She was short, was plump about the shoulders but slender in the hips. Her reddish brown hair was neatly done over a big rat, and was so spread that its thinness was hidden well enough to deceive masculine eyes. Nor would a man have observed that one of her white round shoulders was full two inches higher than the other. Her skin was good, her features small and irregular, her eyes shrewd but kindly.
"My name's"—Susan hesitated—"Lorna Sackville."
"I guess Lorna and Ida'll be enough for us to bother to remember," laughed Miss Driscoll. "The rest's liable to change. You've just come, haven't you?"
"About an hour ago. I've got only a toothbrush, a comb, a washrag and a cake of soap. I bought them on my way here."
"Baggage lost—eh?" said Ida, amused.
"No," admitted Susan. "I'm beginning an entire new deal."
"I'll lend you a nightgown. I'm too short for my other things to fit you."
"Oh, I can get along. What's good for a headache? I'm nearly crazy with it."
"Wine?"
"Yes."