I knew beforehand that I was not going to sleep. The instant I
turned out the light the nightmare events of the evening ranged
themselves in a procession, or a series of tableaus, one after
the other; Flannigan on the roof, with the bracelet on his palm,
looking accusingly at me; Mr. Harbison and the scene on the roof,
with my flippancy; and the result of that flippancy--the man on
the stairs, the arms that held me, the terrible kisses that had
scorched my lips--it was awful! And then the absurd situation
across Aunt Selina's bed, and Bella's face! Oh, it was all so
ridiculous--my having thought that the Harbison man was a
gentleman, and finding him a cad, and worse. It was
excruciatingly funny. I quite got a headache from laughing;
indeed I laughed until I found I was crying, and then I knew I
was going to have an attack of strangulated emotion, called
hysteria. So I got up and turned on all the lights, and bathed my
face with cologne, and felt better.

But I did not go to sleep. When the hall clock chimed two, I
discovered I was hungry. I had had nothing since luncheon, and
even the thirst following the South American goulash was gone.
There was probably something to eat in the pantry, and if there
was not, I was quite equal to going to the basement.

As it happened, however, I found a very orderly assortment of
left-overs and a pitcher of milk, which had no business there in
the pantry, and with plenty of light I was not at all frightened.

I ate bread and butter and drank milk, and was fast becoming a
rational person again; I had pulled out one of the drawers part