"You have plenty of room, you see," says Miss Blessington, with a curve of her suave lips, as she lights the candles on the dressing-table, which, instead of being pink petticoated, white-muslined deal, is bare sturdy oak, with millions of little useless drawers and pigeon-holes in it.
"Plenty," echoes Esther, rather aghast, surveying her premises with some dismay.
"You must not be frightened if you hear odd noises; it's only rats," says her companion, putting one small white-booted foot on the fender.
"I wish that—that stuff would not sway and shake about so," says the young girl, pointing nervously with one timid fore-finger to the tapestry. "Might not some one get behind it very easily and hide, as it does not seem to be fastened down?"
"Possibly," replies Miss Blessington, indifferently. "I never heard of such a thing having happened."
"Am I near any one else—tolerably near, I mean?" asks Esther, her heart sinking.
"Not very."
"Would no one hear me if I screamed?" she inquires, laying her hand unconsciously on the marble round of her companion's firm white arm, while her frightened eyes burn upon Constance's impassive face.
"We will hope that you will not make the experiment," she answers, with a cold smile, and so goes.