"Allan Harrington!"
Still none. Allan was half-asleep, or what did instead, in one of his abstracted moods.
"All-an Harrington!"
This time she reached up and pulled at his heavy silk sleeve as she spoke.
"Yes," said Allan courteously, as if from an infinite distance.
"Would you mind," asked Phyllis guilelessly, "if Wallis—we—moved you—a little? I can tell you all about everything, unless you'd rather not have the full details of the plan——"
"Anything," said Allan wearily from the depths of his gray cloud; "only don't bother me about it!"
Phyllis jumped to her feet, a whirl of gay blue skirts and cheerfully tossing blue feathers. "Good-by, dear Crusader!" she said with a catch in her voice that might have been either a laugh or a sob. "The next time you see me you'll probably hate me! Wallis!"
Wallis appeared like the Slave of the Lamp. "It's all right, Wallis," she said, and ran. Wallis proceeded thereupon to wheel his master's couch into the bedroom.
"If you're going to be moved, you'd better be dressed a little heavier, sir," he said with the same amiable guilelessness, if the victim had but noticed it, which Phyllis had used from her seat on the floor not long before.