"I'll go away quick enough," said Nuggy Polk, in as loud a voice as ever. "But you don't seem to know what is for Mr. Bartlett's good."
At that moment came a voice from a bed-chamber close at hand. "Viola, who is that? Who is talking about me?" The tone was weak and wild, as if the sick one was suffering from fever.
"Hush! you have already disturbed him!" cried Mrs. Bartlett. "Please go away, please do!" And she motioned Nuggy Polk to the door.
But the young man had no notion of departing just yet, and he held his ground.
"I'm disturbing nobody," he said as loudly as before. "You are standing in your own light. If you'll let me talk to Mr. Bartlett—"
"Hush! do hush!" cried Jennie, in a low voice. "My poor father has a heavy fever, and—"
"Yes, but look here, Miss Bartlett. I offer— Who is this? Pennington, by Jove! Lieutenant, how did you get here?"
"We'll talk about that when we are outside, Polk," answered Gilbert, sternly. "Come out with me."
"Why, I—I don't understand you," stammered Nuggy.
