"It is never dull, and the sense seems sharpened at present. Sir Philip was here to tea last night. I heard you sing to him some song which he had brought you. I heard him, when he took his departure at eleven o'clock, call you out on to the pavement, to look at the evening star."
"You must be nervously sensitive."
"I heard him kiss your hand."
"Impossible!"
"No: my chamber is over the hall, the window just above the front door; the sash was a little raised, for I felt feverish. You stood ten minutes with him on the steps. I heard your discourse, every word, and I heard the salute.—Henry, give me some water."
"Let me give it him."
But he half rose to take the glass from young Sympson, and declined her attendance.
"And can I do nothing?"
"Nothing; for you cannot guarantee me a night's peaceful rest, and it is all I at present want."
"You do not sleep well?"