"Lady Stafford, if you please, Sir Penthony." With a tormenting smile.
"Lady Stafford then,—anything, if you will only stay."
"I can't, then. Where should I be without my beauty sleep? The bare idea fills me with horror. Why, I should lose my empire. Sweet as parting is, I protest I, for one, would not lengthen it until to-morrow. Till then—farewell. And—Sir Penthony—be sure you dream of me. I like being dreamed of by my——"
"By whom?"
"My slaves," returns this coquette of all coquettes, with a last lingering glance and smile. After which she finally disappears.
"There is no use disguising the fact any longer,—I have lost my heart," groans Sir Penthony, in despair, as he straightway carries off both himself and his cherished flowers to the shelter of his own room.
CHAPTER XIX.
"I'll tell thee a part,
Of the thoughts that start