“A glass of Benedictine, with a drop of eau-de-Cologne—” said Sir Lulworth.
“I have tried every known remedy,” said Lola, with dignity; “I’ve been a martyr to insomnia for years.”
“But now we are being martyrs to it,” said Odo sulkily; “I particularly want to land a big coup over this race.”
“I don’t have insomnia for my own amusement,” snapped Lola.
“Let us hope for the best,” said Mrs. de Claux soothingly; “to-night may prove an exception to the fifth-night rule.”
But when breakfast time came round again Lola reported a blank night as far as visions were concerned.
“I don’t suppose I had as much as ten minutes’ sleep, and, certainly, no dreams.”
“I’m so sorry, for your sake in the first place, and ours as well,” said her hostess; “do you think you could induce a short nap after breakfast? It would be so good for you—and you might dream something. There would still be time for us to get our bets on.”
“I’ll try if you like,” said Lola; “it sounds rather like a small child being sent to bed in disgrace.”
“I’ll come and read the Encyclopædia Britannica to you if you think it will make you sleep any sooner,” said Bertie obligingly.