"Good-night, little Lord Fauntleroy," she said. "Sleep well."
And in the morning he did not know that he had tried to open his eyes and had murmured sleepily,
"Good-night—I'm so—glad—I saw you—you are so—pretty——"
He only had a very faint recollection of hearing the gentlemen laugh again and of wondering why they did it.
o sooner had the last guest left the room, than Mr. Havisham turned from his place by the fire, and stepped nearer the sofa, where he stood looking down at the sleeping occupant. Little Lord Fauntleroy was taking his ease luxuriously. One leg crossed the other and swung over the edge of the sofa; one arm was flung easily above his head; the warm flush of healthful, happy, childish sleep was on his quiet face; his waving tangle of bright hair strayed over the yellow satin cushion. He made a picture well worth looking at.
As Mr. Havisham looked at it, he put his hand up and rubbed his shaven chin, with a harassed countenance.
"Well, Havisham," said the Earl's harsh voice behind him. "What is it? It is evident something has happened. What was the extraordinary event, if I may ask?"
Mr. Havisham turned from the sofa, still rubbing his chin.