He looked at her and noticed for the first time that her blouse was badly torn. Half of one sleeve was ripped away, and there was a long tear through which he caught the gleam of a white shoulder. Her skirt he saw was in no better case. She caught his glance and laughed.
"I'm a perfect Cinderella! It will take me hours to sew up these rents."
"Do you think it is worth while?" he asked with a faint smile. "I'm not much of a tailor myself; and I should look at that job as wasted effort."
"But what else can I do?" she demanded. "I can't get in a taxi and run down to Bond Street on a shopping expedition."
"No," he answered slowly, "but you might look in the pack you carried today. There's a habit there that is better suited to the woods than the one you have."
"Oh!" she cried, her grey eyes alight with laughter, and a little flush in her cheeks. "You brought it along then?"
"I put it in your pack, because I knew that two days of trail in the forest would reduce your present costume to shreds."
She eyed the hussif distastefully. "I hate sewing," she said. "I think I will leave the repairs till morning. There is no immediate hurry that I know of."
"Not at all," he answered with a little smile, and divining that his advice would be accepted he turned to a fresh subject. "Where are you going to sleep? You ought not to have given me the tent."
She waved a hand airily. "Outside. There isn't much room here. Like R. L. S. sleeping out with his donkey I shall discover a new pleasure for myself."