perfect stranger.

"I can't go back to aunt. I can't and I won't," said Mabel firmly, "not
if I was visible twenty times over."

"She'd smell a rat if you did," Gerald owned "about the motor-car,
I mean, and the adopting lady. And what we're to say to
Mademoiselle about you !" He tugged at the ring.

"Suppose you told the truth," said Mabel meaningly.

"She wouldn't believe it," said Cathy; "or, if she did, she'd go stark,
staring, raving mad."

"No," said Gerald's voice, "we daren't tell her. But she's really
rather decent. Let's ask her to let you stay the night because it's too
late for you to get home."

"That's all right," said Jimmy, "but what about you?"

"I shall go to bed," said Gerald, "with a bad headache. Oh, that's
not a lie! I've got one right enough. It's the sun, I think. I know
blacklead attracts the concentration of the sun."

"More likely the pears and the gingerbread," said Jimmy unkindly.
"Well, let's get along. I wish it was me was invisible. I'd do
something different from going to bed with a silly headache, I
know that."

"What would you do?" asked the voice of Gerald just behind him.