"Ellie, Ellie, dear!"
No answer came, and she was about to get up and find a light, when she heard the front door open, and directly after, the sound of hurried, muffled footsteps running up the stairs to her room, and she knew instinctively who it was.
"Ellen?" she said at once, as soon as the door opened.
"Yes," came the breathless answer, from out the darkness.
"Where have you been?" was Dian's rather stern question.
"Down stairs after some oil. I have a sore throat."
That was the second lie her friend had told her that night. Dian knew it would be useless to try to learn anything further, for more questions would only bring more lies, and she dreaded to hear another. It hurt her that her beloved Ellen should feel it possible to tell lies to anyone or for any purpose.
Dian could hear in the darkness the swift motions of the girl unrobing, and she rashly tried another question:
"What on earth did you dress for, Ellie, just to go down stairs after oil?"
"Would you like to run all over the house such a bitter cold night as this without any clothes on?" sharply asked Ellen.