Nothing so thrilling as this had ever taken place in their midst. Edna had been riddled with questions.
They had found her looking flushed and startlingly pretty. She had on a pink fluffy thing, low in the neck. ("Imagine bringing that sort of a negligee up here!" had whispered one of the women.) Her manner had been apologetic, self-deprecatory, in the face of the women's thrusts at her, ill-concealed beneath their solicitous questions. She was so ashamed, she said. She had caused a lot of trouble. Oh, yes, Mr. Mathewson had been very kind about it all; but she realized how she'd interrupted his good time. She couldn't say how sorry she was.
"Oh, I'll wager Bord Mathewson is more disgusted with the sex than ever now," had concluded Fairlee Ormsbee after the interview.
"Cooped up with a helpless little creature like that for two days, I should say so!" had laughed Ollie.
It wasn't until after dinner that night that Bord made the quiet little speech which silenced the women and sent the facetious man, who was a kind-hearted one too, up-stairs, casually to report to Miss Miller the tribute paid her.
Bord had been spending the four or five hours since his return to the hotel at the station, where
