“I’ll be sound asleep,” Nancy decided, when she was finally settled in bed after spending a fitful hour trying to read. “It’s the only way. I never could talk to Rosa to-night. To-morrow things will seem different.”

Assuming her most restful attitude—lying flat on her back with her face “boldly turned up to Heaven,” as Ted called Nancy’s way of wooing sleep, she tried to think calmly.

“But what did Orilla want to steal in for?” persisted that question. “And even if she didn’t want Margot to know that she came, why should she want to deceive Rosa?

“But somehow I don’t believe she’s as fierce as I thought she was at first,” continued Nancy’s reasoning. “She’s sort of a bluffer, for she looked frightened when I defied her.”

“Still, I believe it’s better not to have her168 for an enemy. She has sort of a catty look in her green eyes, and cats are terribly sneaky creatures.”

Thus her thoughts hovered, like a balancing scale, for her encounter with the strange girl had been too exciting to be very soon forgotten.

“And if Rosa finds out without fully understanding!”

That thought was the most difficult to argue against, for the whole party cape episode had now assumed the proportions of real trouble.

“And yet it has made Rosa think kindly of Betty! Surely that is the most important thing of all,” decided Nancy finally.

Trying to adjust all the other tangled ends into this silken tassel of beauty, she lay there, defying the ceiling to fall in her face, as the constant thought of little brother Ted had so often warned her it was sure to do, some night, if she didn’t seek discreet refuge in the kindly bed clothes.

Yes, it would be lovely for everyone, especially for dear Uncle Frederic, if Rosa would169 become reconciled to the stepmother. Uncle Frederic loved Betty and Betty had loved Rosa’s own mother; why, therefore, could not Rosa try to be grateful instead of rebellious?

Then it occurred to Nancy that Rosa was staying out rather late. Even being over to Durand’s did not seem to warrant this late home-coming.

Night has a queer influence upon thought, and even a girl like Nancy, always brave and courageous when on her feet, could feel rather timid about things lying there in the dark, and staring at the ceiling.

What if Orilla had lain in wait for Rosa and enticed her to go away or something? What if Orilla had demanded money from Rosa? Would Orilla steal? That house had been the girl’s home and it was not strange that she should sometimes want to visit it, came a more reasonable suggestion. And surely she would not steal, was the answer to that question.

But Nancy could not feign slumber, for her mind was too active to forget that the light170 patch above her was the ceiling, and not a bird’s downy wing, bringing sleep, as the poets warrant.

Where was her mother now? So far across the sea that even the time there was not the same as that which ticked away patiently on Nancy’s dresser. But her mother would surely enjoy the visit to those famous shrines of knowledge, for Nancy’s mother loved to learn.

That darling mother! So pretty, so sweet, so kind and always so helpful! A deep, audible sigh escaped the girl on the bed as she indulged in this deliberation. Her mother had always been so like a girl chum, so companionable and such a refuge in trouble.

“But I shouldn’t lean on her,” came the accusing thought. “If I cannot rely upon myself, then mother’s teaching would not have been well learned.”

Following that came the thoughts of industrious little Miss Manners—Manny to Nancy and Ted. Then all the girl friends, who this summer seemed so far away, paraded before171 Nancy’s fancy, as they had so often done in reality.

A slammed door rudely broke up the soliloquy.

“Rosa!” exclaimed Nancy gladly, although Rosa was not yet in sight. “I’m so glad she’s home safe!”

The relief was so great that Nancy promptly turned over and feigned sleep. She really couldn’t talk to Rosa to-night, and she was sure her cousin would be just bubbling over with the evening’s news.

A step in the hall, a halting at the door and then the whispered call:

“Nancy!”

“Yes,” replied Nancy promptly, recognizing something unusual in Rosa’s voice.

“Awake?”

“Yes.”

“Then turn on the light.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“But you act so—so—” Nancy switched on the bedside light.

172 “I’m just sort—of—out of breath.”

“Been running?”

“A little.”

“Why?”

“Silly, I guess.”

“But what made you run, Rosa? You haven’t a puff in you.”

“I know. But my puffs give out easily.” Rosa had sunk into the nearest chair and was breathing uncomfortably.

“But why? Did something frighten you?” pressed Nancy.

“Why—I wa............