The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (4.1895)

T heodora

A Fragment

By Victoria Cross

Id id not turn out of bed tili ten o’clock the next morning, and
I was still in dressing-gown and slippers, sitting by the fire,
looking over a map, when Digby came in upon me.

“Hullo, Ray, only just up, eh? as usual ? ” was his first
exclamation as he entered, his ulster buttoned to his chin, and
the snow thick upon his boots. “ What a fellow you are ! I
can’t understand anybody lying in bed tili ten o’clock in the
morning.”

u And I can’t understand anybody driving up at seven,” I
said, smiling, and stirring my coffee idly. I had laid down the
map with resignation. I knew Digby had come round to jaw
for the next hour at least. “ Can I offer you some breakfast ? ”

“ Breakfast ! ” returned Digby contemptuously. “ No, thanks.
I had mine hours ago. Well, what do you think of her ? ”

“ Of whom ?—this Theodora ? ”

“ Oh, it’s Theodora already, is it ? ” said Digby, looking atme.
“ Well, never mind : go on. Yes, what do you think of her ? ”

“ She seerns rather clever, I think.”

“ Do