French helped her get out the car.
"We shall want mattresses and stretcher boards," said Helena, surveying it thoughtfully. "A doctor too and a nurse."
"Right you are. They've thought of all that. You'll find everything at the market-hall,—where the two men are."
They drove away together, and into the outer streets of the town, where now scarcely a soul was to be seen, though as the car passed, the windows were crowded with heads. Police were everywhere, and the market-place—a sorry sight of smoky wreck and ruin—was held by a cordon of soldiers, behind which a crowd still looked on. French, sitting beside her, watched the erect girl-driver, the excellence of her driving, the brain and skill she was bringing to bear upon her "job." Here was the "new woman" indeed, in her best aspect. He could not but compare the Helena of this adventure—this competent and admirable Helena—with the girl of the night before. Had the war produced the same dual personality in thousands of English men and English women?—in the English nation itself?
They drew up at the steps of the market-hall, where a group of persons were standing, including a nurse in uniform. Buntingford came forward, and bending over the side of the car, said to Helena:
"Do you want to be relieved? There are several people here who could drive the car."
She flushed.
"I want to take these men to hospital."
He smiled at her.
"You shall."