Dismissing his guide with a curt “good-night,” he crawled shortly between sheets fragrant of lavender, and fell almost at once into a profound slumber.
He woke in the morning to the sound of a tap on his door panels.
“Come in!” he groaned—for his head was like lead with the close atmosphere of the room.
A broad spurt of light flooded him from the opened door, and Dennis entered with shaving water and a towel.
“Ah!” said Tuke, recollecting himself. “It’s you, is it? Oblige me, my friend, by flinging open those shutters. And for the future, refrain from closing them at night.”
The man did as he was ordered, and then paused.
“Sir,” said he, with the same painful hesitancy of manner—“if I may presume—pray let me entreat you to reconsider the question.”
The other raised his head in staring surprise.
“What question?” said he.
“That of opening the shutters at night.”