“Such an explosion!” she exclaimed. “I’m glad you weren’t hit. I was wondering where you were. Miss O’Farrell isn’t in yet. I hope she’s all right.”
“Nice place to ambush,” I said, feeling aggressive. “The street was filled with perambulators.”
Mrs. Slaney flushed.
“I have no doubt the Sinn Feiners find it necessary,” she answered. “Why do the soldiers take advantage of the perambulators? They’ve no business to pass down crowded streets as they do. They do it for protection. They have no business in Ireland at all. Well, you’ve really been ambushed? You can write home to Australia now, and tell them all about it.”
Another crash cut her sentence short, and she flushed deeper.
“That seems to be in Stephen’s Green. Do you think that child will ever get home for her dinner?”
“She won’t leave the office if it’s not safe.”
The shooting stopped, and we went to the front door to see what was to be seen. There were people running all along the street, and the jarvies from Stephen’s Green had whipped up their horses and taken refuge in our direction. A tender of Auxiliaries drove slowly, the men in it looking this way and that for suspects.
“Brutes! Blackguards! Threatening the people like that! I’d like to make faces at them!”
“Please don’t while I’m here.”