Evelyn herself did not go at once to sleep. There were too many pleasant
things to think of for that; and although her eyes began to close at
last, she was yet, at the end of half an hour, awake, when Lucy stirred
softly beside her and sat up in bed. After a moment the younger girl
slipped out to the floor, using such care that Evelyn thought her making
unusual and kindly effort not to disturb her bedfellow.
After a little, as Lucy did not return, Evelyn opened her eyes and
looked out into the moonlight. Lucy was dressing, so rapidly and
noiselessly that Evelyn watched her, amazed.
She was on the point of asking if the girl were ill when she observed
that Lucy was putting on the delicate dress and gay ribbons she had worn
during the evening, and was even arranging her hair. Something prompted
Evelyn to lie still, for in all the winter's association she had never
grown quite to trust Lucy or to like her ways.
More than any one else, however, she herself had won the other girl's
liking, and had come to feel a certain responsibility for her. So when
Lucy, after making wholly ready, had stolen to the door, let herself
out, and closed it silently behind her, Evelyn sprang out of bed.
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