"Will a hundred do?" asked Elinor, extracting the spool from her neat sewing bag.
"That's too fine."
"I have all sizes here."
"Never mind," exclaimed Nancy impatiently, and hastened from the room, taking her lace-flounced skirt with her.
"Stubborn person," observed Elinor and once more plunged into her aristocratic labors.
Billie grew more and more restless. The book Mary was reading aloud was a detective story, lately arrived from America. It had reached a thrilling point, but Billie could not fasten her attention.
"I think I'll just be obliged to get out and walk," she burst out unexpectedly. "I can't stand this life of inaction a minute longer. Don't stop reading on my account, Mary, dear. I don't suppose I could tempt either of you two hot-house plants to come with me, could I?"
"Since it's just as hot outside as inside, I don't think you could," answered Elinor.
"Perhaps Nancy will go," thought Billie, hastening down the long hall to their joint apartment.
But Nancy was not in the room. Her lace petticoat had been thrown hastily on the bed with her sewing box. Billie searched over the entire house for her friend without success.