“Who is it?” I cried out from my bed, through the door.
“Major Fitz-David,” Benjamin answered, by the same medium.
I sprang out of bed. The very man I wanted was waiting to see me! Major Fitz-David, as the phrase is, knew everybody. Intimate with my husband, he would certainly know my husband’s old friend—Miserrimus Dexter.
Shall I confess that I took particular pains with my toilet, and that I kept the luncheon waiting? The woman doesn’t live who would have done otherwise—when she had a particular favor to ask of Major Fitz-David.
CHAPTER XXII. THE MAJOR MAKES DIFFICULTIES.
As I opened the dining-room door the Major hastened to meet me. He looked the brightest and the youngest of living elderly gentlemen, with his smart blue frock-coat, his winning smile, his ruby ring, and his ready compliment. It was quite cheering to meet the modern Don Juan once more.
“I don’t ask after your health,” said the old gentleman; “your eyes answer me, my dear lady, before I can put the question. At your age a long sleep is the true beauty-draught. Plenty of bed—there is the simple secret of keeping your good looks and living a long life—plenty of bed!”
“I have not been so long in my bed, Major, as you suppose. To tell the truth, I have been up all night, reading.”
Major Fitz-David lifted his well-painted eyebrows in polite surprise.