"Was there need?" she asked, colouring. Then her eyes sparkled. "Oh, for such strength!" she cried. "It took six Arabs to lift that coffin lid. You must be a Samson."
"Fortunately," I observed.
Her brows drew together and her lips. "You treat me in a way that I resent," she said. "I am as reasonable a being as yourself."
I retired to a corner and stretched myself upon the floor without replying.
"When do you wish to be aroused?" she asked.
"An hour before sunset. We must eat—that is I. You appear to thrive on air."
She bit her lips and I stared at the ceiling. I was dog-tired, but could not sleep. I counted a thousand and then glanced at Miss Ottley. Her gaze was fixed on me.
"You are overtired," she said, and her tone was pure womanly.
It irritated and amused me to find she could so unaffectedly assume it. I smiled.