“Sir.”
“Sir who or what?”
“Sir Francis Dane,” I replied, with as grand a manner as I could assume, having a deep cut in my side.
For a moment Lucille glanced at me, then I saw that she feared my mind was wandering again.
“Come into the house,” she said, soothingly, “’tis too chilling out here. Come in, and Master Graydon shall prescribe for you. Come, Edward.”
“Not Edward.”
“Well, then, Sir Francis Dane,” spoken as one might to a peevish child. “The strain has been too much for you, Ed--Sir Francis. Go and lie down, until you are recovered.”
I burst into a laugh, whereat Lucille seemed all the more frightened. I could not cease from laughing as I looked at her.
She took me gently by the arm, and tried to lead me in, but I stooped over, kissing her.
“Do not be frightened, sweet,” I said. “I am not wandering in my mind. I have a secret to tell you.”