"They are nearly all in now," said Stafford, looking out. "The bell did it and the dark."
Mrs. Keane muttered something incoherently; the words related to the Tocsin and the French.
"And the mines which upset Smith," she said. "Poor Smith! What an experience!"
When the facts of the case and Phil's strategy were fully explained to her, Mrs. De Burgho Keane felt a sense of loss. If they were not Germans, then everyone had behaved as though they were—well, she sniffed up the scent of onions.
"Bees alone," she said awfully, "do not cause men to rush and scream and hurl themselves from dark corners and take my car, and my man Smith, and——"
"He got it on the cheek and the hand," said Stafford gloomily. "Some of your half-dead 'uns, Freyne, in your bridal veil."
"The skirt which the cook did get me," said the Professor, "is torn sorely, but it kept out much pain."
Mrs. Violet Weston, stung on the neck, said gruffly that it was all absurd. Mr. Keefe, whose cheeks were engaged in swallowing his snub nose, decided that he would not be able to do duty anywhere for a week or more.
A chorus of voices sounded outside advising and declaiming. Presently Mrs. De Burgho Keane, shaken and offended, made her way to her car attended by her gloomy one-eyed host.
"And Phil"—she turned round—"what will you do to Phil, or what has been done to him?"