"There was a splendid view from _here_," said Lesbia cuttingly. "_I_ saw everything there was to be seen." Trevellyan was looking for Miss Jones. "Thank you so much for giving them the lead you did," he said to her gratefully. "It was very good of you. I felt such a brute for asking you to do it; but there really is danger, you know, especially from the windows, if shrapnel shatters the glass." "Oh yes, I know. I wonder," said Grace thoughtfully, "whether they heard it much at Plessing." "I know. I was thinking of that all the time. Not that she'd be nervous, you know, except on his account." "It would be dreadful for Sir Piers. Oh, I do hope they didn't hear much of it," said Grace. One of the men approached her. "If you please, Sister, could you come down into the kitching 'alf a minute?" Grace went. Trevellyan watched them all disperse, and escorted Mrs. Willoughby to her tram, wondering if he ought not to see her home. But Lesbia refused all escort, declaring gallantly that _she_ did not know the meaning of fear, and, anyway, Puffles would protect his missus from any more dreadful, wicked Zepps. He left her entertaining her tram conductress with a spirited account of all that she had seen, and much that she had not seen, of the raid. As he turned down Pollard Street again, a soldier with his hand bound up lurched out of the open door of the deserted Canteen. "Is there any one in there to shut the place up?" Trevellyan asked him. "One of the ladies is still in there, sir. Beg pardon, sir; she's a bit upset like." Trevellyan thought of little Miss Anthony, who had owned, with a white face, how much the sound of the guns had frightened her. He went into the hall. It was dark, but there was a light in the kitchen. "Who's there?" said John. "I am. It's all right," replied an enfeebled voice; and he went into the kitchen. Grace Jones was half leaning and half sitting against the sink, her small face haggard, her hands clutching the only support within reach, the wooden top of a roller-towel. "I'm afraid you're ill," exclaimed Trevellyan, looking desperately round him for a chair. "It's all right; please don't wait." "But it's over now. They brought the brute down. It's miles away by this time." He multiplied his reassurances. "No, no; it's not that," gasped Miss Jones, looking whiter than ever. "There were certainly no casualties over here. We should have seen signs of fire somewhere if they'd dropped a bomb." "It's _not_ that!" Grace told him desperately. Trevellyan gazed at her helplessly, and repeated in an obtuse manner: "It's all over now--absolutely safe." Grace gazed back at him with a wan smile. "Would you mind going?" she asked him feebly. "I shall be all right in a minute. It's very tiresome, but the sight of--of blood always upsets me like this, and that man had cut his finger rather badly, and I had to do it up. It's only--that."