revail,
and said:

"By the way, Harburn, you remember the Holsteigs? I had a letter from
poor Mrs. Holsteig the other day; she seems terrified that they'll
intern her son, that particularly nice boy. Don't you think it's time
you let up on these unhappy people?"

The moment I reached the word Holsteig I saw I had made a mistake, and
only went on because to have stopped at that would have been worse
still. The hair had bristled up on his back, as it were, and he said:

"Holsteig? That young pup who was off to join the German army if he
could? By George, is he at large still? This Government will never
learn. I'll remember him."

"Harburn," I stammered, "I spoke of this in confidence. The boy is half
British, and a friend of mine. I thought he was a friend of yours too."

"Of mine?" he said. "No thank you. No mongrels for me. As to confidence,
Cumbermere, there's no such thing in war time over what concerns the
country's safety."

"Good God!" I exclaimed. "You really are crazy on this subject. That
boy--with his bringing-up!"

He grinned. "We're taking no risks," he said, "and making no exceptions.
The British army or an internment camp. I'll see that he gets the
alternatives."

"If you do," I said, rising, "we cease to be friends. I won't have my
confidence abused."

"Oh! Hang it all!" he grumbled; "sit down! We must all do our duty."

"You once complained to Holsteig himself of that German peculiarity."

He laughed. "I did," he said; "I remember--in the train. I've changed
since then. That pup ought to be in with all the other swine-hounds. But
let it go."

There the matter rested, for he had said: "Let it go," and he was a man
of his word. It was, however, a lesson to me not to meddle with men of
temperament so different from my own. I wrote to young Holsteig and
asked him to come and lunch with me. He thanked me, but could not, of
course, being confined to a five-mile radius. Really anxious to see him,
I motorbiked down to their house. I found a very changed youth; moody
and introspective, thoroughly forced in upon himself, and growing
bitter. He had been destined for his father's business, and, marooned as
he was by his nationality, had nothing to do but raise vegetables in
their garden and read poetry and philosophy--not occupations to take a
young man out of himself. Mrs. Holsteig, whose nerves were evidently at
cracking point, had become extremely bitter, and lost all power of
seeing the war as a w