"I am awfully sorry, old man," he explained apologetically, "but the
fact is, I do not feel well enough to remain down here to the spread.
Nothing serious, you know--indigestion or something like that. I 'll
run up to my room and lie down for a while; if I feel better I may
wander in later."
Craig looked concerned.
"Thought you were mighty white about the gills all the evening,
Ned--the lobster salad, likely. I hate letting you go, awfully; upon
my word, I do. I wanted Lizzie to meet you; she 's always heard me
singing your praises, and your not being there will prove quite a
disappointment to her. But Lord! if you 're sick, why, of course,
there's no help for it. Come down later, if you can, and I 'll run up
there as soon as I can break away from the bunch. Sure you don't need
the house physician?"
"Perfectly sure; all I require is rest and a bit of sleep. Been
working too hard, and am dead tired."
He sank down within the great arm-chair in the silence of his own room,
not even taking trouble to turn on the lights; mechanically lit a
cigar, and sat staring out of the window.
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