He held his face back from her for an instant and looked at her appraisingly.
"Yes," he said meditatively. "But you aren't come to make me wear clean things again? Muhammed doesn't."
And then he wriggled energetically, his eyes on Aylmer.
"Is he hurted?" he asked anxiously. "He was hurted once, last time I saw him. Why have they wrapped up his hands?"
A sudden gleam shone on Aylmer's face. He held out the pinioned wrists.
"Could you unknot them, old boy?" he asked quickly. "Would you like to try?"
She gave him a glance of comprehension and let the child go. He leaned down over Aylmer and his little fingers picked at the cords. He pulled at first unavailingly. Aylmer gave low-voiced suggestions, showed which knot should be dealt with first. Claire, as she watched, put out a hand instinctively to help.
He smiled, but snatched his wrists away.
"You forget," he said quietly.
She drew back.