Mrs. Dainopoulos was not prepared to accept this as conclusive evidence, though she knew these illiterate people had their own mysterious news agencies.
"Well," she said, "you can't go to Athens just now, can you?"
"The Englishman will get me a passport," answered Evanthia. "He said he would get one."
"Did he though? That's very kind of him."
"Yes, he will do anything for me, anything."
"Have you sent word to your mother? I feel responsible for you, Evanthia dear."
"Oh, I come back," said the girl airily, "I come back."
"I don't believe you will," said Mrs. Dainopoulos gravely. "I don't believe you will."
"Yes, yes. Come back to my dear friend."
She did too, later on, very much damaged. She arrived in a crowded train of horse-cars, her clothes in a crushed old basket and a refugee ticket fastened to her blouse with a huge brass safety pin. She did not dwell on her adventures. So many women were going through very much the same thing. And Mr. Dainopoulos by that time was too rich and too busy getting richer to bother about a stray like her, and he did not ask. To the end it remained an impalpable grievance with her that she made no impression upon her dear friend's husband.