"My dear child," remonstrated Mr. Travers, slightly exasperated,
"they're not thinking about you at all. The War Office has never heard
of you. It's a general rule."

Sara Lee was not placated.

"Let them cable home and find out about me. I can give them references.
Why, all sorts of prominent people are sending me money. They must
trust me, or they wouldn't."

There were no gaps for Henri now. Sara Lee did not care who heard her,
and even Mr. Travers had slightly raised his voice. Henri was divided
between a conviction that he ought to go away and a mad desire to join
in the conversation, greatly augmented when Sara Lee went to the window
and wiped her eyes.

"If you only spoke French--" began Mr. Travers.

Sara Lee looked over her shoulder. "But of course I do!" she said.
"And German and--and Yiddish, and all sorts of languages. Every spy
does."

Henri smiled appreciatively.

It might all have ended there very easily. Sara Lee might have fought
the War Office single-handed and won out, but it is extremely unlikely.
The chances at that moment were that she would spend endless days and
hours in anterooms, and tell her story and make her plea a hundred times.
And then--go back home to Harvey and the Leete house, and after a time,