A little startled at his serious face, Patty ran upstairs, to Elise’s room, where she had taken off her wraps.
There was Christine, who had thrown herself on a couch, and buried her face in the pillows.
“Why, Christine, what is the matter, dear?” and Patty laid her hand gently on Christine’s hair.
“Oh, Patty, don’t speak to me! I am not fit to have you touch me!”
“Good gracious, Christine, what do you mean?” and Patty began to think her friend had suddenly lost her mind.
“I’m a bad, wicked girl! You were my friend, and now I’ve done an awful, dreadful thing! But, truly, truly, Patty, I didn’t mean to!”
“Christine Farley, stop this foolishness! Sit up here this minute, and tell me what you’re talking about! I believe you’re crazy.”
Christine sat up, her pale hair falling from its bands, and her eyes full of tears.
“I’ve—I’ve—stolen——” she began.
“Oh, you goose! do go on! What have you stolen? A pin from Elise’s pin cushion,—or some powder from her puff-box? Another dab on your nose would greatly improve your appearance,—if you ask me! It’s as red as a beet!”