Some people wake to the full enjoyment of their faculties, and with the first glance of those grey-blue eyes, George saw that concealment--with half the breakfast-table clasped to his bosom--was impossible. He blushed furiously, and began to apologise; which was foolish, since excuses, if due at all, were clearly owed by the sleeper. She did not, however, make any. 'How kind of you not to disturb me before, Mr. Keene,' she interrupted in a charming voice. 'Have you been in long?' Her coolness increased his apologies, making him assert on the contrary, he had but just returned. Only being rather in a hurry for his breakfast---- 'Apparently,' she interrupted again. 'Dear me, what a very miscellaneous meal it would have been! But, as I am awake, hadn't you better put it all down before the marmalade runs into the sardines? Then, as I am quite as hungry as you can possibly be, you might tell the man to bring breakfast.' George, if a trifle taken aback by her nonchalance, felt grateful for the opportunity, given with such easy grace, of getting at his shoes again before beginning explanations. On his return he noticed that she, also, had made use of the time to tidy her hair and restore a general daintiness of appearance. As he entered she was stooping to look under the table as if to seek something she had lost. 'It is a little diamond pin,' she said; 'I left it here with my gloves.' 'No,' he answered quickly, off his guard. 'It was on the floor--I mean--I--I think it is on the mantelpiece.' 'Thanks, so much!' She took it gravely ere going back to the arm-chair. Then she looked up at him archly. 'Was I snoring dreadfully when you came in first, Mr. Keene?' For the third time since he had become aware of her presence he blushed. 'Snoring?--oh dear no,' he began angrily. 'That is a relief. I was afraid I must have been, to make you perjure yourself so. As if any sane woman could believe that you went about Hodinuggur in that costume! I believe you have been in for hours and hours, and I'm so sorry, Mr. Keene; but you will forgive me when you hear my tale of woe.' George, with an odd little rapture at the thought, told himself he could forgive her anything because she was so beautiful. 'I'm Mrs. Boynton,' she went on; 'you will have heard of me, I expect, from Rose?'