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.