She held a pair of scissors in her hand. He turned.
‘Ah!’ she exclaimed, as she saw the long, red scar; ‘that is really bad! Do, pray, use this plaster. Look, I will cut it for you.’
And she opened the case, and began to divide its contents into strips.
‘You are very good,’ he said awkwardly, as he watched the scissors moving.
She did not reply.
‘I had no intention of disturbing the house in this way,’ he continued; ‘it is allowing to Macquean’s imbecility. You need never have known anything till to-morrow morning.’
‘You are very angry with Macquean,’ said Cecilia. ‘I cannot bear to think of his leaving a place where he has lived so long. But you will be cooler to-morrow, I am sure. Now, Mr. Speid, I have made this ready. Will you dip it in the water and put this strip across the cut?’
Gilbert did as he was bid, and, pressing the edges of the wound together, began to lay the plaster across his cheek.
‘You can hardly see,’ said she. ‘Let me hold the light.’
She raised the candle, and the two looked intently into the glass at his fingers, as he applied the strip. He met with scant success, for it stuck to his thumb and curled backwards like a shaving. He made another and more careful attempt to place it, but, with the callous obstinacy often displayed by inanimate things, it refused to lie flat.