She was quite spick and span, this island Hebe.
So soundly had he slept that his senses returned but slowly.

At last he guessed what had happened.

She had risen with the dawn, and, conquering her natural feeling of repulsion, selected from the store he accumulated yesterday some more suitable garments than those in which she escaped from the wreck.
He quietly took stock of his own tattered condition, and passed a reflective hand over the stubble on his chin.

In a few days his face would resemble a scrubbing-brush.

In that mournful moment he would have exchanged even his pipe and tobacco-box--worth untold gold--for shaving tackle.