Martine's room was large and pleasant, and even for so short a stay she had thought it worth while to give it a few homelike touches. Photographs of her parents and of one or two of her friends in ornamental frames were on the mantelpiece, and over the mantelpiece itself she had draped a soft foreign scarf. Her silver toilet articles occupied the top of the bureau; for in spite of Priscilla's disapproval, or perhaps because of it, she now carried these things in her suit case. Slight though these little touches were, Martine had contrived to relieve the room of its purely boarding-house aspect.
The house itself was plain, and both inside and out had a certain aspect of flimsiness. This had been accounted for by some one who had told Mrs. Redmond that it had been put up very hastily, immediately after the recent fire. It had been built for a boarding-house and pretended to be nothing else. It was airy and clean, but neither its landlady nor the other boarders attracted the travellers sufficiently to incline them to stay downstairs in the general sitting-room; so the three girls and Mrs. Redmond sat and chatted in Martine's room, enjoying the box of chocolates that she had opened for their especial pleasure.
"They ought to be good," she said, when Mrs. Redmond praised them. "They came from Halifax;" and she glanced mischievously at Priscilla.
"From Halifax?" repeated Amy. "I suppose that's where most shopkeepers in Windsor get their goods."
"Halifax by way of Windsor."
"No, no," retorted Martine, "not by way of Windsor at all; they came to me by mail. You know I went down to the post-office the last moment before we left Wolfville."
The others made no comment, but Priscilla and Amy exchanged glances, and Priscilla's seemed to say:
"I told you so."
Before, however, anything could be said, Martine rushed to her bureau.
"I received a letter, too, at the same time," she cried, "and except for these chocolates I never should have thought of it again."