“I think not. She has not come from her room,” was Clarence's reply.
“I am going to peep through her window,” said Elvira. She did so by turning the slats and pushing aside the curtain just a little. She then motioned to George to come and look.
“By jove, Darrell, you ought to see this picture.”
“Hush! you will awake her by speaking so loud,” Elvira said, still looking at her sister.
A tiny sunbeam played over Mercedes' forehead, making the little curls over it look like golden threads. Her head was thrown back a little and turned towards the window, displaying her white throat, partially covered by the lace frills of her night dress. Her left arm rested gracefully over her head, with the sleeve pushed off displaying part of the forearm and the perfect curve of her delicate wrist. The right hand rested over the coverlet, and it looked like a child's hand, so dimpled and white and soft. It was a perfect picture of a “sleeping beauty.”
“Doesn't she look like a baby? My own sweet sister; I am so glad she is sleeping so sweetly. She has slept very poorly for months,” whispered Elvira. “Come away, we mustn't talk near her window, she must have all the sleep she wants.”
So saying, she pulled back the curtain, shut down the window slats, and all walked noiselessly away.
As they went down to breakfast, Elvira said:
“I hope no one will come smoking some nasty cigar by her window, poisoning the air and making her miserable, for she cannot bear tobacco smoke when the boat is in motion.”
“I thought she was not subject to sea-sickness,” George said.