“What is it, dear?” she said, as she stooped and pressed her lips to his forehead.
“I want to sign this lease, and for the life of me I can’t recollect my own name.”
“Titus Culpepper, dear,” she whispered in his ear.
“Of course. What an idiot I must be!” he exclaimed with a laugh, as he dashed off the name in his usual rapid style, and ended with a bigger flourish than usual.
“Won’t you go to bed, papa?” said Jane, insinuatingly, as soon as Blenkinsop was gone. “You will rest so much better there, you know.”
“Go to bed at this time of day, indeed! What are you thinking about? No, I’ll just have a little snooze on the sofa—nothing more. And be sure you wake me up in time for dinner.”
In less than two minutes he had gone off to sleep, as calmly and quietly as any little child. Jane rejoined Tom in the drawing-room.
“I am afraid that papa has heard some very bad news, Mr. Bristow,” she said.
“Yes, and I was the unfortunate bearer of it,” answered Tom.
“He sent you to London the other day to make certain private inquiries for him?”