“What are you doing here?” Gale asked, still advancing.
As if to meet her challenge, the woman flashed on her own light and allowed it to play upon the American girl’s face.
“Oh! You are one of those lady soldiers. So strange.” The woman spoke in low, musical tones. Her English was perfect, but she spoke with a peculiar accent.
“I am a WAC,” said Gale. “And I still want to know what you are doing here. These are military grounds. Only those in uniform are allowed to be here without military escort.”
“This is my country!” the woman replied sharply. “I go where I please. There has been a bombing. Is it not so? I find the results of these bombings of intense interest. Why should I not observe them?”
“Because it is against military orders,” Gale snapped.
“You are not of the Military Police. You are only one of those women who were sent because there are not enough men in America to fight a war.” There was a suggestion of scorn in the woman’s voice.
“I am not a member of the military police,” Gale replied in a steady voice. (Inside she was seething with anger.) “I can, however, report you, and shall do so unless you leave the grounds at once.”
“In that case I shall go. But without question, we shall meet again.” The woman laughed mirthlessly. “I am known to your colonel and many others of some importance.” At that the woman in purple gathered up the edges of her long gown and proudly marched away into the night.
“I got what I wanted,” Gale thought. “Wonder if it’s what I wanted, after all?” At that she resumed her circling search, but without visible results. So interested was she in her search that she started violently when a voice said: