Toward this
end young Mr. Rolls (as he was respectfully called in a business house
never mentioned by his sister) immediately took steps. But taking
steps was as far as he got. Suddenly it seemed a deed you could not
do, to demand of an imitation-camel's attendant why five young ladies
wore evening dress in the morning in a room three doors away.
After all, why should a camel attendant dare to know anything about
them? Perhaps they were merely amusing themselves and each other by
trying on all their gladdest clothes. There might be girls who would
think this a good way to kill time in a storm. Yes, conceivably there
might be such girls, just as there might be sea serpents; but, though
Peter Rolls was too shy to have learned much about the female of his
species, the explanation did not appeal to his reason.
His mind would persist in making a mystery of the mirror-walled room
with its five dazzling occupants, and even the bumpings of the
imitation camel could not jerk out of his head speculations which
played around the dryad door. He was as curious as _Fatima_ herself,
and with somewhat the same curiosity; for, except that in one case the
beautiful ladies had their heads, and in the other had lost them,
there was a hint of resemblance between the two mysteries.
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