"It would be interesting," mused Daphne, "to ring that bell and see who comes! If it's the 'Hunch-Backed Pony'—then I'll know, of course, that I'm in the Russian Fairy book. And if it's Snow White—" very cautiously she struggled up from her pillows and reached for the silver bell. "But I must ring you very—little-y," she faltered in her weakness. "So that whatever comes will surely be very little." Then with an impetuous wilfulness that 227 surprised even herself she grabbed up the bell with both hands and rang it and rang it and rang it!
In the corridor somewhere a door slammed and footsteps came running—running! Her doorhandle turned! A portiere wrenched aside!
"It's the seven bears story—life size!" she screamed. And opened her eyes to Richard Wiltoner. Like a silver bomb the bell whizzed by his head. "Get out of my room!" she screamed. "Get out of my room before I'm expelled again!"
"Silly!" laughed Richard Wiltoner. "I'm visiting in your house! They told me to answer your bell!"
"My house?" collapsed Daphne. "Don't blame this house on me! I don't even know where I am!"
"Why, you're in your own home!" laughed Richard Wiltoner. "Just wait a minute and I'll call your people. . . . Everybody rushed outdoors to help a horse that fell on the ice."
"Fell on the ice? How nice," mused Daphne. "Why—why, I can rhyme again!" she exulted suddenly with softly clapping hands. 228 "Why, I'd forgotten all about it!" Then a little bit bewilderedly the white brow clouded. "Richard," she asked, "you—you said 'everybody' rushed out. What do you mean—'everybody'?"
"Why, your father, Mr. Bretton," said Richard, "and Mrs. Bretton."
"'Mrs. Bretton?'" jumped Daphne. Very limply she sank back into her pillows again. "Oh, I knew it," she said. "I've waked in the wrong story!" Quite severely she seemed to hold Richard responsible for the mistake. "Oh—no, Richard," she corrected him. "In the story I belong in there's no Mrs. Bretton. Just Mr. Bretton!—Mr. Jaffrey Bretton!—a tall man," she endeavored to illustrate, "with snow-white hair!"
"The very lad," laughed Richard, "and Mrs. Bretton. She's a brick! She's got red hair. Oh, I didn't mean to be funny!" he apologized hastily.