"What was that you called me?" she asked. As a matter of fact, her
thoughts had been so far away that she actually had not heard what he
said.

"Say, what's the matter?" asked Chet, flinging his tennis racket into one
chair and seating himself on the arm of another. "Are you sick?"

"Yes. Or if I'm not, I ought to be," replied Billie ruefully, at which
peculiar remark Chet looked still more amazed.

"Now what particular thing is worrying you?" he asked in an argumentative
tone, leaning toward her. "Come, 'fess up, Billie. What have you been
doing when my back was turned? Robbing a bank?"

"Oh, much worse than that!" cried Billie unexpectedly, and her brother's
good-looking face began to take on an expression of alarm.

"Worse?" he queried. "There's only about one thing worse--and
that's murder."

"Oh, Chet, that's just what I did," she cried, her imp of mischief
uppermost. "I murdered a 'Girl Reading a Book.'"

"Well," said Chet, taking this startling bit of information more calmly
than would have been thought possible, "you don't seem very much worried
about it."

"Oh, but, Chet, I am!" once more the cloud banished the merry gleam in
Billie's eyes. "Wait till I show you."