sleep! I got home about two, nearly starving, and I found you here
curled up 'in a rosy infant slumber,' as the song says. So I hunted
up the Colonel and had lunch, for it seemed a sin to disturb you.
It's just struck four. Shall we have some tea up here?"

I looked at Mrs. Everard, and smiled assent. So I had been sleeping
for two hours and a half, and I had evidently been dreaming all the
time; but my dreams had been as vivid as realities. I felt still
rather drowsy, but I was thoroughly rested and in a state of
delicious tranquillity. My friend rang the bell for the tea, and
then turned round and surveyed me with a sort of wonder.

"What have you done to yourself, child?" she said at last,
approaching the bed where I lay, and staring fixedly at me.

"What do you mean?"

"Why, you look a different creature. When I left you this morning
you were pale and haggard, a sort of die-away delicate invalid; now
your eyes are bright; and your cheeks have quite a lovely colour in
them; your lips, too, are the right tint. But perhaps," and here she
looked alarmed--"perhaps you've got the fever?"

"I don't think so," I said amusedly, and I stretched out my hand for
her to feel.

"No, you haven't," she continued, evidently reassured; "your palm is
moist and cool, and your pulse is regular. Well, you look spry,
anyhow. I shouldn't wonder if you made up your mind to have a dance
to-night."