"What's the matter?" Nick questioned anxiously.
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
"But there is something, Mrs. May. You must tell me, and I'll try to make
it right."
"What shops are there here?" she asked by way of answer.
"Oh, you can buy photographs and souvenirs, and candy and drugs, I
expect."
Angela shook her head. "I don't want to buy them. Do you think--I could
find--a--a--nighty?"
"A 'nighty'?"
"A nightgown. You see, I've just remembered--the cascades and mountains
made me forget--my dressing-bag was left behind with Kate. I've a frock or
two, and the new khaki things for to-morrow, in my suit-case, but--nothing
else. Brushes and combs and so on, I can get here I'm sure. But--would the
shops--if any--run to nighties?"
"No," said Nick, gloomily. "I'm afraid they wouldn't, anyhow not the sort
that deserves a nice pet name like that. But--_I'll_ get you one."
"You can't," said Angela. "You can't create a 'nighty' or call it from the
vasty deep."
"That's what I mean to do: call one from the vasty deep; hook it up like a
rare fish."
She laughed. "What bait will you use?"
"I don't know yet. But I'm going to find out. And you shall have the
'nighty,' as you call it, by the time you want it.
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