Somewhat surprised, Bernard complied.
“Do you like kissing me, Bernard?”
“M’yes. I don’t mind it. Why?”
“Ah!” said Dolly, and lighted her candle for bed.
IX
WE TOOK SWEET COUNSEL TOGETHER
Lucian was a poor sleeper, hard to lull and easy to rouse, with a habit of waking at four in the morning and reading novels in bed; his good nights had six hours’ sleep, his bad nights none. As a young man, he had innocently done his best to acquire the chloral habit, but years had taught him wisdom; his present panacea was bromide of potassium, of which, at times, he took a surprising quantity. But he shunned it whenever he could.
Excitements in the day usually entailed sleeplessness at night. After Dolly refused him Lucian was not surprised to find himself broad awake at one o’clock in the morning, with every prospect of remaining so. But the dark hours had long ceased to seem interminable; he lighted the gas, enshrouded himself in a gorgeous dressing-gown, in whose gay colours he took an artless pleasure, and devoted his mind to the Golden Novelettes, at a penny a number. Since Lucian’s last illness, Farquhar slept in the dressing-room adjoining, and usually left the communicating door ajar; but Lucian had wisely shut it early in the evening, and was blest in solitude.
Towards dawn a voice came through that closed door, repeating the very name which was running in Lucian’s thoughts. “Dolly, Dolly!” Lucian took it for the creature of his brain, and thought with joy that now he might legitimately take some bromide; but it came again, and was this time coupled with epithets which had never crossed Lucian’s mind, still less his lips. He divined that something was wrong with Farquhar, and slid off his bed to see, taking a candle. Farquhar lay on his back, restlessly muttering, between sleep and delirium; his face was flushed and his skin dry. “Fever,” said Lucian, and sat down to watch.
Fever ravings are not commonly coherent, nor do patients, except in books, relate at length the stories of their lives; all that Lucian learned was some strange oaths, besides the fact that Farquhar wanted water. He supplied that desire liberally, and presently had the satisfaction of seeing Farquhar wake up and stare about him with the air of a man newly released from Incubus.
“Fever, sonny?” said Lucian. “How did you pick up that?”