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Meanwhile, I, for my part, am throwing a most unwelcome additional weight upon his already over-burdened shoulders. He is clearly annoyed at my having come so far, and, in his place, who would not have felt the same?

But, unfortunately for him, he knows very well that a woman who, despite difficulties well-nigh insurmountable, has been able to reach Smyrna without a British viza, means to get her way and will not be lightly driven back.

If only the man had adopted the bullying and supercilious tone that becomes a uniform! One can so easily meet the “correct” officialism, counter its attacks, stand up to its incivility, and go one’s own way with a clear conscience. But it was not to be with my Scotch friend.

“I admire your courage immensely,” he said with a courteous grace, “but, pardon my asking, what is the sense of it all?”

“I want to study ‘the movement’ at Angora, and to see the national hero, M. Kemal Pasha.”

“Is it worth risking your life for that? Forgive me, it does seem rather a wicked waste.”