The girl roused herself and tried to recall her faculties.
“I believe I did fall asleep, Odalite,” she replied; but she shuddered as she remembered her night’s adventure.
“And you are shivering now. And you are pale and heavy-eyed. Oh, my dear, what an indiscreet thing to do—to sleep with your head on the sill of an open window! You have caught cold.”
“Ah! if you only knew what I have caught,” thought Wynnette; but she answered:
“Oh, no, I have not, Odalite. I am going to take a bath now and dress for breakfast. I am all right. How could I take cold on such a lovely night in June?”
“But you must not repeat this,” said Odalite.
“I don’t mean to!” significantly replied Wynnette.
An hour later they met the family at breakfast.
Wynnette was so unusually grave and silent that at length her uncle noticed her manner and inquired:
“What is the matter with our Little Pickle this morning?”