"Yes," she nodded, "it was your build, and the color of your eyes
and hair that--startled me."
"But, after all," said I, "the similarity is only skin-deep, and
goes no farther."
"No," she answered, kneeling beside me again; "no, you are--only
twenty-five!" And, as she said this, her eyes were hidden by her
lashes.
"Twenty-five is--twenty-five!" said I, more sharply than before.
"Why do you smile?"
"The water is all dripping from your nose and chin!--stoop lower
over the basin."
"And yet," said I, as well as I could on account of the trickling
water, for she was bathing my face again, "and yet, you must be
years younger than I."
"But then, some women always feel older than a man--more especially
if he is hurt."
"Thank you," said I, "thank you; with the exception of a scratch,
or so, I am very well!" But, as I moved, I caught my thumb
clumsily against the table-edge, and winced with the sudden pain
of it.
"What is it--your hand?"
"My thumb."
"Let me see?" Obediently I stretched out my hand to her.
"Is it broken?"
"Dislocated, I think."
"It is greatly swollen!"
"Yes," said I, and taking firm hold of it with my left hand, I
gave it a sudden pull which started the sweat upon my temples,
but sent it back into joint.
"Poor--"
"Well?" said I, as she hesitated.
"--man!" said she, and touched the swollen hand very tenderly
with her fingers.
"You do not fear me any longer?"
"No."
"In spite of my eyes and hair?"
"In spite of your eyes and hair--you see, a woman knows
instinctively whom she must fear and whom not to fear."
"Well?"
"And you are one I do not fear, and, I think, never should."
"Hum!" said I, rubbing my chin, "I am only twenty-five!"
"Twenty-five is--twenty-five!" said she demurely.
"And yet, I am very like--him--you said so yourself!"
"Him!" she exclaimed, starting. "I had forgotten all about him.
Where is he--what has become of him?" and she glanced apprehensively
towards the door.
"Half way to Tonbridge--or should be by now."
"Tonbridge!" said she, in a tone of amazement, and turned to look
at me again.