A voice shouted, "You had better come back, sir."
He halted. There was a fierce forward rush. Large groups of people sat down in flat defiance.
Again Rose broke out with her repressed intensity, "It's madness! Why on earth don't they shoot?"
"The notion is—to give the beggars every chance," urged Roy. "After all, they've been artificially worked up. It's the men behind—pulling the strings—who are to blame——"
"I don't care who's to blame. They're as dangerous as wild beasts." She did not even look at him. Her eyes, her mind were centred on that weird, unforgettable scene. "And our people simply sitting there being pelted with bricks and stones ... the Pater ... Lance...."
She drew in her lip. Roy gave her a quick look. That was the second time; and she did not even seem aware of it.
"Yes. It's a detestable position, but it's not of their making," he agreed; adding briskly: "Come along, now, Rose. It's getting dark; and I ought to be in Cantonments. There'll be pickets all over the place—after this. I'll see you safe to the Hall, then gallop on."
Her lips twitched in a half-smile. "Shirking congrats again?"
"Oh, drop it! I'd clean forgotten. I'll conduct you right in—and chance congrats. But they'll be too full of other things to-night. Scared to death, some of them."
"Mother, for one. I never thought of her. We must hurry."