"It is meself that is at your service, my lady," he answered, quietly.
"I'm engaged. But it's a secret."
His jaw dropped, "Engaged!" he faltered. "But—who to? And why is it a secret?"
"I can't tell you who to. I promised to keep it secret; and then he suddenly went away and the war broke out and I've never seen him since."
"But you've heard from him?"
She bit her lip and looked away. "Not a line," she faltered.
"But—I don't understand." His tone was infinitely tender. "Why hasn't he written to you? Violet girl, why would he not have written?"
"You see, he's a——" She seemed to be nerving herself to speak. "You see, he's a German!"
It was out at last.
"Mother of God!" Dick leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on her, his cigarette unheeded, burning the tablecloth. "Do you love him?"