She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. ’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. The Bed Room 400 XIX. The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. If you don’t like it, I won’t be mad, I promise. “It is Michelle, John.
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