She implied, however,
that what one never knows was best unknown.
"I have a niece over there," she said as the tea tray came in. "Her
mother was fool enough to let her go. Now they can't get her back."
"Oh, dear!" said Sara Lee. "Can't they find her?"
"She won't come. Little idiot! She's in Paris, however. I daresay
she is safe enough."
Mrs. Travers made the tea thoughtfully. So far Mr. Travers had hardly
spoken, but he cheered in true British fashion at the sight of the tea.
Sara Lee, exceedingly curious as to the purpose of a very small stand
somewhat resembling a piano stool, which the maid had placed at her knee,
learned that it was to hold her muffin plate.
"And now," said Mr. Travers, "suppose we come to the point. There
doesn't seem to be a chance to get you over, my child. Same answer
everywhere. Place is full of untrained women. Spies have been using
Red Cross passes. Result is that all the lines are drawn as tight as
possible."
Sara Lee stared at him with wide eyes.
"But I can't go back," she said. "I--well, I just can't. They're
raising the money for me, and all sorts of people are giving things.
A--a friend of mine is baking cakes and sending on the money.
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