But Hildegarde felt no repugnance, only sweet, womanly pity.
“My poor Morgan—and all for me—oh, how I love you! Never mind, there is a long future for me to prove it. Come, here are water, soap and a towel, and here my own brushes. I know you’ll feel better for Mr. Robbins’ suggestion.”
“Perhaps it may take some of the fierceness out of me, but I reckon I’ll make a good enough fighter, even as a gentleman,” I remarked, grimly.
Somehow, when I saw Robbins nodding eagerly at my words, a dim suspicion floated into my mind that perhaps he had a reason back of this desire to make me presentable; but it was so intangible, I failed to grasp it.
I believe that was really the most satisfactory toilet I ever made, for she stood there, holding the towel, and then with her own hands gave me the brushes, while Robbins dusted my clothes with a little whisk broom.
Five minutes completed the metamorphosis, and I felt like a new man.
“Now,” I said, “let me greet you as a gentleman, and not as a tramp.”
She willingly allowed me to infold her, and held up her pretty mouth to receive my warm kisses, for two years is a long time in which to do penance for one’s sins.
All of which must have been highly edifying to bachelor Robbins; I remembered him at length, and closed the little seance.
The twinkle in his gray eyes may not have signified much, but I imagined he was more than a little amused.