“Why so pensive, Miss Gretel?” Stephen asked, taking the vacant seat beside Gretel, as the little motor-boat carried them swiftly up the river towards Norwich.
Gretel roused herself with a start.
“I didn’t know I was pensive,” she said, smiling. “I was thinking how lovely and peaceful it was out here on the water.”
“You looked as if your thoughts were about a thousand miles away from the rest of us,” said the young man. “I want to say something but I’m half afraid you may not like it.”
“Try and see,” said Gretel. “I don’t believe it is anything I shall object to.”
“It’s about the nonsense that little beast talked this afternoon. I’m afraid it hurt your feelings and it’s rather silly to mind those things, you know.”
“I know it is,” said Gretel. “I try not to be silly and I really don’t mind half as much as I did at first. I know a great many people feel very bitterly against the Germans, and I don’t suppose they can help it. I am an American, of course, but my father was a German and I loved him very dearly. It does hurt sometimes to hear people talk about his country as they do.”
“Of course it hurts,” said Stephen. “I can just imagine how I should feel about people who talked against the United States. The Germans have done some outrageous things and I hope they are going to be thoroughly licked, but it isn’t necessary to throw mud at people just because they happen to have had German ancestors. I’m awfully glad you look at the thing so sensibly.”
“Mr. Cranston,” said Gretel abruptly, “do you agree with Ada and Mr. Fairfax in what they said this afternoon about—about informing against people?”
Stephen hesitated for a moment and his merry, boyish face grew grave.