“The rooms aren’t so bad,” said Elaine, looking around.
“We each have a bed, and a bureau, and a wash-stand, and a couple of chairs, a few chromos, a rug on the floor—and bars at the window.”
“I noticed the bars,” said Davila.
Elaine crossed to her wash-stand.
“They’ve provided us with water, so we may as well use it,” she said. “I think my face needs—Heavens! what a sight I am!”
“Haven’t you observed the same sight in me?” Davila asked. “I’ve lost all my puffs, I know—and so have you—and your hat is a trifle awry.”
“Since we’re not trying to make an impression, I reckon it doesn’t matter!” laughed Elaine. “We will have ample opportunity to put them to rights before Colin and Geoffrey see us.”
She took off her hat, pressed her hair into shape, replaced a few pins, dashed water on her face, and washed her hands. 290
“Now,” she said, going into the other room where Miss Carrington was doing likewise, “if I only had a powder-rag, I’d feel dressed.”
Davila turned, and, taking a little book, from the pocket of her coat, extended it.