been nothing bold or offensive about the stranger's glance, yet there
was a certain curious intentness about it that filled Sahwah with a
strange confusion, a vague stirring within her of something unfamiliar,
something unknown. Outwardly there was nothing remarkable about him,
nothing to distinguish him from the thousands of other lads in khaki
that were to be seen everywhere one went, erect, trim, lovably
conceited. Why, then, should the heart of Sahwah the Sunfish suddenly
flutter at this casual meeting of the eyes with the man across the way,
and why did she turn sharply around and look out of the window?

Then a curious thing happened. The sunlight, which was so bright it was
making the others squint and draw the curtains, suddenly seemed to
Sahwah to be darkened, while a nameless fear stole into her heart and
oppressed her with a sense of lurking danger, of hovering calamity. Only
for a minute it lasted, and then she was herself again and the sunshine
struck into her eyes with intolerable splendor.

She shook herself slightly and turned her attention to Hinpoha, who was
speaking.

"Wouldn't it be dreadful if Veronica were to be interned?" Hinpoha was
saying.

"Veronica won't be interned," said Sahwah with an air of authority.
"It's only the Germans who are being watched so carefully, and have to
register with the police, and all that. Veronica isn't a German citizen,
she's a Hungarian. She will be perfectly safe. Her uncle is an American
citizen and is very patriotic; he was on the last Liberty Loan
committee."