Until we reach land, nothing can be done. Nothing, but to
look out for your injury. Common humanity demands that your wound be
dressed. Is it a serious hurt?"
"Not compared with the hurt you are inflicting, in banishing me from
the Flying Legion!"
"Come, madam, refrain from extravagant speeches! What is your wound?"
"A clean shot through the left arm, I think, a little below the
shoulder."
"I realize, of course, that to have Dr. Lombardo dress it would reveal
your sex. Could you in any way manage the dressing, yourself?"
"If given antiseptics and bandages, yes."
"They shall be furnished, also a stateroom."
"That will excite comment."
"It may," the Master answered, "but there is no other way. I will
manage everything privately, myself. Then I will let it transpire that
there was some injury to the face, as well, and that the mask had to
be removed. I can let the impression get about that you refused to
allow anyone but me see your mutilated face.
"I can also hint that I have helped you with the dressing, and have
ordered you to keep your stateroom for a while. When it comes time to
leave _Nissr_, I will dispatch you as a messenger.
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