“He has cut your lower lip inside,” she said. And, to Barres: “Could you get something to bathe it?”
Barres went away to his own room. When he returned with a finger-bowl full of warm water, some powdered boric acid, cotton, and a soft towel, Dulcie was lying deep in an armchair, her lids closed; and Thessalie sat beside her on one of the padded arms, smoothing the ruddy, curly hair from her forehead.
She opened her eyes when Barres appeared, giving him a clear but inscrutable look. Thessalie gently washed the traces of battle from her face, then rinsed her lacerated mouth very tenderly.
“It is just a little cut,” she said. “Your lip is a trifle swelled.”
“It is nothing,” murmured Dulcie.
“Do you feel all right?” inquired Barres anxiously.
“I feel sleepy.” She sat erect, always with her grey eyes on Barres. “I think I will go to bed.” She stood 172 up, conscious, now, of her shabby clothes and slippers; and there was a painful flush on her face as she thanked Thessalie and bade her a confused good-night.
But Thessalie took the girl’s hand and retained it.
“Please don’t say anything about what happened,” she said. “May I ask it of you as a very great favour?”
Dulcie turned her eyes on Barres in silent appeal for guidance.