she hummed. She thought she’d sung it under her breath, but it was evidently loud enough to be heard, for Billy Lee burst out laughing, too.
“Well, I didn’t mean that getting stung was a pleasure exactly,” said he, “but we do have dandy times.”
All this time they had been standing in the hall. Suddenly it seemed to occur to Billy that Winona had come to see his sister, not him. He ushered her hurriedly into the living-room.
“I’ll send Nataly down to you,” he promised. But in another minute he came tearing downstairs again.
“She says, would you mind coming up to her room?” he panted. “She hasn’t felt so awfully well to-day, and she isn’t exactly up.”
Winona followed him, consumed with curiosity as to what could ail a girl, not to be up on a beautiful spring morning, and what “not exactly up” meant. She found out in another minute.
The bed-room where Nataly was had all its windows closed, and there was a close scent of toilet-water and sachet-powder and unairedness through the whole place.
“Here’s Winnie Merriam, that I told you about, sister,” said Billy Lee, and bolted. He never seemed to walk, only to run.
Nataly Lee rose from the couch where she had been lying, and came toward Winona.
“I’m very glad to see you,” she greeted Winnie languidly. “I think I have seen you—out in your back garden yesterday.”