"God bless 'em both," said I, when my aching body was between the cool sheets.
Although it was none of his duties, Marigold brought me in a light supper, fish and a glass of champagne. Never a parlour-maid would he allow to approach me when I was unwell. I often wondered what would happen if I were really ill and required the attendance of a nurse. I swear no nurse's touch could be so gentle as when he raised me on the pillows. He bent over the tray on the table by the bed and began to dissect out the back-bone of the sole.
"I can do that," said I, fretfully.
He cocked a solitary reproachful eye on me. I burst out laughing. He looked so dear and ridiculous with his preposterous curly wig and his battered face. He went on with his task.
"I wonder, Marigold," said I, "how you put up with me."
He did not reply until he had placed the neatly arranged tray across my body.
"I've never heard, sir," said he, "as how a man couldn't put up with his blessings."
A bit of sole was on my fork and I was about to convey it to my mouth, but there came a sudden lump in my throat and I put the fork down.
"But what about the curses?"
A horrible contortion of the face and a guttural rumble indicated amusement on the part of Marigold. I stared, very serious, having been profoundly touched.