"Ah, she did!" exclaimed Netta, with an arch look which called up her sister's blushes. "And did she tell you how he occupied this room, and how we heard him through the thin partition pacing up and down all night, and how it kept me from sleeping, and gave me a terrible headache all the next day?"
"No, she did not tell me that," said Gertrude.
"You don't either of you walk all night, do you?" asked Netta.
"Not often."
"Oh, how thankful we ought to be to have you for neighbours!" replied Netta. "If that horrible man had stayed here and kept up that measured tread, there would have been a suicide either in this room or ours before many nights."
"Do you think he was ill?" asked Gertrude.
"No, indeed," said Ellen; "it was nothing very remarkable—not for him, at least—all his habits are peculiar; but it kept Netta awake an hour or two, and made her fidgety."
"An hour or two, Ellen!" cried Netta. "It was the whole night."
"My dear sister," said Ellen, "you don't know what a whole night is."
A little sisterly discussion might have ensued about the length of Mr. Phillips' walk and Netta's consequent wakefulness, but, fortunately, the gong sounded for tea.