"You're going to faint!" exclaimed Trevellyan. "Let me get some water for you."
"No, I'm not. Oh, do go!"
"I can't leave you like this," protested the bewildered John.
Grace staggered to her feet, and stood holding on to the edge of the sink.
"I'm afraid—I'm only going to be sick," she said with difficulty.
Ten minutes later they locked up the Canteen and went up Pollard Street.
"You see, it had nothing to do with the raid," Grace told him gently. "It was just that poor man bleeding. I've always been like that; it's the only way I'm delicate, because I'm never ill, and I don't ever have nerves. But it is very tiresome. That's why I couldn't go and work in a hospital. I did clerical work in the hospital at home for a little while, but it wasn't any good."
"Bad luck!"
"It is, rather. I hate anybody's knowing about it; that's why I said I'd stay behind and lock up. I knew it was going to happen, and I didn't want any one to be there."
"I'm sorry. I thought it was the raid that had upset you, and that you might be going to faint."