"Nothing on earth could stir me as deeply, Karen. Unless—America were in danger."
"I—I can't understand."
"Let me help you. My family was Belgian. For many years we have been good and loyal Americans. America means home. But, nevertheless, we inherit obligations toward the country of our origin which, so far, time has not extinguished.... When I became of military age I went to Belgium and served my time in the Belgian army. Then I went—home. My father did it before me. My grandfather before him. My younger brother will do it, God willing. It is our custom to fulfill our obligations," he added with a faint smile, "even when those obligations seem to others a trifle fanciful and old-fashioned."
She bent her fair head in silence, considering for a space, her hand resting rather lifelessly in his. And, after a few moments: "But how does all this interfere with our friendship?" she asked innocently.
"It does not.... Only I could not let you take those papers to Germany, Karen."
"But I've promised."
"You promised to do it if it were possible." He lifted her hand to his lips. "But—it has become impossible, Karen."
"Another ship may not interfere."
"No. But I must—interfere."
"You! Kervyn!"