"I am—glad."
"Where were you—during the war?"
"In England."
The questions and answers flew back and forth without a semblance of hesitation.
"Yes, yes." Then the man mused. "There were thousands of foreigners at large in England—then."
"But not all were—spies."
The man lowered his eyes. A flush stole up to his brow. It was a flush of shame.
"I—I beg your pardon," he said. The mind had yielded to the man.
"Why should you? Your country should be first in your thoughts. You have not hurt me."
Ruxton passed one hand across his broad, fair forehead.