these difficult and dangerous times, anyhow?" he asks querulously and a trifle suspiciously. "The best thing you can do is to go home directly. And America is right across the water from here."
"But, Lieutenant," I gasp, "my trunk is in England and I've got to have a few clothes."
"No," he says, "personal reasons like that don't interest the British Government. Neither am I able to understand a journalistic mission which should take a woman travelling in these days of war." He looks at me. "The New Position of Women! It is not of sufficient interest to the British Government that I should let you go," he says with finality.
"I know, Lieutenant," I agree. "But surely you are interested in the Allies' war propaganda for the United States?" The light from the window shines full on his face and I can see a faint relaxation about the lines of his mouth. "Now I wish to go to England so that I may tell the story of the British women's war work. The readers of Pictorial Review are four million women who vote." The lieutenant stirs visibly. His sword rattles against the rounds of his chair.
Well, my request hangs in the balance like this for a week. At length one day he says, "I'm thinking about letting you go. I shall have to consult with my superior officer. I don't at all know that he will consent."
There is the day that I have almost given up hope. I am waiting again before the lieutenant's desk. He has gone for a last consultation with the superior
