“Drydens want us to come to their hotel some night,” Rosa reported, “and we must go. Nancy, they think I’m thin enough. What do you think of that?” and Rosa took a look in the mirror to help Nancy’s answer.
“Calm yourself, Rosa,” said Nancy importantly. “I’ve got such news--”
“And she’s gone? Why didn’t you chain her till I came--”
“I couldn’t, Rosa, she had a dreadful headache--”
“Headache! What’s that to the trouble I’ve got? Her troubles, I mean,” and Rosa fell into a chair as if in despair.
“Do let me tell you, Rosa. I feel a little done up myself.”
“Selfish me, as usual. Go ahead, Coz. I’ve got my fingers crossed and am gripping both arms of the chair. No, that’s a physical impossibility; but I’ve got my feet crossed, so it’s all the same. Now please--tell!”
“Did you have any idea that Orilla came to her room here, in this house?” Nancy began in her direct way.
“Her room? In this house? What do you mean? She hasn’t any room here!”
“I mean the room she had before Betty came--”
“Yes, behind the storeroom, down by the west wing--”
“I knew there was a corner of the house there, but it’s been shut up for ages,” replied Rosa, already showing her eagerness to hear all of the story.
“Well, poor Orilla could never give up that room, and she has been coming to it every chance she got. She took me in there to-night and I never saw anything so pathetic,” explained Nancy simply. “She fairly loves the room and insists that it should still be hers.”
“Can you--beat--that!” Rosa was so surprised no other wording seemed strong enough for her. “Coming to that little cubby-hole! Say, Nancy, honestly, do you think that Orilla’s crazy?”
“No, I don’t. But I’ve heard mother tell of such cases. And I’ve read about girls keeping their baby loves, old dolls, you know, and things like that. But this is the oddest--”
“For mercy sakes! How ever did she manage it?” Rosa asked, blinking hard to see through the surprising tale.
Then Nancy told her, as well as she could, how Orilla came by the elderberry path, from the lake, through the maze of wild grape vines to the small door of the small porch at the west end of the big rambling house.
“I always said,” put in Rosa, “that there was a door for each servant around this house, but I must have missed that one. Well, poor old Orilla! I guess she’s quite a wreck, isn’t she?”