“It wouldn’t be any trouble, sir. Of course not. Please let me, sir. It looks—”
“It looks the worse for wear,” said Hornblower, glancing down at it. “There’s no cure for old age that’s yet been discovered.”
“Please let me take it, sir. There’s some spirits of hartshorn downstairs. It will make quite a difference. Really it will.”
“But—”
“Oh, please, sir.”
Hornblower reluctantly put up his hand and undid a button.
“I’ll only be a minute with it,” said Maria, hastening to him. Her hands were extended to the other buttons, but a sweep of Hornblower’s quick nervous fingers had anticipated her. He pulled off his coat and she took it out of his hands.
“You’ve mended that shirt yourself,” she said, accusingly.
“Yes, I have.”
Hornblower was a little embarrassed at the revelation of the worn garment. Maria studied the patch.