Kurt looked on helplessly, perplexed by this last mood of his prismatic young prisoner.
Mrs. Kingdon took the girl’s arm again.
“You are going to have a bed and bath before you leave, anyway. Come with me. Kurt, you look as if you had best go to cover, too.”
Pen’s outbreak had evidently spent her last drop of reserve force. She submitted meekly to guidance through a long room with low-set windows. She noted a tiled floor with soft rugs, a fireplace and a certain pervading home-sense before they turned into a little hallway. Again she faintly protested.
“I am worse than a thief,” she said. “I am a liar. I haven’t told him—all.”
“Never mind that now,” said Mrs. Kingdon soothingly. “You’ve been ill recently, haven’t you?”
“Yes; I was just about at the end of—”
“You’re at the end of the trail now—the trail to Top Hill. You shall have a bath, a long sleep and something to eat before you try to tell me anything more.”
Pen went on into a sunward room generously supplied with casement windows. A few rugs, a small but billowy bed, a chair and a table comprised the furnishings, but an open door disclosed a bathroom and beyond that a dressing room most adequately equipped.
“This is clover,” she thought presently, when she slipped into a warm bath.