She gazed desperately round the room, as though in search of some likely garment.
"My entire wardrobe is at your service," I assured her. "You shall come upstairs and take your choice." I paused. "All the same," I added regretfully, "I shall never make you look as nice as you do now."
She blushed again, and, moving impulsively towards her, I once more slipped my arm round her waist.
"My own darling," I exclaimed, "you must be simply frozen to death; and your poor little feet——"
"No, no," she protested, "I'm quite all right, really I am. It's your shoulder we've got to think about."
"Oh, bother my shoulder!" I objected. "It only wants a little support of some sort. A scarf or a handkerchief or any old thing will do. I'll come upstairs with you, and you can fix it for me while I'm routing you out some clothes."
I tried to relieve her of the gun, but with a shake of her head she insisted upon carrying it, and side by side we mounted the staircase which led to my own bedroom. There was a box of matches upon the dressing-table, and, having leaned her weapon carefully against the wall, Christine proceeded to light the candles.
"Now we'll see what we can find," I said. "I've got any amount of kit, but I'm afraid none of it will fit you very well."
"I'm going to attend to you first," she answered, pulling open the top drawer. "Why, here's the very thing I want! This will make a beautiful sling."
She took out a large silk handkerchief, and, crossing to the washstand, picked up the wet sponge. Then with an air of almost professional gravity she came back to where I was standing.