Instead of thinking about her own share in the escapade and its probable consequences, Marjory's mind was occupied by speculations as to her uncle. She felt Blanche's arms clinging round her, but was only roused to the remembrance of herself when her uncle said, "What is the meaning of this, Marjory?" His voice was cold and stern, and all her old fear of him rushed upon Marjory with tenfold force.
"We—that is—I," she stammered.
"Speak out, child," said the doctor.
"We wanted to find out what the light was," she said, with a great effort.
Blanche was sobbing by this time, and as she had not provided herself with a handkerchief, she was hiding her face in Marjory's dressing-gown. Two queer little figures they looked, their hair hanging about their faces, and their bare ankles showing beneath their dressing-gowns.
Something in their appearance must have tickled the doctor's fancy, for he actually laughed and said,—
"You're a pretty pair of monkeys, I must say, and you've just managed to spoil an experiment I have been working on for weeks."
"O uncle!" cried Marjory in dismay.
"I'm"—sob—"very"—sob—"sorry" came from poor Blanche. This was a most unexpected ending to their romantic expedition.