It was a possible escape from that other most awful "aunt." He laid the Moral Tales down as if they were made of glass, and departed with alacrity.
Twice he had to knock upon the blue room door before a voice said:
"Who's there?"
"It's me, Aunt Valeria."
"Oh, run away, dear."
"But, please, I'm sent."
A little pause and the door was opened. A spacious bedchamber, where everything—walls, curtains, carpet, and bedfurnishing—was a soft faded blue, almost gray in this light. The floor was strewn with papers, books and papers lay on the chairs, on the sofa, even on the preternaturally high and massive bedstead, that looked quite inaccessible to all save the athletic without the aid of a ladder.
"Did my mother send you?" asked Aunt Valeria.
"Yes, and—oh, are you awful busy?"
His voice faltered a little.