"And you weren't hurt?"

"I had a pain in my side, but it's gone," he said laconically.

"And you never said anything to us! Why not?"

"Well--there were so many other things...."

"G.J., you're astounding!"

"No, I'm not. I'm just myself."

"And hasn't it upset your nerves?"

"Not as far as I can judge. Of course one never knows, but I think
not. What do you think?"

She offered no response. At length she spoke with queer emotion:

"You remember that night I said it was a message direct from Potsdam?
Well, naturally it wasn't. But do you know the thought that tortures
me? Supposing the shrapnel that killed Queen was out of a shell made
at my place in Glasgow!... It might have been.... Supposing it was!"

"Con," he said firmly, "I simply won't listen to that kind of talk.
There's no excuse for it. Shall I tell you what, more than anything
else, has made me respect you since Queen was killed? Ninety-nine
women out of a hundred would have managed to remind me, quite
illogically and quite inexcusably, that I was saying hard things about
poor old Queen at the very moment when she was lying dead on the roof.