He turned away from the light.
"I'm your husband," he muttered hoarsely.
"Show me your wounds," she gasped suddenly, reasoning with singular directness.
He glanced at her once, then bent forward. There upon the left side of his head in a shaved spot was a cross of adhesive tape. She touched it aimlessly with her fingers and then suddenly, before he could rise, with a quick deft movement tore it away from his skull. And quickly as he straightened she had seen enough.
There was no wound.
"What's this deviltry?" he muttered, his face an angry red.
But the look that he met in her eyes pierced all subterfuge.
"You have not been wounded," she gasped.
He leaned forward in his fury as though to strike her, but she stood up to him resolutely until the color faded from his face and he straightened slowly.
"Well," he muttered with a shrug, "I haven't." And then, folding his arms he found her gaze. "What of it?" he asked shortly.