It is your own choice, isn’t it?” She nodded. In truth, she had been quite glad to lose the argument about remaining while the bullet was dug out of Jack’s side. “But if my manner tells! I cannot help it if that shows. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. She was silent, the ghost of a fading smile passed from her lips.
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