‘Nor down here either,’ she exclaimed.
‘I shall remember that,’ said I gratefully. ‘Now, Wilfrid, won’t you——?’
‘No,’ he interrupted; ‘I am drowsy, and thank Heaven for a sensation that threatens to become a novelty. If I get no rest to-night it will be my eighth of sleeplessness, and I must humour myself; yes, I must humour myself,’ he repeated, talking in a sort of muttering way, and rising.
I advised him by all means to withdraw if he really felt tired, and further recommended a boatswain’s caulker of whisky to top off the champagne and port he had been swallowing.
‘How will you amuse yourself, Laura?’ he exclaimed, turning to her. ‘It will be dull work for you, I fear.’
‘No, no,’ cried I blithely, ‘why need Miss Jennings be dull? It must be our business to keep her lively.’
‘I can sit and read here,’ said she, ‘till it is time to go to bed. What is the hour, Mr. Monson?’
‘Just on the stroke of eight,’ said I.
She made a pretty little grimace, and then burst into one of her refreshing cordial laughs.
‘A little early for bed, Wilfrid,’ she exclaimed.