“No, I can’t sleep in strange beds. Besides, I’ve got trouble—big trouble. People can’t sleep when they’re in trouble.”
“Ah!” said Julius wisely. “My theory is that you have slept.”
She looked round at him over her shoulder.
“Where do you get that theory? Don’t you think I know whether I slept or not, you poor ... Mr. Superbus?”
“No,” said Julius calmly; “there’s one thing nobody knows—you can never know that you’re asleep. You’re a bit of a sonombulist?” he asked with elaborate carelessness.
“How’s that?”
“Sonombulist—walk in your sleep. I got an idea I saw you about one o’clock?”
She turned her face away to the contemplation of the fire.
“Got ideas too? That mind of yours is surely active. If I thought you’d seen me at one o’clock, why, I’d die right here at this very minute. I was taking off—you married?”
Julius, with some complacence, confessed that he was.