t, 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."

"Yes, the 'All Clear' will sound soon, I think," replied Bowen.

They moved out into the hall. For a moment they stood looking at each
other, then Bowen took both her hands in his. "I am so glad,
Patricia," he said, gazing into her eyes, then suddenly he bent down
and kissed her full on the lips.

Dropping her hands and without another word he picked up his cap and
let himself out, leaving Patricia standing gazing in front of her. For
a moment she stood, then turning as one in a dream, walked slowly
upstairs to her room.

"I wonder why I let him do that?" she murmured as she stood in front of
the mirror unpinning her hair.

CHAPTER XIX

GALVIN HOUSE AFTER THE RAID

The next day and for many days Galvin House abandoned itself to the
raid. The air was full of rumours of the appalling casualties
resulting from the bomb that had been dropped in the next street. No
one knew anything, everyone had heard something. The horrors confided
to each other by the residents at Galvin House would have kept the
Grand Guignol in realism for a generation.

Silent herself, Patricia watched with interest the ferment around her.
With the exception of Mrs. Craske-Morton, all seemed to desire most of
all to emphasize their own attitude of splendid intellectual calm
during the raid. They spoke scornfully of acquaintances who had flown
from London because of the danger from bomb-dropping Gothas, they
derided the Thames Valley aliens, they talked heroically and
patriotically about "standing their bit of bombing." In short Galvin
House had become a harbour of heroism.

Mrs. Craske-Morton, who had shown a calmn