“I would have done that for you if you’d asked me, sir.”
“And a good deal better, no doubt.”
“Oh, I wasn’t saying that, sir. But it isn’t fit that you should patch your own shirts.”
“Whose should I patch, then?”
Maria giggled.
“You’re too quick with your tongue for me,” she said. “Now, just wait here and talk to the lieutenant while I sponge this.”
She darted out of the room and they heard her footsteps hurrying down the stairs, while Hornblower looked half ruefully at Bush.
“There’s a strange pleasure,” he said, “in knowing that there’s a human being who cares whether I’m alive or dead. Why that should give pleasure is a question to be debated by the philosophic mind.”
“I suppose so,” said Bush.
He had sisters who devoted all their attention to him whenever it was possible, and he was used to it. At home he took their ministrations for granted. He heard the church clock strike the half hour, and it called his thoughts to the further business of the day.