"Why not decide at once?" he remonstrated, in his most persuasive tones.
"You have only to consider--"
"I have more to consider than you think for," she answered. "I have
another object in view besides the object you know of."
"May I ask--?"
"Excuse me, Captain Wragge--you may _not_ ask. Allow me to thank you
for your hospitality, and to wish you good-night. I am worn out. I want
rest."
Once more the captain wisely adapted himself to her humor with the ready
self-control of an experienced man.
"Worn out, of course!" he said, sympathetically. "Unpardonable on my
part not to have thought of it before. We will resume our conversation
to-morrow. Permit me to give you a candle. Mrs. Wragge!"
Prostrated by mental exertion, Mrs. Wragge was pursuing the course of
the omelette in dreams. Her head was twisted one way, and her body the
other. She snored meekly. At intervals one of her hands raised itself in
the air, shook an imaginary frying-pan, and dropped again with a faint
thump on the cookery-book in her lap. At the sound of her husband's
voice, she started to her feet, and confronted him with her mind fast
asleep, and her eyes wide open.
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