"I am," I respond, briskly, sitting up; "and oh, Martha, it is odd, is it not, but I do feel so awfully hungry."
"No, do you really, m'm?" exclaims Martha, delighted, "that's a rare good sign. I don't hold with no appetite, myself. Lie down again, m'm, quiet-like, and I'll bring you up a tray as 'll tempt you, in two minutes. A little bit of fowl, now, and a slice of 'am, will be the lightest for you; and will you take Moselle, m'm, or Champagne?"
"Moselle," I reply, feeling something of the pleasurable excitement of long ago, when Billy used to smuggle eatables into my chamber of punishment; "and Martha, if there is any orange pudding, or iced pudding, you know, you might—-"
"I'll bring it, m'm," says Martha. And presently I am doing full justice to as dainty a little dinner as Martha's love could procure.
I sleep well, but permit myself to be persuaded; into staying in my room for breakfast. After that meal down-stairs, Marmaduke comes tramping up to see how I am. It is eleven o'clock; surely Sir Mark can have made his excuses and taken his departure by this tine.
"Is he gone?" I ask, in a hollow whisper, as 'Duke enters my room.
"Who?"
"Mark Gore."
"No, not yet. Did you know he was going?" looking much surprised, and seating himself on the edge of the bed.
"I did. I desired him to go. Shut the door close; and I will tell you all about it. But, first, 'Duke, before I say one word, make me a vow you will not be angry with him or take any notice of what he has done."