Meanwhile the “silly babies” were tossing on restless pillows. In adjoining rooms, Dolly and Dotty were thinking hard, though in different moods. Dotty was tumbling about the bed, throwing her arms out and digging her face in her pillow, in the intensity of her warring emotions.
Dolly was lying quiet and straight, her eyes turned toward the ceiling, her heart throbbing, as she “thought it out.”
Both rooms were flooded with moonlight, and the two girls stayed awake far into the night.
At last, about one o’clock, Dolly finished her cogitations. Deliberately, she rose and put on her dressing-gown and slippers. She went to Dotty’s room, opened the door softly and walked in. Then she closed the door behind her, and going to the bedside, said:
“You awake, Dots?”
“Yep,” came the surprised voice from the rumpled coverlets.
“Well, sit up here, then. I’ve come to talk.”
“Isn’t—isn’t it late?” and Dotty sat up, a little uncertain what attitude to assume.
“Of course it’s late. But I’ve got to have this thing out. I can’t go on this way.”
“Nor I either, Doll!” and Dotty leaned forward and threw her arms around Dolly’s neck in a convulsive hug that nearly strangled her. “Aren’t we the silly geese to—”