After tea we returned to the boat deck. The ship was approaching Queenstown harbour. There may be more beautiful spots on the surface of this earth than this harbour, but if so, Helen and I had never seen any of them.
"Ted, did you ever dream of such green grass! And look at those little white houses—like fairy houses, Ted! And the trees! What a funny shape they are, Ted. Look at them."
"I am looking, my dearest." I did not dare say what it meant to me to be nearing home. I thought it would sound disloyal to Helen and to the happiness we were bringing with us.
"There is an English cruiser, flying the white ensign," I exclaimed—a queer feeling inside me at the sight of her flag.
"Is that an English flag? I thought the English flag was red, with a union Jack in the corner."
"Helen!" I cried, in a voice more shocked than I realized it would sound. "You don't know the white ensign?"
"Ted, how can I possibly know all your beastly old flags?" she flared up. "Please don't look at me like that, Ted. What have I done?"—and a mist gathered quickly in her grey eyes.
"I forgot, dearest," I said, slipping my arm tightly around her. "Please forgive me. But that flag means we are home."
Her soft hand found mine and clung. "Home, Ted," she whispered, "our home." She looked at the cruiser lying near us. The ensign fluttered jauntily in the wind. "We are Americans, Ted," she said after a long pause. "I wonder if we ought to feel the way we do?"
"The best way is to love both our homes, Helen sweetheart."