As Edith spoke, Constance stopped to look at her rather oddly, then went on quickly.
"When you are ready, come to my sitting-room," she said on reaching their door. "It is at the end of this hall."
When the girls appeared ten minutes later, Constance was yet invisible. In the sitting-room a table stood before a couch piled with pillows, and two cushioned chairs opened luxurious arms.
"Isn't this the dearest room," said Frances appreciatively as she settled herself. "I suppose this is Miss Connie's own especial place where no one comes without an invitation."
In some respects the room was very unlike the sanctum of the average girl. While not lacking in the daintiness bestowed by fresh flowers, gay chintz and white draperies, it contained a number of objects not often seen in a boudoir. On a teakwood stand in one corner, against the background of a valuable Oriental rug in shimmering greens and blues, sat a curious Indian idol. Constance's desk might once have been used by some Italian princess in the days of Dante, and above it hung a beautiful silver lamp that could well cause envy in the breast of Aladdin. Pictures and ornaments alike spoke of wanderings in distant lands and from their unusual individuality indicated a wide range of interest in their possessor.
The door into the adjoining bedroom opened and Constance came out attired in a lounging-robe that made both girls gasp with admiration.
"Oh, Miss Connie," Frances exclaimed, "what a beautiful kimono. And what color is it?"
"Guess," said Constance merrily. "For a long time I didn't know myself what to call it."
"It isn't blue nor gray," said Edith admiringly.
"Nor green nor violet," added Frances reflectively, "and yet it is all of them. I've seen something like it but I can't think what."