"And when was anxiety relieved by sitting up all night and worrying with it? There, I've rung the bell, and you can tell the waiter to have a room got ready instantly for you. We shall all feel easier if we know you're in the place. I'm sure you can't do anything to-night, and by the morning you'll have a clear head, some more plans, and enough energy for another burst of this kind of thing."
When the waiter came I yielded, under protest, and ordered a room.
"I must have a long chat with Mayhew first," I said.
"Not to-night, if Mercy and I have any influence with Mr. Mayhew," she returned, and Mercy agreed. Then, to my surprise, Mayhew, in a half-shamefaced but very serious manner, said: "I think Mrs. Curwen is right, Ferdinand."
"What, you as well, Silas?" and as I looked at him he smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
"No one thinks of questioning Mrs. Curwen's commands," he answered.
"Oh, already? Then I'd better give in, too," and with that I went, feeling indeed the truth of what she said—that I could do nothing that night.
She was right, also, that I was in sore need of rest, and, despite my anxieties and my declaration that sleep would be impossible, my head was no sooner on the pillow than I fell into deep slumber, which lasted until a sluggard's hour on the following morning. It was ten o'clock before I awoke.
I found Mrs. Curwen alone, and my vexation at having been allowed to lie so late must have shown in my face, for she said directly: "There's no one to blame but me, Lord Glisfoyle. I would not allow you to be called. I don't believe in my prescriptions being half taken."
"I have a great deal to do," I answered, somewhat ungraciously.