“I did call you but I couldn't get you awake.”
“Then you ought to have let me be. If a woman hasn't a right to a night's sleep once in awhile what is she entitled to?”
This petulance was unusual with his wife. “Well, come on down now, Mary,” he said, kindly.
“I'm not going down there this night.”
“But you can't hear the 'phone up here and I'm expecting a message any minute that must be answered.”
“I'll—hear—that—'phone,” said Mary. “I'll sleep with one ear and one eye open.”
“Have it your own way,” said the doctor as he started down the stairs.
“I intend to. But when I tell you I'll watch the 'phone, John, you know I'll do it.”
He was gone and she lay wide awake. It seemed very hard to be ruthlessly pulled from a sleep so deep and delicious and so much needed.
By and by her eye-lids began to feel heavy and her thoughts went wandering into queer places. “This won't do,” she said aloud, sitting up in bed. Then she rose and went out on to the balcony. Seating herself in an arm chair, she looked about her on the silvery loveliness. The cricket's chirr and the occasional affirmations of the katy-did were the only sounds she heard. “I didn't say you didn't. Don't be so spiteful about it.”