he bedclothes. Alice rose, with
as much dignity as the three heavy volumes which she held in her lap,
and which had to be untangled from her kimono, would permit. She moved
the screen around her now hysterical roommate and turned fiercely upon
the young gentleman.

"How dare you!" she demanded sternly. "Go!" And she stamped her foot
somewhat ineffectively, since she had on her worsted bedroom slippers.

At this the young gentleman's smile broke into an unmistakably feminine
giggle.

"Oh, you are so lovely!" he gurgled. "Don't cry, Miss Madison. It's not
a real man. It's only I--Betty Wales."

"Betty!" gasped Alice. "Betty Wales, what are you doing? Is it really
you?"

"Of course," said Betty calmly, pulling off her wig by way of further
evidence, and sitting down with careful regard for her coattails in the
nearest chair. "I hope," she added, "that I haven't really worried Miss
Madison. Take the screen away, Alice, and see what she's doing."

"Oh, I'm all right now, thank you," said Miss Madison, pushing back the
screen herself. "But you gave me an awful fright. What are you doing?"

"Why, we're going to give a play at our house Saturday," explained
Betty, "and to-night was a dress rehearsal. I wanted to bring Alice a
ticket, and I thought it would be fun to come in these clothes and
frighten her; so I put on a skirt and a rain-coat and came along. I left
my skirt in your entrance-way. Get it for me please, Alice, and I'll put
it on before I send any one else into hysterics."

"Oh, not yet," begged Miss Madison. "I want to look at you. Please stand
up and turn around, so I can have a back view."

Betty readjusted her wig and stood up for inspection.

"What's the play?" asked Alice.

Betty considered. "It's a secret, but I'll tell you to pay for giving
you both such a scare. It's 'Sherlock Holmes.' Mary Brooks saw the real
play in New York, and she wrote this, something like the real one, but
different so we could do it. She could think up the plot beautifully but
she wasn't good at conversation, so Katherine helped her, and it's
fine."

"Is there a robbery?" inquired Alice.

"Oh, yes, diamonds."

"And a murder?"

"Well, a supposed murder. The audience thinks it is, but it isn't
really. And there's a pretend fire too, just as there is in the real
play."

"And who are you?"

"I'm the villain," said Betty. "I'm to have curling black mustaches and
a fierce frown, and then you'd know without asking."