“There,” she said. “You have seen them all. I keep you here, and you are famishing for food of a very different order.”
She led the way to the breakfast-room. He followed with a lamb-like submissiveness. There was a vague feeling at his heart of distress or something of the nature of it. He opined that he had been churlish; though quite in what respect he could not understand. But he was conscious of having unwittingly given offence where none should have been taken; and so, being human, he felt an atom aggrieved.
Captain Luvaine, it appeared, still kept his bed.
Sir David, however, flung abroad an atmosphere of boisterous good-humour. He rallied his guest and his sister upon their rising-sun worship.
“Gad!” he cried. “I heard you tunin’ up, my dear, before I could see to t’other end of my bed. Don’t do it, Angel; or you’ll be gettin’ chilblains on your little ten toes. ’Twas all for you, Tuke. I’ll tell you, sir, she ain’t in the habit of frosting her little nose o’ common days.”
“Why,” said the other—“you’re wrong. Miss Royston had no knowledge I slept here.”
“Eh!” said the baronet, his eyes a double note of exclamation; and “Davy, be quiet!” implored his sister.
The manling fell into a fit of laughter.
“Don’t you believe it!” he crowed hoarsely. “She understood you was goin’ to stop, an——”
Miss Royston was crushing the little villain in her arms.