I talked nicely at dinner. I was dignified and grave, and quite frank. Mr.
Carruthers was not bored. The chef had outdone himself, hoping to be kept
on. I never felt so excited in my life.
I was apparently asleep under a big lamp, after dinner, in the library, a
book of silly poetry in my lap, when the door opened and he--Mr.
Carruthers--came in alone, and walked up the room. I did not open my
eyes. He looked for just a minute--how accurate I am! Then he said, "You
are very pretty when asleep!"
His voice was not caressing or complimentary--merely as if the fact had
forced this utterance.
I allowed myself to wake without a start.
"Was the '47 port as good as you hoped?" I asked, sympathetically.
He sat down. I had arranged my chair so that there was none other in its
immediate neighborhood. Thus he was some way off, and could realize my
whole silhouette.
"The '47 port? Oh yes; but I am not going to talk of port. I want you to
tell me a lot more about yourself, and your plans----"
"I have no plans--except to see the world."
He picked up a book and put it down again; he was not perfectly calm.
"I don't think I shall let you. I am more than ever convinced you ought to
have some one to take care of you--you are not of the type that makes it
altogether safe to roam about alone.
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