“Why—don’t you see? It’s the girl I gave flowers to. Don’t you remember?”
Molly was staring wonderingly about the stateroom. She spied the green hat and purple feather.
“Cracky-me!” she sighed. “That dowdy?”
“Sh!” began Beth, but Molly interrupted:
“She’s dead, isn’t she? Nothing less than Gabriel’s trump will wake her up. Tell me about it—do! A strange girl in your stateroom? I shouldn’t have thought you’d dare.”
“Why—I never thought there was the least harm in her,” Beth said, wonderingly. “And she was in trouble.”
“What sort of trouble?”
In whispers Beth told Molly all about it. The jolly girl laughed when she heard how Beth thought the freckled girl was about to commit suicide; but she listened to the remainder of the story with some seriousness.
“I don’t see how you dared do it,” repeated Molly. “To take her right into your stateroom!”
“But she’s only a girl like ourselves.”