"Incredible haziness," responded Hilda. "You probably know the exact hour when the King and his Chief of Staff called you out on the Town-hall steps. You must either be a very brave man or else write very nice articles about the ruling powers."
"The latter, of course," returned he, a little nettled.
"Vain as a peacock," whispered Scotch to the ever-watchful Mrs. Bracher.
"I don't understand you women," said Ainslie-Barkleigh, clearing his throat for action. But Hilda was too quick for him.
"I know you don't," she cut in, "and that is no fault in you. But what you really mean is that you don't like us, and that, I submit, is your own fault."
"But let me explain," urged he.
"Go ahead," said Hilda.
"Well, what I mean is this," he explained. "Here I find you three women out at the very edge of the battle-front. Here you are in a cellar, sleeping in bags on the straw, living on bully-beef and canned stuff. Now, you could just as well be twenty miles back, nursing in a hospital."
"Is there any shortage of nurses for the hospitals?" interposed Hilda. "When I went to the Red Cross at Pall Mall in London, they had over three thousand nurses on the waiting list."
"That's true enough," assented Barkleigh. "But what I mean is, this is reckless; you are in danger, without really knowing it."