Well, as I was telling you, I woke up, with that smothered and unlocatable cry of “Mortimer! Mortimer!” wailing in my ears; and as soon as I could scrape my faculties together I reached over in the dark and then said,—
“Evangeline, is that you calling? What is the matter? Where are you?”
“Shut up in the boot-closet. You ought to be ashamed to lie there and sleep so, and such an awful storm going on.”
“Why, how can one be ashamed when he is asleep? It is unreasonable; a man can’t be ashamed when he is asleep, Evangeline.”
“You never try, Mortimer,—you know very well you never try.”
I caught the sound of muffled sobs.
That sound smote dead the sharp speech that was on my lips, and I changed it to—
“I’m sorry, dear,—I’m truly sorry. I never meant to act so. Come back and—”
“Mortimer!”
“Heavens! what is the matter, my love?”