Then, retiring behind her screen, she made her preparations for the night.

They were completed long before Ethelinda's, and climbing into bed she lay looking at the new picture, glad for this opportunity to gaze at it to her heart's content.
It made her think of so many things that she loved to recall--little incidents of her visit to The Locusts; and the smiling lips seemed to be saying, "Don't you remember" in such a friendly companionable way that she whispered to herself, "Oh, you dear! If you were only here this year, what an angel of a chum you would make!" Then she looked across at Ethelinda, who had arranged the windows to her satisfaction and was now stretching the electric light cord from her dressing table to her bed, so that the bulb would hang directly over it.
In another moment she had propped herself comfortably against the pillows, and settled down with a book.
Mary sat up astonished.

She had sacrificed her own plans and come to bed for Ethelinda's sake, and now here was the electric light blazing full in her eyes, utterly regardless of _her_ comfort.

She was about to sputter an indignant protest when she looked up at the picture.

It seemed to smile back at her as if it were a real person with whom she might exchange amused glances.