It was a long, narrow room, with a low whitewashed ceiling, across which ran two beams. A pot-pourri stood on the little table in the centre, and there were two beds, one single and one double.
“Who’s to be here beside me?” inquired Rhoda.
“Oh, Mother would have given you and Phoebe a chamber to yourselves,” replied Betty, “but we are so full of company, she felt herself obliged to put in some one, so Gatty is coming to you.”
“Can’t it be Molly?” rather uncivilly suggested Rhoda.
Phoebe privately hoped it could not.
“Will, I think not,” answered Betty, smiling. “Lady Diana Middleham wants Molly. She’s in great request.”
“Who is,—me?” demanded Molly, appearing as if by magic in the doorway. “Of course. I’m not going to sleep with you, Pug-nose. Not going to sleep at all. Spend the night in tickling the people I like, and running pins into those I don’t. Fair warning!”
“I wonder whether it is better to be one you like, Molly, or one you don’t like,” said Rhoda, laughing.
“I hope you don’t like me in that regard,” said Betty, laughing too.
“Well, I don’t particularly,” was Molly’s frank answer, “so you’ll get the pins. Right about face! Stand—at—ease! Here comes Mum.”