“Yes. Better than the day before yesterday.”
“Day before yesterday?”
“Bless the poor man! Much anxious waiting hath bemused his wits. He thinks he’s an echo.”
“But I was all right the day before yesterday.”
“You weren’t. You were a prey to the most thrilling terrors. You were a moving picture of tender masculinity in distress. You let bashfulness like a worm i’ th’ bud prey upon your damask cheek. Have you a damask cheek? Stand out! I wish to consider you impartially. You needn’t look at me, you know.”
“I’m not going to,” he assured her, stepping forth obediently.
“Basilisk that I am!” she laughed. “How brown you are! How long did you say you’d been here? A year?”
“Fourteen weary Voiceless months. Not on this island, you know, but around the tropics.”
“Yet you look vigorous and alert; not like the men I’ve seen come back from the hot countries, all languid and worn out. And you do look clean.”
“Why shouldn’t I be clean?”