“But you will not?” he said, lifting his injured arm very gently with his right hand, sighing as he did so, and rearranging the sling.
Mrs Otway jumped up, went behind him, untied the handkerchief that formed the sling, and snatched it away.
“I won’t sit still and see you play at sham in that disgraceful way, Phil,” she cried. “It’s bad enough, staying here as you do, without all that nonsense.”
“You are too hard on me.”
“I’m not,” she cried. “I’ve seen too many wounded men not to know something about symptoms. I knew as well as could be when I was here yesterday, but I would not trust myself, and so I attacked Woodhouse about you last night, and he surrendered at once.”
“Why, what did he say?”
“Lit a cigar, and began humming, ‘Oh, ’tis love, ’tis love that makes the world go round!’”
Eaton clapped his hands upon the arms of his chair, half raised himself, and then threw himself back, and began beating the cane-work with his fingers, frowning with vexation.
“There, you see what a lot of practice it takes to make a good impostor,” said Mrs Otway.
“What do you mean?”