Out of the dressing room, and several times larger, opened the bathroom. It was green like a pool in deep woods. The door beyond was closed. Ariel knocked. A voice said “Come.” As Ariel opened the door in response to the voice which had startled her, for she had begun to think herself very much alone up here in Grandam’s “attic,” Miss Peters turned about from a desk where she had been writing a letter and stared at Ariel as at a ghost. And Ariel stared back. “But Miss Clare! It is Miss Clare, isn’t it? Where did you come from?” “I was looking for—” No, she could not say “Noon”!... She had not betrayed her expectations and disappointments to any one else at Wild Acres and she was not going to begin with Miss Peters. So she finished, after a perceptible pause—“I was looking for something. But it isn’t here. I’m afraid it isn’t up here at all.” “Something of your own?” But Miss Peters colored as she asked it. She hadn’t meant to be insulting to this guest of the Weymans about whom she knew nothing at all and had heard nothing,—since she was not on gossiping terms with the two servants. But “the old lady” was away, out driving with Glenn. It was very odd of Miss Clare, to say the least, to come prowling through the rooms in her absence. No one, not even Miss Anne and the two young men and their mother, ever came into the apartment uninvited. Ariel realized Miss Peters’ perturbation. She said “No. It isn’t mine, the thing I hoped to find. And anyway, it’s not up here at all. It isn’t anywhere at Wild Acres. If it were at Wild Acres it _would_ be here, though.” “If I can help you—” Ariel shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ll just go back.” “You may use my door, then. You must have come through Mrs. Weyman’s whole apartment. This goes into the hall.” Miss Peters was moving toward her door, expecting Ariel to take the hint. But Ariel was too abstracted to realize. “I’ll go back the way I came,” she murmured. And Miss Peters knew nothing to do about it.