Just inside the door, I stopped in amazement. The Countess was sound asleep in my big armchair, a forlorn but lovely thing in a pink peignoir. Her rumpled brown hair nestled in the angle of the chair; her hands drooped listlessly at her sides; dark lashes lay upon the soft white cheeks; her lips were parted ever so slightly, and her bosom rose and fell in the long swell of perfect repose.
Poopendyke clutched me by the arm and drew me toward the door, or I might have stood there transfixed for heaven knows how long.
"She's asleep," he whispered.
It was the second time in twelve hours that some one had intimated that I was blind.
CHAPTER XVI — I INDULGE IN PLAIN LANGUAGE
The door creaked villainously. The gaunt, ecclesiastical tails of my borrowed frock coat were on the verge of being safely outside with me when she cried out. Whereupon I swiftly transposed myself, and stuck my head through the half-open door.
"Oh, it's you!" she cried, in a quavery voice. She was leaning forward in the chair, her eyes wide open and eager.