Feeling a little mad and wondering what made her behave like this, I took the stairs with a rush and eventually got to the top. I went straight to Myra’s room and knocked on the door. There wasn’t any sound, so I opened the door and put my head round. The room was in darkness.
“Myra?” I called, “What are you up to?”
A sleepy voice came from across the room, “What is it?”
I groped for the switch and turned it on.
Myra sat up in bed. She was in a pair of gay pyjamas and she looked at me crossly. “What’s the big idea?” she snapped, “take that drink sodden face out of here and put it under a pillow.”
I stared at her. “But, you passed me a moment ago,” I said, feeling startled, “do you usually get into bed in two seconds?”
She sat further up in the bed. “You’re tight,” she said. “I’ve been asleep since eleven o’clock. Go away!”
I came into the room. “Seriously, sweetheart,” I said, “someone came upstairs. I thought it was you. Damn it, I’ll swear it was you.”
“This sounds mightily like the silk-worm gag,” she said, “get out of my room before I toss you out, you drunken heel!”
This brought me up short. I looked at her. This was the Myra I’d known in Mexico. A sudden change had come over her from the Myra I’d known during the past three days.