“What nonsense!” Stella Dean replied; “you imagine it.”
“No, I don’t,” Miss Cummings retorted; “I’m going to sit somewhere else,” and she moved to the other side of the table.
Mrs. Bell made no comment. An hour or so afterwards, Vera Cummings abruptly observed:
“My, Stella Dean, what long legs you have!”
“What in the world do you mean?” was the surprised and rather indignant retort.
“Why, there’s no one else on your side of the table, is there?” Vera Cummings responded; “and someone’s feet keep kicking mine.”
“You’re dreaming,” Stella Dean said, and Mrs. Bell noticed she turned very pale.
Two days now passed uneventfully, but on the third day after the above conversation, Mrs. Bell and the two girls were sitting talking—it was close on the interval for tea, and work was just then very slack—when Vera Cummings remarked, “Who is that tall, good-looking girl, Stella, that I’ve seen following you into the building on several occasions. I’ve watched her keeping close behind you till you get to the elevator, and then she disappears. Where she goes I can’t imagine.”
“A tall, good-looking girl following me to the elevator,” Stella Dean repeated, her cheeks ashy. “What do you mean? I’ve seen no one. You’ve dreamt it.”
“What was she like?” Mrs. Bell interrupted.