He sat without movement, in an enchanted reverie.

And when night had fallen, he suddenly threw off his clothes and got into bed, where for hours he lay dreaming in wakefulness.
He rose at eight the next morning, and would, under ordinary circumstances, have taken a book till breakfast.

But no book could hold him, for he had already looked from the window, and in the garden below had seen Irene.

Panting with the haste he had made to finish his toilet, he stepped towards her.
"Three hours' work already, I suppose," she said, as they shook hands.
"Unfortunately, not one.

I overslept myself." "Come, that's reasonable! There's hope of you.