After a gaze in the mirror which pleased her as she looked quite like a lady by now with waved hair and a sleek traily gown of black with lace streamers hanging, and all her neck and front and half her back bare, she sailed from the room as Scrogg told her a rather diffrent walk is needed in the evening much more snake-like. Entering once more the eating-apartment, she found the white-hatted chef alone, altho’ the table was set.
“Where is Mr. Withersq” said she.
“I am afraid he is not well” the chief replied “he entered a little while ago, with pale look, and went away again.”
Like a hen robbed of her young Selia darted to the room of her Harold. There spread on the imense wooden bed with four posts, lay her devestated Harold, and the blinds were down.
[101] Tiptoeing in “What is it, what is it” she cried, “Have you written too much?”
“It is not that,” came the mournful voice of our hero from the bed, “it is worse. I am a ruined man.”
“Oh, Harold!” gasped the distracted Selia in dismay.
A great groan burst from his brest. Together they sobbed a while.
“Come” said Selia at last “I command you tell me what it is. Are you married in secret?”
“No, not so bad as that perhaps, because it can be cured.”