Yet for a day or two nothing much was changed.Mr.Travers sent Sara Lee a note that be was taking up her problem with the Foreign Office; and he did indeed make an attempt.He also requested his wife to ask Sara Lee to tea.
Sara Lee was extremely nervous on the day she went.She wore a black jacket suit with a white collar, and she carried Aunt Harriet's mink furs, Aunt Harriet mourning thoroughly and completely in black astrachan.She had the faculty of the young American girl of looking smart without much expense, and she appeared absurdly young.
She followed the neat maid up a wide staircase to a door with a screen just inside, and heard her name announced for the first time in her life.Sara Lee took a long breath and went inside, to a most discouraging half hour.
Mr.Travers was on the hearth rug.Mrs.Travers was in a chair, a portly woman with a not unkindly face, but the brusque manner many Englishwomen acquire after forty.She held Sara Lee's hand and gave her a complete if smiling inspection.
"And it is you who are moving heaven and earth to get to the Front! You - child!"Sara Lee's heart fell, but she smiled also."But I am older than I look," she said."And I am very strong."Mrs.Travers looked helplessly at her husband, while she rang the bell for tea.That was another thing Sara Lee had read about but never seen - that ringing for tea.At home no one served afternoon tea; but at a party, when refreshments were coming, the hostess slipped out to the kitchen and gave a whispered order or two.
"I shall be frank with you," said Mrs.Travers."I think it quite impossible.It is not getting you over.That might be done.And of course there are women over there - young ones too.But the army objects very seriously to their being in danger.And of course one never knows -" Hervoice trailed off vaguely.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.She has three children, and -"She gulped.
"I thought everybody wanted to get help to the Belgians," she said.A slightly grim smile showed itself on Mrs.Travers' face.
"I'm afraid you don't understand.It is you we want to help.Neither Mr.Travers nor I feel that a girl so young as you, and alone, has any place near the firing line.And that, I fancy, is where you wish to go.As to helping the Belgians, we have four in the house now.They do not belong to the same social circles, so they prefer tea in their own rooms.You are quite right about their needing help too.They cannot even make up their own beds.""They are not all like that," broke in Mr.Travers hastily.
"Of course not.But I merely think that Miss - er - Kennedy should know both sides of the picture."Somewhat later Sara Lee was ushered downstairs by the neat maid, who stood on the steps and blew a whistle for a taxi - Sara Lee had come in a bus.She carried in her hand the address of a Belgian commission of relief at the Savoy Hotel, and in her heart, for the first time, a doubt of her errand.She gave the Savoy address mechanically and, huddled in a corner, gave way to wild and fearful misgivings.
Coming up she had sat on top of the bus and watched with wide curious, eyes the strange traffic of London.The park had fascinated her - the little groups of drilling men in khaki, the mellow tones of a bugle, and here and there on the bridle paths well-groomed men and women on horseback, as clean-cut as the horses they rode, and on the surface as careless of what was happening across the Channel.But she saw nothing now.She sat back and twisted Harvey's ring on her finger, and saw herself going back, her work undone, her faith in herself shattered.And Harvey's arms and the Leete house ready to receive her.
However, a ray of hope opened for her at the Savoy - not much, a prospect.
The Savoy was crowded.Men in uniform, a sprinkling of anxious- faced wives and daughters, and more than a sprinkling of gaily dressed and painted women, filled the lobby or made their way slowly up and down the staircase.It was all so utterly different from what she had expected - so bright, so full of life.These well-fed people they seemed happy enough.Were they all wrong back home? Was the war the ghastly thing they thought it?
Long months afterward Sara Lee was to learn that the Savoy was not London.She was to learn other things - that America knew more, through a free press, of war conditions than did England.And she was to learn what never ceased to surprise her - the sporting instinct of the British which made their early slogan "Business as usual." Business and pleasure- but only on the surface.Underneath was a dogged and obstinate determination to make up as soon as possible for the humiliation of the early days of the war.
