“But you must have a horse!” said Huntington.
So he jumped past him, and ran to the stable, bellowing for Williams.
“Now take off your coat, Marion!” cried Claire.
“No. Not here,” said Marion. “You’ll see why.”
They waited before the blazing log for Huntington to return, whereupon he was sent to build a fire in Marion’s room. When it was crackling finely, Marion, removed her deerskin coat and skirt. Claire stared at her, gasping; and then sank down on the bed in another fit of weeping. For Marion stood before her in rags and dirt.
“Oh, but you should have seen me the day Pete came!” cried Marion, with a pathetic little laugh. “I’ve actually got some flesh on my bones now.”
Indescribable luxuries followed: a hot bath, wonderful clean garments, and Claire’s happy fingers combing the tangles out of the tawny hair.
“But I’ll never be really and truly clean again, Claire!” cried Marion ruefully, holding out her hands.
Claire clasped them tenderly, while Marion, on a sudden thought, related to her Haig’s speech about baths; and they laughed together.