There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. And when she went to sleep, then always Capes became the novel and wonderful guest of her dreams. “Go it, miss!” cried one. “Look here! Aren’t you going a little too far? This—this is degradation—making a fuss with sleeves. I must see if I have a gown fit to wear. Anna——” Again she stopped him, but this time it was not so easy. Don’t try to shield anybody or hide anything. “The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley,” he began at last, “is that this is very sudden.
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