"Heavens!" Nelly Lebrun murmured. "I feel as if I had been hunted, and I must look it. What if he—" Whatever the thought was she did not complete it. "It may have been for the best," added Nelly Lebrun.
29
It is your phlegmatic person who can waken easily in the morning, but an active mind readjusts itself slowly to the day. So Nelly Lebrun roused herself with an effort and scowled toward the door at which the hand was still rapping.
"Yes?" she called drowsily.
"This is Nick. May I come in?"
"This is who?"
The name had brought her instantly into complete wakefulness; she was out of the bed, had slipped her feet into her slippers and whipped a dressing gown around her while she was asking the question. It was a luxurious little boudoir which she had managed to equip. Skins of the lynx, cunningly matched, had been sewn together to make her a rug, and the soft fur of the wildcat was the outer covering of her bed. She threw back the tumbled bedclothes, tossed half a dozen pillows into place, transforming it into a day couch, and ran to the mirror.
And in the meantime, the deep voice outside the door was saying: "Yes, Nick. May I come in?"