My groping hand encountered
all sorts of unfamiliar objects in its quest, and it was not without
a premonition of what I was about to see that I finally lit the lamp
and looked around me.
Well--of course she had unpacked hurriedly, as hurriedly dressed for
dinner, and she had been detained downstairs ever since. I should not
judge in haste. Doubtless in the morning she would put things to rights.
I removed a trunk-tray from the bed, hung up several frocks in the
closet, cleared away the rest of the belongings from the counterpane,
and arranged Althea's bed for the night. I did the rest of my work
quickly, and returned to lower the light.
It couldn't be--really, no--it couldn't be! There must be some other way
of accounting for those scratches on the hitherto spotless white wall,
now marred by five long, brown marks, where a match had been drawn again
and again before it struck into light!
It _couldn't_ have been Althea. Yet--those marks were never there
before. It was full daylight when my guest had arrived; she could have
had no need for artificial light.
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