“Thank you, but I really meant to go down. I—I think I fell asleep.”

“Yes, sir. Miss Indy say good-night, and she hopes you’ll sleep comfable, sir.”

“Much obliged,” muttered Winthrop.

“I’ll be back after awhile to fetch away the tray, sir.”

“All right.”

When he was once more alone he arose and laughed softly.

“Confound the woman! She’s a regular tyrant. I wonder if she’ll let me get up to-morrow. Oh, well, maybe she’s right. I don’t feel much like making conversation. Hello! there’s my trunk; I must have slept soundly, and that’s a fact!”

Unlocking the trunk, he rummaged through it until he found his dressing-gown and slippers. With those on he drew a chair to the table and began his supper.

[90]

[90]

“Nice diet for an invalid,” he thought, amusedly, as he uncovered the hot biscuits.

But he didn’t object to them, for he found himself very hungry; spread with the white, crumbly unsalted butter which the repast provided he found them extremely satisfactory. There was cold chicken, besides, and egg soufflé, fig preserve and marble cake, and a glass of milk. Winthrop’s gaze lingered on the milk.

“No coffee, eh?” he muttered. “Not suitable for invalids, I suppose; milk much better.”

But when he had finished his meal the glass of milk still remained untouched and he observed it thoughtfully. “I fancy Miss Wayne will see this tray when it goes down and she’ll feel hurt because I haven’t drunk that infernal stuff.” His gaze wandered around the room until it encountered the washstand. “Ah!” he said, as he arose. When he returned to the table the glass was quite empty. Digging his pipe and pouch from his bag he filled the former and was soon puffing enjoyably,[91] leaning back in the easy-chair and watching the smouldering fire.

[91]

“Even if I have to get out of here,” he reflected, “I dare say there’s a hotel or boarding-house in the village 

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