“Try and take you back to your own folk, if we can find a way in, or if you can show us one.”
She was clearly relieved at this, I could see.
“But don’t worry about that for a bit. Here’s food coming. When you’ve eaten and feel stronger, we’ll talk about it.”
Forsyth reappeared, carrying our cherished bazaar tea-tray, with some food on it, and, propping the girl up on the pillows, proceeded to feed her. She tried to take the cup herself, but her wrists were still too stiff, and he had to help her. When she had finished, there was a little more colour in her cheeks.
“Pass me those brushes,” said Forsyth.
I passed them over, and he brushed out her hair, and made it into two plaits in a notably skilful manner, I thought.
“He’s a good nurse; isn’t he?” said I.
She smiled wanly at him.
“Hasn’t she topping hair?” he said. “Real Titian red. Reminds me of some one I used to know.”
Every pretty girl reminds Forsyth of some one he used to know. I suppose that’s why he escaped unmarried. There’s a certain safety in numbers.