Charlotte turned away, fighting hard for self-control. Jeff caught her arm.
"See here, Fiddle, you've got to tell me. You look like a ghost. No bad news--from New Mexico?"
"Oh, no--no! Please go away."
"I won't till you tell me what's up. You're not sick?"
Charlotte ran off up-stairs, Jeff following. "Charlotte," he cried, as he pursued her into her room before she could turn and close the door, "what's the use of acting like this? Something's happened, and I'm going to know what it is."
Charlotte sat down in a despairing heap on the floor and hid her face in her hands. Jeff glanced helplessly from her to the table in the corner. Then he observed that it was bare of the pile of drawings.
"Nothing's happened to the wall-paper?" he asked, eagerly.
Charlotte nodded.
"What?"
"Go look up in the attic, if you must know."