The toilet cover was wildly fluttering its corners; a towel had been blown from the towel horse and danced merrily in a corner; one curtain was streaming, a wet limp rag, out into the night, the other was whirling in graceful curves across the room; Denis's tie had twined itself round the leg of a chair.
She gave a little laugh.
"If you won't shut the window, I will! And," glancing down at her bare toes, "I don't feel the least bit inclined to paddle just now."
"Then don't."
"But you will shut it—"
"But I won't!"
She looked out into the darkness where the curtain waved forlornly.
"Seriously, Denis—"
"Seriously, Nell, it's in bed you ought to be, not to mention your poor twin!"
"You see, I've got a conscience."