“Oh, Mary, don’t be so hard. Won’t you forgive me? I’m sure I’m ashamed enough.”
“It is no use talking further about it,” was the grim response. “The thing’s done and cannot be undone by any amount of talking. You mortified me before my best friends, and I can not forget it soon. When I can, I’ll tell you. But please don’t mention the subject to me again.”
That was all, but it was enough. Elizabeth crept into bed and turned her face to the wall. She had no desire to cry now. Anger and grief were holding equal places with her.
She was too young and healthy and sleepy to stay awake long. She had been sleeping uneasily when she awoke from a horrible nightmare. She had dreamed that a most formidable array of shoes and stockings, hats and coats in the form of grinning spectres were hovering about her ready to seize her. When she was wide awake, she remembered the cause of her dream. She remembered, too, that she had not put the sitting-room in order.
Crawling softly from bed, she crept into the study. It seemed as though each chair, in a conspiracy to make her efforts difficult, stood in her path. She turned on the gas and gathered together her possessions. Then she crept back to her nest again, hoping that the spectres of her negligence would not haunt her.
CHAPTER V.
A BOX FROM HOME.
For some days the relations between Elizabeth and her roommate were strained. No further words concerning the order of the room passed between them, but each time they dressed, whether for breakfast or dinner, Miss Wilson made a point of looking about both rooms to see that each article was as it should be. The very calmness of her manner was exasperating. Elizabeth was hurt more by it than by words. She paid no attention to Mary’s vain efforts, for they had grown to be vain, as Elizabeth was keeping the tightest kind of a rein on herself.