“And you flew a big plane all the way! How wonderful! Shall there be many more of you?”
“No—I—” Mary broke off. She had been about to say, “I may be the only one. Mine is a special mission.”
“What a fool I am,” she thought.
“I came for the ride really,” she said, covering up deftly. “My father is over here somewhere.”
“Ah! You brave Americans!” the woman exclaimed. “They saved my country, France, in the last war and now—”
“Now you expect us to do it again,” Mary wanted to say. “And over here you are divided. You don’t really know what you want.”
She did not say this, nor did the woman finish, for at that moment a bright-eyed young woman in khaki entered the place and walked straight to their table to ask:
“Are you Mary Mason?”
“Yes.” Mary stood up.
“I’ve been asked to speak to you—that, that is I have a message for you.” The girl seemed embarrassed. “Perhaps—”