ing back upon him: "What's the time?" he demanded.
"It's just past eleven, sir."
"What?" cried Beresford, starting up in bed, only restrained from throwing his legs out by the girl's presence.
"Just past eleven, sir," repeated the girl, gazing at him with all the tenderness of a woman for an invalid, especially a good-looking man invalid.
"Good heavens! Here, clear out, my good girl," he cried. "I must get up."
"You'll find the bath-room the second door on the right, sir," she said. "I've brought your shaving water," and with that she disappeared. Beresford threw himself out of bed, tore on his bath-robe and, snatching up his sponge and towels, made a dash for the corridor. Never had he bathed with such expedition as on that morning.
Returning to his own room he found waiting at the door a little dark man in a black frock-coat.
"I hope you're feeling better this morning, sir," he said, with a smile that radiated tact and understanding. "I'm the manager."
"Oh! I'm all right again now, thank you," said Beresford, with a laugh as he entered the room. "Come in," and the manager followed him. "It's very kind of you to enquire," he continued, "and I feel I owe you an apology for the disturbance I created last night in the dining-room."
"Not at all, sir," said the manager sympatheti-
