"In a sort of way." She yawned again and stretched with a wide spread
of arms. "I seem to be sleepy on the outside but it doesn't go down
into my soul."

Lorry, drawing the comb through her long hair which fell in a shining
sweep from her forehead to the chair seat, wanted this explained. But her
sister vaguely shook her head and stared at the carpet, then, after a
pause, murmured:

"I wish something would happen."

"What kind of thing?"

"Oh, just something--any old thing would be a change."

Lorry stopped combing.

"Do you mean that you're dull?" she asked. The worried gravity of her
face did not fit the subject.

"That must be it." Chrystie raised her eyes and looked at the cornice,
her red lips parted, her glance becoming animated. "Yes, of course,
that's it--I'm dull. Why didn't I see it myself? You've put it before me
in letters of fire--I'm dreadfully dull."

"What would you like to do?"

"Have some good times, lots of them. There aren't enough of them this
way. We can't go to the theater too often or we'd get used to it, and I
can't get the Barlows to come up here every week, they have such crowds