It was nearly five o'clock, when Patty, puzzled at such actions, tapped at Azalea's door.
"What's the matter, dear?" she called, through the closed door, as there was no response to her knock.
"Nothing; let me alone!" came Azalea's impatient voice.
"Are you ill? Don't you feel well?"
"Let me alone. I'm all right." The tone was ungracious, and there was no mistaking the import of her speech, so Patty went away.
At dinner time Azalea appeared. She wore the same frock she had worn all day, and Patty looked at her in amazement. Apparently she had been working hard at something. Her hair was rumpled, her collar awry, and her whole appearance untidy and unpresentable.
"Have you been busy?" Patty said; "couldn't you get time to dress?"
"Forgot it!" muttered Azalea. "Sorry. Shall I go back and dress?"
Patty hesitated. It would, of course, delay dinner, which was already announced,—and, too, in Azalea's present state of pre-occupation, she might fall to work again, and not come to dinner at all.
So Patty said, "No, come as you are," and she gave Azalea's hair a touch, and pulled her collar straight.