Lobelia sighed, and twisted her buttons. "I—I never am a very good sleeper," she said at last. "I—I'm nervous, Peggy. And then—"
"And then, what?"
"Oh, dear me! I can't tell you. You won't believe me if I tell you. Things come into my room and frighten me."
"Things? What do you mean, Lobelia?"
"I don't know what I mean!" cried the poor girl, looking about her again, as if in dread of some unseen terror. "I don't know who it is, or what it is. Something—or somebody—comes through my room at night and goes out of the window."
"Ah!" said Peggy. "Well, go on. How long has this been going on?"
"Oh, ever so long! At first—Peggy, you will feel badly if I tell you this."
"Well, then, I've got to feel badly," said Peggy, stoutly. "Though I can't see what I have to do with it—so far. I'll have plenty to do with it from now on!" she added, significantly. "Go on, Lobelia."
"Well, you know that time you were so good to me, Peggy; when Blanche Haight and those others were teasing me, and you came in like a lioness and drove them off. I never shall forget it as long as I live, Peggy, never!"
"Nonsense!" said Peggy. "It wasn't anything at all. Don't be absurd, Lobelia. Well, what since then?"