Certainly, May's room was ordinary enough, even dainty, with the dimity curtains and wall-paper of bows and forget-me-nots. Round the toilet-table crackled a pink chintz valance, draped in stiffest muslin. Mrs. Trewhella looked closely at Jenny for a moment before she left them. "You're thin, my dear," she commented. "Ah, well, so was I; and I can mind the time when they wondered what a man could see in such a maid. The men was all for plumpness then. Wish you good night." The old woman thumped off down the corridor, her candle a-bob with every limping step. "What a dreadful place," said Jenny. "Don't let's stay," said May eagerly. "Don't let's stay. Let's go back--now--now." "_Don't_ be silly. How can we? But we never oughtn't to have come. Oh, May, I only wish I could sleep in here with you." "Well, why don't you?" suggested May, who was shocked to see how the usually so indomitable sister was shaking with apprehension. "There's plenty of room and I'd chance what _he_ says." Jenny pulled herself together by a visible effort. "No, I can't go on sleeping with you. I've _got_ to be married, now I've done it." The two sisters, as if drawn by some horrid enchantment, went back to the bride's room. "How big that candle looks, doesn't it, but small in one way. May, I'm frightened," whispered the bride. There was a rattle of falling plaster, a squeak, a dying scamper. "Oo-er, what was that?" cried May. "Rats, I suppose. Oh, this is a shocking place," said Jenny, trembling. "Never mind, it's got to be done. It's got to be finished some day. It'll be all the same in a hundred years, and anyway, perhaps it won't be so bad in the morning. May!" she added sharply. "What?" "Why, when you come to think of it, the second ballet's well on now and here am I starting off to undress in this dog's island. Let's go back to your room for a minute." Again the sisters sought May's kindlier room and Jenny had an idea. "May, if we pushed your bed back close to the wall, you could tap sometimes, and if I was awake in the night I'd hear you. May, don't go to sleep. Promise you won't go to sleep." They pushed the bedstead back against the ribbons and forget-me-nots. Then Jenny, summoning every tradition of pride, every throb of determination, kissed May and ran to the lonely Gothic room, where the flame of the solitary candle burned so still and shapely in the breathless night. She undressed herself in a frenzy. It was like falling into a river to enter those cold linen sheets and, worse, to lie there with pulses thudding and breast heaving under a bravery of new pink bows and ribbons. It could not be long now. She sat up in bed thinking to tap on the wall; but the tapestried headpiece muffled the sound. May, however, heard and rapped her answer. "To-morrow," vowed Jenny, "I'll slit those unnatural curtains with my scissors so as I can tap easily."