"She's a regular heroine, Peter," said Patricia, unconscious that she had used his name. "She's been so splendid."
Mrs. Craske-Morton smiled at Patricia, again her human smile.
"Oh! go away, make him go away!" It was Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe who spoke. Her words had an electrifying effect upon everyone. Miss Wangle sat up and made feverish endeavours to straighten her wig. Jenny, the housemaid, looked round for cover that was nowhere available. The cook became aware of her lack of clothing. Miss Sikkum strove to minimise the exhibition of feminine bone-structure. Mrs. Barnes made a dive for Mr. Bolton, who was still holding various of her garments that he had retrieved. These she seized from him as if he had been a pickpocket, and thrust them under her arm.
"Oh, please go away!" moaned the cook.
"Come upstairs," said Patricia as she led the way out of the kitchen, to the relief of those whose reawakened modesty saw in Bowen's presence an outrage to decorum. Switching on the light in the lounge, Patricia threw herself into a chair. She was beginning to feel the reaction.
"Why did you come?" she asked.
"I heard that a bomb had fallen in this street and—-well, I had to come. I was never in such a funk in all my life."
"How did you get round here; did you bring the car?"
"No, I couldn't get the car out, I walked it," said Bowen briefly.
"That was very sweet of you," said Patricia gratefully, looking up at him in a way she had never looked at him before. "And now I think you must be going. We must all go to bed again."