"Have we brought everything?" called Billie over her shoulder. "The guitar and the tea basket and the luncheon hamper—"
"And the mackintoshes?" finished Nicholas.
Billie frowned and her face darkened.
"Everything but your raincoat, Billie," said Elinor, counting packages in the bottom of the car with the toe of her boot. "Did you forget it?"
"No, it had a torn place in it," answered Billie, still frowning.
An incident too trivial to mention, but too unusual to put lightly aside had caused her some annoyance that morning. She had closed the bureau drawer on a corner of her raincoat, hanging over her arm, and had torn the hem off one side.
"How stupid," she had exclaimed impatiently, tossing it into a chair. "You'll have to lend me your blue raincoat, Nancy-Bell. I've just done for mine completely."
Nancy, lying on the bed with her face turned to the wall, did not reply.
Billie tiptoed to the foot of the bed to see if she was asleep, but the blue eyes were wide open staring at the wall paper.
"Will you lend me your raincoat, Miss Nancy?" repeated Billie, trying to be jocular to overcome the peculiar sensation of annoyance that had crept into her thoughts.