“My daughter speaks better English than I do, Mr. McCallum,” he said. “And if I know her, she will be excited for an opportunity to use it!”

“Forgive me.”

“Think nothing of it,” replied Sabina with a musical laugh. Her English was perfect, just as her father had noted, but yet held a delicate and charming Germanic accent.

“Miss von Dortmann, I am Thaddeus McCallum.”

“I am pleased to meet you,” she said, extending her hand.

“And this is my son, Matthew.”

The two young people shook hands. Neither said a word. Their eyes locked for the briefest of instants, then both looked away.

It had been enough.

They had seen inside, and each knew it.

Before the moment had a chance to prolong itself to the point of becoming awkward, however, the little party of four suddenly became five.

“I say, McCallum,” sounded a thickly embroidered and punctilious English accent, “jolly good show these blooming Nazis put on if they stop their Zeig Heils long enough.”

“A first-class shindig all right, Worchester,” replied the American, laughing. “But you’d better watch what you say—the baron here speaks better English than you do!”

2 Conversation on the Lawn

2

Conversation on the Lawn

As the diplomat introduced the baron to Lord Percival Worchester, Britain’s new special envoy to Berlin, the two teenagers began talking between themselves.