We all sat up.
Terry swung his legs out of bed, stood up, stretched himself mightily.
He was in a long nightrobe, a sort of seamless garment, undoubtedly comfortable--we all found ourselves so covered.

Shoes were beside each bed, also quite comfortable and goodlooking though by no means like our own.
We looked for our clothes--they were not there, nor anything of all the varied contents of our pockets.
A door stood somewhat ajar; it opened into a most attractive bathroom, copiously provided with towels, soap, mirrors, and all such convenient comforts, with indeed our toothbrushes and combs, our notebooks, and thank goodness, our watches--but no clothes.
Then we made a search of the big room again and found a large airy closet, holding plenty of clothing, but not ours.
"A council of war!" demanded Terry.

"Come on back to bed--the bed's all right anyhow.

Now then, my scientific friend, let us consider our case dispassionately." He meant me, but Jeff seemed most impressed.
"They haven't hurt us in the least!" he said.

"They could have killed us--or--or anything--and I never felt better in my life." "That argues that they are all women," I suggested, "and highly civilized.