Jenny pulled herself together by a visible effort.
"No, I can't go on sleeping with you. I've got to be married, now I've done it."
The two sisters, as if drawn by some horrid enchantment, went back to the bride's room.
"How big that candle looks, doesn't it, but small in one way. May, I'm frightened," whispered the bride.
There was a rattle of falling plaster, a squeak, a dying scamper.
"Oo-er, what was that?" cried May.
"Rats, I suppose. Oh, this is a shocking place," said Jenny, trembling. "Never mind, it's got to be done. It's got to be finished some day. It'll be all the same in a hundred years, and anyway, perhaps it won't be so bad in the morning. May!" she added sharply.
"What?"
"Why, when you come to think of it, the second ballet's well on now and here am I starting off to undress in this dog's island. Let's go back to your room for a minute."
Again the sisters sought May's kindlier room and Jenny had an idea.