“Certainly not,” Gretel’s sister-in-law answered, with so much decision that Geraldine’s face brightened perceptibly.
“I knew you didn’t,” she said in a tone of relief, “but it’s ever so comforting to hear you say it.”
“It is all a great mystery,” said Mrs. Douaine, sadly, “but of one thing Percy and I are absolutely certain, and that is that Gretel was not to blame in any way. She is as true as steel, and devoted to us all. Something terrible must have happened, but it was through no fault of hers.”
“Then you don’t believe that silly story about talking with a strange man in the street?”
“I think there was probably some mistake. The man may merely have stopped to ask Gretel a question. I am sorry such a story should have been started, for, of course, people will talk. There is such a strong feeling against all Germans just now, and poor Gretel’s German name tells against her, but I am sure that none of the child’s friends will ever believe anything wrong about her. I have had several such dear letters from the schoolgirls. I was just answering a beautiful one from Miss Minton herself. We had no idea what a favorite Gretel was; she was so gentle and modest, and never put herself forward in any way. I have kept all the letters, thinking you might like to read them.”
“I should love to,” said Geraldine, “but—but, Mrs. Douaine, there is something that I think perhaps I ought to tell you first. I am afraid something did happen to Gretel one afternoon in New London.”
Mrs. Douaine looked very much startled.
“Why do you think so?” she asked. “Oh, Geraldine, you haven’t been keeping anything back that might have helped us, have you, dear?”
Geraldine hid her face on her friend’s shoulder.
“I don’t think it could have helped,” she whispered. “I had forgotten all about it till this morning, when Eugenie told me what was in the paper. It was one day when Gretel went shopping with Mrs. Chester. I was in our room when she came home, and she seemed rather queer and excited. She cried about the war, and kept saying how terrible it was, and that night I heard her crying, too. I thought some one had hurt her feelings by saying something about her being German. But she wouldn’t tell me when I asked her, and I was a little provoked because we always tell each other everything. She seemed all right again the next day, but I spoke to Jerry about it and he thought, as I did, that some one had been rude or unkind. Afterwards we both forgot about it, and I don’t suppose I should ever have remembered it again if it hadn’t been for that horrid story. There was a horrid little boy—a cousin of Ada Godfrey’s—who said something about Gretel having run off with the Germans, but nobody paid any attention to him, and Jerry punched his head for telling such stories. You don’t suppose it could have been a German she met that day, and that he could have carried her off and shut her up somewhere, do you?”