"In your own room, of course, Miss Nita," answered the maid, with a certain air of evasiveness.
"In my own room? Why, it all looks very strange to me! Oh, Lizette, was it all a dream? The yacht—Dorian?" cried the girl eagerly, a warm, pink flush creeping over the pallor of her waxen cheek.
"Dearie, you have been ill and your dreams were wild," soothed Lizette. "But you must not talk now. Wait till you take some food."
She went out of the little bedroom, and presently stood face to face with a tall, dark, anxious-looking man, who exclaimed:
"She has recovered consciousness—I see it in your face!"
"She knows me, sir, but I have omitted nothing yet. And you, sir, must be cautious. One sight of your face would frighten her, I think, almost to death."
"I shall not intrude upon her yet, Lizette, but as soon as she can bear it, she must know the truth," he answered grimly.
Meanwhile, Nita lay with wide-open, wondering eyes. For days everything had been a blank, but now memory was returning with startling rapidity.
Lizette entered with a tray of delicate food.
"After you have eaten something you may talk a little," she said, and Nita ate with the relish of returning health.