Gretel gave a little start.
“You mean that your ship is going across?” she asked, with a sudden catch in her voice.
Stephen nodded.
“I haven’t said anything to my mother about it yet, but I think we shall have our sailing orders in a week or two. It will be hard on the mater—I’m her only son, you know, and we’ve always been a lot to each other—but if it were not for her sake, I should be glad to be off. There is plenty of work to be done over there, and it’s quite time we Americans got busy.”
Gretel was silent. Somehow she could not say what she wanted to say just then, and before she had steadied her voice a waiter was asking if he could bring them anything. He appeared so suddenly that it seemed to Gretel as if he must have been standing in the shadow all the time.
“Will you have anything more?” Stephen asked.
Gretel shook her head.
“I couldn’t possibly eat any more,” she said, but as she spoke her eyes were following the waiter, who was gliding quietly away.
“Then let’s go back to the ballroom and have another dance. What are you looking at so intently?”
“It’s—it’s that waiter,” faltered Gretel. “I’ve seen him somewhere before, but I can’t remember where.”