Scene.—Doctor Gottfried Schiller's apartment in Soho Square. Large room fronting the square. Three windows at back. Doors right and left. Fireplace on right. Pictures of composers on walls—Beethoven, Handel, Mozart, Chopin, Wagner; also a portrait of the Kaiser. Grand piano on right. Harp, violin, music-stand. Table, sideboard, and sofa on left.

It is afternoon, late in the autumn. Trees in square are almost leafless. A fire is burning. An elderly woman, Mrs. Schiller, is knitting by the fire. As curtain rises a military band (playing "Tipperary") is heard passing through the square, accompanied by the tramp of troops. Old woman listens, sighs. Sound of band dies away. Door on left is opened with a bang, and a young man comes bounding in. It is Otto Schiller, twenty years of age. He has an open telegram in his hand; is excited and overjoyed.

Otto.
Auntie!

Mrs. Schiller.
Well, Otto?

​Otto.
[Flourishing telegram.] A telegram from Freda.

Mrs. Schiller.
Freda?

Otto.
Don't you know? Freda Michel.

Mrs. Schiller.
The young Swiss governess you and Margaret met in Switzerland?

Otto.
Why, yes, last winter at St. Moritz. She's coming to London to take a situation.

Mrs. Schiller.
So Margaret was saying yesterday.

Otto.
The telegram is to Margaret, but as Margaret is out I've opened it. [Reading.] "Dover 2.20 p.m. Arrive Charing Cross at 4. Ask Otto to meet me.—Freda."

Mrs. Schiller.
Four o'clock?

Otto.
Yes, and it's nearly that now, so I'm off. [Snatching up cap from sideboard.] Auntie?

Mrs. Schiller.
Well?

Otto.
May I bring Freda back? Just for an hour or ​two before she goes to her situation? If I don't Margaret won't see her.

Mrs. Schiller.
{With a laugh.] Ha ha! Margaret!

Otto.
[Also laughing.] Well—all of us. You'll love Freda, auntie. Such a jolly little thing!

Mrs. Schiller.
Has she travelled far, Otto?

Otto.
All the way from Zurich. That's far enough in ordinary times, but in these war days, you know——

Mrs. Schiller.
[Rising.] Well, well! The girl will be tired after her long journey. Bring her back with you and I'll give her a cup of tea.

Otto.
[Bounding towards door and opening it.] Splendid! Oh, tell Margaret when she comes— Wait! I'll leave the telegram on the mantelpiece. [Puts open telegram in front of clock on mantelpiece.] See, I'm putting it here—Leb' wohl!

Mrs. Schiller.
Leb' wohl!

[Otto is rushing out by open door on right when, he collides with three men coming in. One wears the uniform of an Inspector ​of Police; another is a plain-clothes officer, and carries a notebook; the third is in the ordinary clothes of a gentleman.

Inspector.
[Stopping Otto.] One moment. Your name, please?

Otto.
[Bridling up.] What's that to you?

Inspector.
Come, don't be rude, young man. We are Inspectors of Police, making the register of enemy aliens under the new military regulations.

Otto.
[Trying to push past.] Are you indeed? Well, I've got to meet a train at Charing Cross at four o'clock, so if you'll be good enough to——

Inspector.
[Blocking way.] Your name, please.

Otto.
[Sulkily.] Otto Schiller, if you must know.

Officer in Plain Clothes.
He can be allowed to go.

Otto.
Can he? Enemy aliens, are we? Ugh!

[He goes out with snorts of contempt. The men step farther into the room. ​Inspector.
Sorry, ma'am. We shall be compelled to ask you a few questions.

Mrs. Schiller.
[Nervously.] Well?

[Inspector questions; plain-clothes officer writes answers in book; third man walks about room, looking at everything.

Inspector.
Is this the apartment of Doctor Gottfried Schiller?

Mrs. Schiller.
Yes, it is.

Inspector.
Then you are Mrs. Schiller?

Mrs. Schiller.
Yes, I am.

Inspector.
Your Christian name is—what is your Christian name?

Mrs. Schiller.
Marie.

Inspector.
Native of — what is your native place?

Mrs. Schiller.
Hagen, of Westphalia.

Inspector.
Lived long in London?

​Mrs. Schiller.
Ever since my son was born, and that's thirty years come Christmas.

Inspector.
Naturalized?

Mrs. Schiller.
No. My husband didn't think it necessary for a woman.

Inspector.
Your husband is a doctor of music, and Professor at—Where is he Professor?

Mrs. Schiller.
At the College of Music. I thought everybody in London knew that.

Inspector.
Native of——

Mrs. Schiller.
Same place—Hagen, Westphalia.

Inspector.
Has he been naturalized?

Mrs. Schiller.
Yes, he has—had to be when he took his professorship.

Inspector.
You speak of a son—what's his name?

Mrs. Schiller.
Friedrich. We call him Fritz. ​Inspector.
He lives with you?

Mrs. Schiller.
Yes, indeed he does.

Inspector.
And what's his profession?

Mrs. Schiller.
He's one of the night editors at Richter's.

Inspector.
The International Telegraphic Agency?

Mrs. Schiller.
Certainly.

Inspector.
[Looking round at gentleman.] H'm! And the young man Otto, who has just gone out? Is he another son?

Mrs. Schiller.
No, a nephew. Son of my husband's brother.

Inspector.
Husband's brother—does he live here also?

Mrs. Schiller.
I wish he did, poor soul!

Inspector.
Where then?

​Mrs. Schiller.
Nowhere. He's dead. If you are Inspectors of Police you must know all about that.

Inspector.
[Again looking round at gentleman.] Was he Doctor Paul Schiller?

Mrs. Schiller.
Indeed he was.

Inspector.
Got into trouble about passports in the first days of the war, didn't he?

Mrs. Schiller.
Dare say he did.

Inspector.
Was tried for treason, and got three years, I think?

Mrs. Schiller.
He didn't serve them, though. You know that. He died in prison, and then his poor children had to come to live with us.

Inspector.
So this young man Otto is one of them? What's his profession?

Mrs. Schiller.
He hasn't any. He was studying medicine, but when the war broke out he had to leave the hospital.

Inspector.
And his sister—what's her name?

​Mrs. Schiller.
Margaret.

Inspector.
Is she doing anything?

Mrs. Schiller.
No, but that's not her fault. Since her father's death she's been out every day looking for a situation as governess. She's out now, if you wish to know.

Inspector.
Clever girl, isn't she?

Mrs. Schiller.
The cleverest girl in London. The best one, too. But it's no use—she can get nothing.

[The gentleman at back now steps down. During the foregoing dialogue he has been seen at fireplace, looking at telegram, reading it, and putting it into his pocket.

Gentleman.
What is your niece like to look upon? Tall and dark, isn't she?

Mrs. Schiller.
Yes, she is.

Gentleman.
Has a strong, intelligent face, and large black eyes—isn't that so?

Mrs. Schiller.
Yes, indeed, and—but here is Margaret Schiller herself, so you can judge for yourself, sir.

​[The door on R. has been opened quietly and a young woman has entered. She is in outdoor costume and answers to the above description. The gentleman looks steadily at her for a moment.

Margaret.
[Quietly.] Were you asking for me, sir?

Inspector.
Yes, for the purpose of the register of enemy aliens under the new military regulations. But we've got all we want, and need trouble you no further. [Crossing to go.] Good day, Miss Schiller.

Other Officers.
[To Mrs. Schiller.] Good day to you, ma'am!

[The women make no reply. The men go out.

Margaret.
Oh, these English! They number us like cattle and treat us like dogs!

Mrs. Schiller.
[Drawing curtains, switching up lights.] It's all the war. We must keep up our hearts and make the best of it, dear.

Margaret.
[Sitting, removing her hat.] Where's Otto?

Mrs. Schiller.
Gone to the railway station.

​Margaret.
The railway station?

Mrs. Schiller.
Yes. Who do you think is coming by train? Your young friend from Switzerland.

Margaret.
Freda Michel?

Mrs. Schiller.
That's the name. She telegraphed—where's her telegram? Whatever has become of it? I thought Otto said he was putting it on the chimneypiece. I do believe it has fallen into the fire.

Margaret.
Never mind what has become of the telegram. What did it say, auntie?

Mrs. Schiller.
It said she was arriving at Charing Cross by the train at four.

Margaret.
So Otto has gone to meet her?

Mrs. Schiller.
[Putting kettle on fire.] Yes, and he's to bring her up for a cup of tea before she goes to her new situation. She's got one in London, it seems. Lucky girl, isn't she?

Margaret.
She's Swiss. If she'd been an "enemy alien"—— [Laughs bitterly.]

​Mrs. Schiller.
[Looking at her.] No chance to-day either, dear?

Margaret.
Neither to-day, nor to-morrow, nor any day, auntie.

Mrs. Schiller.
Wasn't the lady satisfied with your certificates?

Margaret.
Oh, my certificates were all right. But when she heard who I was——[Stops, with a gesture of despair.]

Mrs. Schiller.
Oh dear! Oh dear! Your father again, I suppose?

Margaret.
Yes, my poor father again. Oh, how they hate us, these English! How they hate and hate us.

Mrs. Schiller.
It's only the war, dear. War is a poison that seems to turn people's blood into gall.

Margaret.
Then the blood of the English must be all gall, auntie.

Mrs. Schiller.
Ours, too—you must admit that, Margaret.

Margaret.
Mine wasn't until they made it so. I was born here. I tried to love this country. [With emotion.]

​I wanted to be a good, true, loyal daughter of England. God knows I did. But they wouldn't let me. First father, then Otto, now myself— [Vehemently.] Very well, if they hate me, I hate them—why shouldn't I?

Mrs. Schiller.
Don't say that, Margaret. People can't go on hating each other for ever. The war will come to an end soon, and then all this bitterness will be over.

Margaret.
Never! It will never be over, auntie.

Mrs. Schiller.
It will—I'm sure it will. And, meantime, if you cannot find a situation there is always a home for you here, as long as the doctor and I have a roof to cover us.

Margaret.
But how long will that be, auntie? Uncle's pupils are leaving him, aren't they?

Mrs. Schiller.
That's true. But there's his professorship, you know. Your uncle's position at the College is so secure. They worship him there, Margaret.

Margaret.
[Wearily.] Ah, well——

Mrs. Schiller.
Besides, there's Fritz. It's easy to see your cousin is fond of you, and if you would only consent ​to marry him there would be no need to think of a situation.

Margaret.
Don't ask me to do that, auntie.

Mrs. Schiller.
Why shouldn't you? Fritz would be so happy, and as for me and the doctor—Why, here is the doctor! [An elderly man has entered on R. He looks dejected.] Gottfried! You're home early to-day, aren't you, dear?

Doctor.
[Sinking into a chair.] Yes, I am, Marie.

Mrs. Schiller.
[Anxiously.] Has anything—anything happened?

Doctor.
I'm dismissed.

Mrs. Schiller.
Dismissed from the College?

Doctor.
That's so. The governors held their quarterly meeting to-day, and in the middle of a lesson they sent for me. They were sorry—very sorry—but since the sinking of that troopship public feeling had become so strong against persons of enemy origin that it was impossible to keep on an alien professor any longer. So in the interests of the College they were compelled—reluctantly compelled—to dispense with my services immediately.

​Mrs. Schiller.
Immediately, Gottfried?

Doctor.
[Nodding.] Then and there—from that very moment.

Mrs. Schiller.
Oh dear! Oh dear! It will be a terrible blow to us. But we must keep up heart, and as soon as the war is over——

Doctor.
Are we to starve in the meantime, Marie?

Mrs. Schiller.
Don't say that, Gottfried. Our income will be less, and we shall have to pinch. But there is Fritz. Before the war began his directors promised him a rise in his salary at Christmas, and only this evening when he went off to the office——

[The door on R. has opened again, and a young man has entered; about twenty-nine; intelligent-looking, rather cynical.

Mrs. Schiller.
Fritz!

Fritz.
Mother!

Mrs. Schiller.
[Nervously.] Have you—have you come back for something?

Fritz.
[Laughing bitterly.] Yes, for good.

​Mrs. Schiller.
Has—has anything happened at the office?

Fritz.
No, not much. I'm discharged—that's all.

Mrs. Schiller.
You, too, Fritz?

Fritz.
The moment I got in, the managing director sent for me. He had a serious announcement to make.

Doctor.
Ah!

Fritz.
Last night there had been questions in Parliament. Was it true that persons of enemy origin were being employed as editors at certain continental telegraphic agencies?

Doctor.
Ha ha!

Fritz.
Result—a hint from the Home Office this morning that all such persons were to be got rid of immediately.

Mrs. Schiller.
But why should they be so cruel?

Fritz.
[Laughing bitterly.] Why? They said news of the transport of troops had become known to the enemy—that ten thousand of them had been sunk—— ​Mrs. Schiller.
Sunk? Did they mean the soldiers on those troopships?

Fritz.
Yes, the British soldiers who were being sent over to slaughter our own.

Mrs. Schiller.
But you had nothing to do with that, had you, Fritz?

[Margaret raises her head and listens. Fritz laughs bitterly. Doctor Schiller makes a warning gesture to him.

Fritz.
Never mind whether I had or hadn't. It all came to the same thing, mother. I was paid a month's salary and—sacked! [Laughs bitterly.]

Mrs. Schiller.
[Rocking herself in her chair.] Oh dear! Oh dear! Just what happened to your father.

Fritz.
Father, too!

Mrs. Schiller.
Yes, yes, they've behaved badly to both of you. But it's all the war, and when things have got down to their worst they are sure to mend. So——

Margaret.
[Whose face has grown more and more dark with gathering passion.] But who knows if things have got down to their worst, auntie?

​Mrs. Schiller.
They have, dear—I'm sure they have. Last night at the club it was enough to make a woman's heart bleed to see so many women in trouble. There was poor Mrs. Weber, whose husband was taken for signalling, or something—[There is a knock on the door at R.] Who's there? Come in! [Middle-aged man of the professional class enters.] Oh, is it you, Dr. Hoffmann?

Hoffmann.
[Looking round.] You're engaged?

Doctor.
No, no, sit down, Hoffmann.

Hoffmann.
[Sitting.] Sorry to bring bad news, doctor. It's about the club.

Doctor.
Our Goethe Club?

Hoffmann.
Yes. You remember the stranger who came in and stood at the back last night at the end of Margaret's lecture?

Doctor.
[Nodding.] Well?

Hoffmann.
He turns out to have been a detective. And this morning our club-room was raided, doors sealed, everything carried away.

Doctor.
But why?

​Hoffmann.
Because the police believe our club to be a centre of conspiracy, a secret organization.

Doctor.
But it isn't. It never——[Checks himself, looks towards Margaret and stops.]

Fritz.
But why shouldn't it be?

Mrs. Schiller.
Fritz!

Fritz.
If the Government of this accursed country have determined to treat us as conspirators, why shouldn't we be conspirators?

Mrs. Schiller.
Fritz! Fritz!

Fritz.
If we're not we ought. I know where we can get money enough for that purpose anyway.

Mrs. Schiller.
Fritz, whatever are you saying?

Doctor.
Hold your tongue, Marie. Don't you see what they are doing, these English ? Fritz is right—quite right.

Fritz.
They'll be sending round their inquiry books and making a register of enemy aliens next.

​Doctor.
So they will.

Margaret.
They're doing that already, uncle.

Doctor.
Already?

Margaret.
When I came home this evening there were three Inspectors of Police in the house.

Doctor.
That means internment. Before long we shall be shut up in a camp, and driven mad, or worse, as our people were during the last war.

Margaret.
Oh, I hate them! I hate them!

Mrs. Schiller.
Don't say that, Margaret.

Margaret.
But I do say it. And never as long as I live will I set foot in an English house again.

Mrs. Schiller.
Don't say that either. We've lived thirty years among the English, your uncle and I, and found many kind friends among them. It's not the people's fault! It's the Government over them.

Hoffmann.
That's true. It's not so much the English nation as the man at the head of it.

​Doctor.
Sir Robert Temple!

Hoffmann.
Yes, that hypocrite, that tyrant. It was he who made this accursed war.

Doctor.
It was he who made these military regulations, anyway, and sent so many of our people to their death.

Margaret.
[With emotion.] My father—my poor dear father—among them.

Hoffmann.
The man has no bowels of compassion for anybody.

Margaret.
[Quivering.] Oh, is there no way to punish him?

Fritz.
Punish him? A Minister of State? What way can there be? He has the whole machinery of government to protect him.

Margaret.
But if it's impossible to reach him in his own person, has he no friends, no relations, no wife, no child . . .

Mrs. Schiller.
Margaret, what are you saying? Surely you wouldn't make the innocent suffer for the guilty?

​Margaret.
[Rising, fiercely.] Why shouldn't I? Hasn't he? What about Otto's sufferings and mine? If I could make him suffer as he made my father suffer, as he is making us all suffer, do you think I wouldn't do it?

Mrs. Schiller.
No, Indeed, you wouldn't.

Margaret.
I would! As God is my witness I would! Oh, if I could only have the chance! I would sacrifice my life for it! I hate him! I hate him!

[The door on R. flies open with a bang, and Otto returns, carrying a suit-case, which bears foreign labels, and followed by a young girl, with fair hair.

Otto.
Here she is, auntie. This is Freda.

Mrs. Schiller.
[Shaking hands.] Glad to see you, Freda.

Freda.
Thank you, Mrs. Schiller. Margaret!

Margaret.
Freda! [The girls embrace and kiss.

Mrs. Schiller.
[To Doctor.] Freda is a Swiss friend of Otto's and Margaret's. She has just arrived from Zurich, and Otto has brought her up to tea.

​Doctor.
She comes in a dark hour, but she's welcome. [Shaking hands with Freda.] Sit down, my child.

[General salutations.

Mrs. Schiller.
[At table.] Yes, come—let us sit down at the table.

Otto.
Yes, let's sit down to tea.

[Tea is served. There is general chatter for a moment.

Margaret.
[Side by side with Freda.] So you've come to London to take the situation you wrote about?

Freda.
Yes, as governess to a little girl. But what do you think has happened? The English lady who engaged me in the Engadine has died.

Margaret.
Died in the meantime?

Freda.
Yes, she died shortly after arriving in London. But her sister—Lady Dorothy Nugent, such a nice lady—she wrote to say that my lady's husband wished me to come just the same.

Margaret.
[Startled.] Did you say Lady Dorothy Nugent, Freda?

​Freda.
Yes, that's the name. She keeps house for her brother-in-law, seemingly.

Margaret.
And what—what is her brother-in-law's name, Freda?

Freda.
Lord Robert—no, Sir Robert Temple.

Several Voices.
[As if thunderstruck.] Temple! Sir Robert Temple!

Freda.
Is that a well-known name in England, then?

[A strained silence, the men looking into each others faces.

Margaret.
[Her hand to her forehead as if she had been struck a blow.] Oh, quite—quite!

Otto.
[Plying Freda with food.] More bread and butter, Freda. You must be as hungry as a horse after that long journey.

Freda.
I am. Don't you see I am? But I mustn't stay long. They'll be expecting me, and think I'm lost if I don't arrive soon.

Margaret.
[After a pause, clutching at Freda's arm at at a ​new thought.] Freda, have you ever seen Sir Robert Temple?

Freda.
Never!

Margaret.
Has he ever seen you?

Freda.
Not that I know of.

Margaret.
Did he never come up to the Engadine while his wife was an invalid there?

Freda.
Yes, but I never met him.

Margaret.
Did Lady Dorothy ever come?

Freda.
No.

Margaret.
Did you ever see anybody else with Lady Temple—anybody from England, I mean?

Freda.
Nobody except her maid.

Margaret.
Ah!—and did her maid return with her to London?

Freda.
No. She left her at St. Moritz and went away ​with an Italian family to Florence, when my lady's husband came up to take her home.

Margaret.
Then there is nobody at Sir Robert Temple's house now who has ever seen you before?

Freda.
Nobody whatever.

Margaret.
When you arrive there you will be quite a stranger?

Freda.
Quite.

Margaret.
And except that a Swiss girl named Freda Michel is coming from Zurich to be governess to the child they will know nothing about you?

Freda.
Nothing at all.

Margaret.
The only member of the family who ever saw you was Lady Temple?

Freda.
Yes, Lady Margaret Temple.

Margaret.
And she is dead!

Freda.
Yes, she is dead.

Margaret,
Ah!

[Breathless silence among the company.

​Freda.
But why do you ask, Margaret? I'm not afraid to go into a strange family. When a girl has to earn her living she can't afford to be afraid. Besides, Lady Dorothy must be a dear, and if you had heard what my lady used to say about her husband you would think he was a saint, an angel.

Margaret.
[Impulsively, excitedly.] Freda, would you do me—Otto, all of us—a great kindness?

Freda.
My dear, you know I would.

Margaret.
Then—then—let me go to Sir Robert Temple's house instead of you.

Freda.
You mean in my place?

Margaret.
Yes, as if I were Freda Michel, who had come from Zurich to be governess to his little girl.

Freda.
[Rising.] Margaret!

Margaret.
It's not the salary—you shall have that. I have something to do that can only be done in that house.

Mrs. Schiller.
Margaret, whatever are you thinking of?

​Margaret.
Hush! Leave this to me, auntie!

Doctor.
Yes, leave it to her, Marie. Margaret knows what she's doing.

Margaret.
[Drawing Freda back into her chair, speaking rapidly, passionately.] Listen, dear. Sir Robert Temple is not the good man you suppose him to be, but a cruel tyrant, who persuaded the English to begin this wicked war, and has been the real cause of untold suffering among our people. My father—Otto's and mine—I told you in my letters our poor father was dead, but I didn't tell you how he died. He died in prison. Yes, in prison—killed, murdered, for doing what any good man would have done for his Fatherland. Sir Robert Temple did that, too. And now he is going to shut us all up in internment camps—behind barbed wire—men and women as well, perhaps—and treat us like lepers and dogs. Yet we can't retaliate. He is so far above us that we can't reach him to punish him. But if only somebody could get close to him—some woman by preference—into his house, as governess or secretary—she might find a way—who knows?—to put an end to his tyrannies. Let me go in your place, dear, let me, let me.

Freda.
[Troubled.] But think—think of the risk.

Margaret.
There would be no risk for you, and I can take care of myself, dear.

​Freda.
But if you go to Sir Robert Temple's instead of me, what am I to do, Margaret?

Margaret.
Stay here with Otto and uncle and aunt and Cousin Fritz.

Mrs. Schiller.
[In alarm.] But, Margaret, if the Inspectors come again and ask for Margaret Schiller——

Margaret.
Freda Michel will be here to stand for her. [To Freda.] Say you agree—say you agree.

Freda.
[Wavering.] It's true this gentleman is nothing to me, and if he is the bad man you say——

Margaret.
He is—he is.

Freda.
Anyway he is nothing to me, and I know nothing about him, whereas you and Otto——

Margaret.
[Throwing her arms about Freda.] Then you agree? You darling! [Leaping up.] That's settled then. What luggage have you?

Freda.
Only this suit-case, and a trunk downstairs.

​Margaret.
[Picking up suit-case.] This will do. [Reading label.] "Zurich." Good! Give me the keys. [Taking keys from Freda.] We must change wardrobes, you know.

Mrs. Schiller.
What are you going to do, Margaret?

Margaret.
[Going in on L.] Don't ask me. I don't know myself yet. Give me a month in that house and we shall see.

Mrs. Schiller
But why——

Margaret.
[At door.] Why am I going there? Because it is the centre of everything—the war and all the abominations of the world. Oh, to be a month in that house! Only a month! [She goes out L.

Mrs. Schiller.
But, Margaret——

Doctor.
Leave her alone, Marie.

Hoffmann.
Yes, leave her alone. Exceptional women have impulses, instincts, intuitions——

Fritz.
If Margaret only manages her cards well now——

Hoffmann.
Trust her—trust her.

​Doctor.
Remember her father—my poor brother Paul——

Fritz.
She may destroy this man who is destroying us.

Hoffmann.
She may.

Fritz.
Women have done such things before in the history of the world—why shouldn't Margaret?

Doctor.
Why shouldn't she?

Mrs. Schiller.
Gottfried!

Doctor.
Hush!

[Sounds of drawers being violently opened and closed within. Silence on stage, everybody motionless. Then Margaret returns, carrying suit-case, also cloak and hat.

Margaret.
[To Freda.] I've thrown your clothes on my bed, dear, and put in enough of my own for the present. Now, Otto, fetch me a taxi.

Otto.
[Who has been listening uneasily.] But, Margaret, isn't there something you've forgotten?

​Margaret.
What?

Otto.
Although there is nobody at Sir Robert Temple's house who knows Freda, isn't it possible there may be somebody who knows you?

Margaret.
[Putting on cloak and hat.] Margaret Schiller? In the house of a Minister of State? What an idea! Come, run off for the cab.

[Otto goes off R. Fritz comes down.

Fritz.
But isn't there another possibility?

Margaret.
What is that?

Fritz.
[Nervously.] If Temple is the sort of man people say, isn't it possible that he may take advantage of the presence in his house of a young girl—a beautiful girl——

Margaret.
[Laughing wildly.] That would be the most glorious chance of all. I would give the world for it!

[Otto returns.

Otto.
Here you are. Got one at the door.

Margaret.
Shoulder the bag then. [Otto and Fritz go out R.] Good-bye, auntie! Don't look so frightened. [Kissing her.] Good-bye, uncle! Don't be afraid for me.

​[Kissing him.] Good-bye, Dr. Hoffmann! Good- bye, Freda! You dearest, dearest girl! It will be all right. You'll see it will. Good-bye, everybody!

[She is at the door, about to go out, when a military band, playing a patriotic tune, is heard passing through the square with soldiers marching to it, and singing as they march.

[Margaret stands listening—her face is quivering with passion. As the playing and singing are dying down, she sweeps round to the piano and bangs out the tune of "Deutschland über Alles."

Mrs. Schiller.
[Terrified.] Margaret! Margaret!

[Margaret stops on a broken bar, rises, steps to door, and as the singing dies off she recites in a wild, fierce, mocking, defiant voice.

Margaret.
" French and Russian, they matter not,
A blow for a blow, and a shot for a shot.
We love them not, we hate them not,
We love as one, we hate as one,
We have one foe, and one alone—
⁠England!"

[Laughs wildly and goes out, clashing the door behind her. The others stand dazed. The military band dies away in the distance.