Page:Herbert Jenkins - The Rain Girl.djvu/50



T was ridiculous to endeavour to force a side-of-beef through so small a door; but was it a side-of-beef? No, it was a bed. Why not take out a feather? Was it really a feather-bed? Why should a feather-bed wear a print-dress, a white apron, cuffs and a cap? Of course it was a woman. Beresford gazed fixedly at the figure in the doorway. Yes, it was unquestionably a woman; but why was she there, looking down critically at him lying in bed? Did she want him to get up? He closed his eyes wearily. His head felt very strange.

Presently he opened his eyes again. Yes; it certainly was a woman, and she was looking down at him.

"Who are you? Where am I?" he murmured as he gazed vacantly about the room. "What has happened?"

"Hush! you mustn't talk," was the response.

When he looked again there was only a white door with yellow mouldings occupying the space where the woman in the print-dress had stood. She herself had vanished. It was so stupid of her to 46