well, at the one visible ear that heard nothing, or if it did,
translated it into dream, and the faint rhythmic movement that vouched
for soundless breath. She looked as long as she dared, then moved away.
But she had barely got her head back on her pillow when "Was that you,
mother?" came from the next room. Her mother always said of Sally that
nothing was certain but the _imprevu_, and ascribed to her a monstrous
perversity. It was this that caused her to sleep profoundly through
that most awakening of incidents, a person determined not to disturb
you, and then to wake up short into that person's self-congratulations
on success.

"Of course it was, darling. Who else could it have been?"

Sally's reply, "I thought it was," seems less reasonable--mere
conversation making--and a sequel as of one reviewing new and more
comfortable positions in bed follows naturally. A decision on the point
does not prohibit conversation, rather facilitates it.

"What did you come for, mammy?"

"Eau-de-Cologne." The voice has a fell intention of instant sleep in it
which Sally takes no notice of.

"Have you got it?"

"Got it? Yes. Go to sleep, chatterbox."

It was true about the eau-de-Cologne, for Rosalind, with a self-acting
instinct that explanation might be called for, had picked up the
bottle on her return journey. You see, she was always practising
wicked deceits and falsehoods, all to save that little chit being made
miserable on her account. But the chit wasn't going to sleep again. She
was going to enjoy her new attitude awake. Who woke her up? Answer that.

"I say, mother!"

"What, kitten? Go to sleep."

"All right--in a minute. Do you remember Mr. Fenwick's bottle of
eau-de-Cologne?"

"Of course I do. Go to sleep."

"Just going. But wasn't it funny?"

"What funny?--Oh, the eau-de-Cologne!"

Rosalind isn't really sleepy, and may as well talk. "Yes, that was very
funny. I wonder where he got it." She seems roused, and her daughter is
repentant.

"Oh dear! What a shame! I've just spoiled your go-off. Poor mother!"

"Never mind, chick! I like to talk a little. It _was_ funny that he
should have a big bottle of eau-de-Cologne, of all things, in his
pocket."

"Yes, but it was rummer still about Rosalind Nightingale--_his_
Rosalind Nightingale, the one he knew." This is dangerous ground, and
Rosalind knows it. But a plea of half-sleep will cover mistakes, and
conversation about the pre-electrocution period is the