"But Germany! Every son of Germany is a soldier!" Miss Greta's tone was just a trifle too superior.
But wasn't she right? Even the Pforzheims. They, too, were soldiers. These friendly, slightly ridiculous neighbors underwent in Napier's mind a sudden and violent transformation. They stripped off their stage tweeds, their check shirts, their superabundant jewelry; they stood in uniform. Severe, infinitely praktisch, six foot, each, of formidable enemy.
After tea there was a general movement.
"Coming for a stroll?" Julian stood looking down at Nan.
"Yes, but it is cold toward sunset in this Scotland of yours. I must have my jacket."
"Oh, well, where is it?" he demanded, with a touch of his absent-minded impatience.
She looked at him. "I don't know. In the coat-room, perhaps. You'll find it somewhere."
"Do you think I shall?" he questioned dubiously. "What's it like?"
"Well, of all things!" She sat up very straight. "You mean to say you never noticed? It isn't the very least like anybody else's."
"Oh, I dare say I'll remember it all right when I see it." Julian retired meekly to the coat-room.