"Oh, yes; quite well; never better in my life!" he answered, putting his hands on his lips to conceal an irrepressible yawn.
"But you also seem very tired."
"No, only deliciously sleepy, as if I would like to go to sleep and never wake up again," he said, with a laugh and a smothered gape.
"Then do not stand on ceremony with an old friend like me. Bid me good-night and go at once," she said.
"And you?" he inquired.
"I am too tired to go to sleep yet. I shall sit in that rocking-chair and rock gently. That motion will soothe and rest me better than anything else, and after an hour I shall be able to go to bed and go to sleep."
As Mary Grey spoke, Alden Lytton staggered to his feet and tottered toward her, held out his hand and faltered, drowsily:
"I am forced to take your advice. I must retire at once or I shall not be able to reach my room. I never felt so over-powered by sleep in all my life before. Good-night, my dear Mrs. Grey. I hope that you will sleep as well as I am sure that I shall. Good-night."
He pressed her hand, and then, groping like a blind man, he passed into his own room and shut the door behind him.
Mary Grey gazed breathlessly at the closed door for a while, murmuring to herself: