“In where?” murmured Jennie drowsily. She found difficulty in keeping her mind on what he was saying.
“To the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball.”
“Oh, getting in was easy enough; it was the getting out that was the trouble.”
“Like prison, eh?” suggested the editor. “Now, will you have a little wine, or something stronger?”
“No, no. All I need is rest.”
“Then let me call a cab; I will see you home, if you will permit me.”
“I am too tired to go home; I shall remain here until morning.”
“Nonsense. You must go home and sleep for a week if you want to. Rouse up; I believe you are talking in your sleep now.”
“I understand perfectly what you are saying and what I am doing. I have work that must be attended to at eight. Please leave orders that someone is to call me at seven and bring a cup of coffee and biscuits, or rolls, or anything that is to be had at that hour. And please don’t trouble further. I am very thankful to you, but will express myself better later on.”
With this the editor had to be content, and was shortly on his way to his own well-earned rest. To Jennie it seemed but a moment after he had gone, that the porter placed coffee and rolls on the desk beside her saying, “Seven o’clock, miss!”