'Yes,' said Alix. 'A friend of mine has just got wounded. He's being sent home.'
'Oh, my dear, how unfortunate! Not seriously, I trust?'
'No, I shouldn't think so. A nice blighty one in the hand, he says. He seems quite cheery about it. He tried to return a bomb to the senders, and it went off just before its proper time. It happens often, he says. It must be difficult to calculate about these time-bombs.'
'A dreadful risk to take, indeed! It's his left, I suppose, as he writes?'
'He dictated it. No, not his left.'
'The right? Dear me, now, how sad that is. It so hampers a man. What used he to work at, love?'
'He paints.'
'Well now, isn't that a pity! He must learn to paint left-handed when the war's over, mustn't he? But I hope his hand will be quite well again long before then. It's given you quite a shock, dearie, I can see. You've gone quite pale. Would you like a little sal-volatile?'
'No thank you, Cousin Emily. It's not given me a shock a bit.... Do you want me to do the lamps, Kate?'
'Well—I don't know why you should. Evie's nothing to do this morning....' Kate looked doubtfully at her sister, who said promptly, 'Oh, hasn't she? That's all you know. I'm for a cutting-out morning. Thanks muchly, Alix; I'll do the dusting if you'll do the lamps.'