who see it that way, are fighting for liberty abroad, it's laid on others to fight for liberty at home.' I could almost be glad he is so ill if only we had landed and I could get him home to Scotland! I didn't know whether you might, perhaps, be willing to help me to do that."
"Willing? I would indeed be willing. The question is: my power, anybody's power."
She bent forward, but the breath that should have gone in words she held an instant. And then very low the syllables fell out: "What will they do—when we land?"