“Just so,” said Reggie. He picked her up and walked off with her to her bedroom.
“Oh, you are strong,” she said, not coquetting, but in honest surprise, like a child.
Reggie laughed. “There’s nothing of you,” and he laid her down on her bed. “Well, what about it?”
“I feel all muzzy.”
“That’ll pass off,” said Reggie cheerfully. “Do you know what hit you?”
“No. Isn’t it horrid? It was all dark, you know. There’s no end of a bruise,” she felt behind her ear and made a face.
“I know, I know,” Reggie murmured sympathetically. “And how did it all begin?”
“Why, I came up to bed, Mr. Fortune—heavens, there may be a man in here now!” she raised herself.
“Yes, we’d better clear that up,” said Reggie, and looked under the bed and opened the wardrobe and thrust into her dresses and turned back to her. “No luck, Miss Winslow.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she sank down again. “You see, I came up and put the light on, of course, and there was a man at the window there. Then I screamed.”