"I thought she didn't sleep."
"Well, she didn't sleep much, but when she did she mumbled and said things and—"
Then the dining-room door opened again, and Carol—her hair about her shoulders, her feet bare, enveloped in a soft and clinging kimono of faded blue—stalked majestically into the room. There was woe in her eyes, and her voice was tragic.
"It is gone," she said. "It is gone!"
Her appearance was uncanny to say the least, and the family gazed at her with some concern, despite the fact that Carol's vagaries were so common as usually to elicit small respect.
"Gone!" she cried, striking her palms together. "Gone!"
"If you do anything to spoil that wedding, papa'll whip you, if you are fifteen years old," said Fairy.
Lark sprang to her sister's side. "What's gone, Carrie?" she pleaded with sympathy, almost with tears. "What's gone? Are you out of your head?"
"No! Out of my complexion," was the dramatic answer.
Even Lark fell back, for the moment, stunned. "Y-your complexion," she faltered.