"I'm sure," he began soothingly; "it doesn't matter. You mistook a door—"
"But you don't understand!" She shuddered. … "This dreadful habit! And I was hoping I had outgrown it! How can I ever explain—?"
"Believe me, Miss Bannon, you need explain nothing."
"But I must…I wish to…I can't bear to let you think.… But surely you can make allowances for sleepwalking!"
To this appeal he could at first return nothing more intelligent than a dazed repetition of the phrase.
So that was how.… Why hadn't he thought of it before? Ever since he had turned on the lights, he had been subjectively busy trying to invest her presence there with some plausible excuse. But somnambulism had never once entered his mind. And in his stupidity, at pains though he had been to render his words inoffensive, he had been guilty of constructive incivility.
In his turn, Lanyard coloured warmly.
"I beg your pardon," he muttered.
The girl paid no attention; she seemed self-absorbed, thinking only of herself and the anomalous position into which her infirmity had tricked her. When she did speak, her words came swiftly:
"You see … I was so frightened! I found myself suddenly standing up in darkness, just as if I had jumped out of bed at some alarm; and then I heard somebody enter the room and shut the door stealthily. … Oh, please understand me!"
"But I do, Miss Bannon—quite."
