Fritz Lippheim shook his head.
“I fear not,” he said. “War changes many things, as I said before. My business here is of rather a private nature, and—may I ask a favor of you, little Gretel?”
“Certainly,” said Gretel, her face falling. “I will do anything I can for you, Fritz, for the sake of the dear old days.”
“It is merely that you will not mention to any of your friends that you have met me. We may meet again in happier times, when I can explain, but at present I cannot say any more.”
Gretel’s heart gave a great bound of fear, and then sank down, down like lead. She hoped her old friend would not notice how startled she was.
“I won’t tell any one,” she said in a low, embarrassed voice. “I’m sorry I spoke to you, if you didn’t want to be recognized, but I had no idea——” Gretel paused abruptly, fearing the man would hear the tremor in her voice.
Fritz Lippheim caught her hand impulsively.
“It isn’t that I am not pleased to see you, Gretel,” he said earnestly. “Indeed, I am glad to find my little friend again, and to know that she has not forgotten me, but there are reasons, important reasons, which I cannot explain at present. Will you try to believe that, Gretel, and not think too unkindly of poor old Fritz?”
His voice was so kind, and his smile reminded her so strongly of the old friend of her childhood that Gretel’s face brightened.
“All right, Fritz,” she said in a very different tone. “Now, I must hurry, or Mrs. Chester will be waiting for me.”