"Of course, if she's still in a temper——Hulloa!"
The door had been softly opened. Alwynne, in her gay dressing-gown stood on the threshold. Her hair was knotted on the top of her head, and small damp curls strayed about her forehead. The folds of her wrapper, humped across her arm, with elaborate care, hinted at the towels and sponges concealed beneath. She looked, in spite of her bigness, like an extremely small child masquerading as a grown-up person.
Her eyes sought her aunt's appealingly. Roger, she ignored.
"Elsbeth," she said meekly, "please won't you come and tuck me up?"
She disappeared again.
Elsbeth laughed as she rose.
"I knew she wouldn't be content. Isn't she a dear, Roger, for all her little ways?"
"She's all right," said Roger, with immense conviction.