Isobel possessed a
gold-mounted dressing-case the size of an ordinary portmanteau. It
held an assortment of pretty, and mostly useless, knick-knacks, and
they had all been tumbled out in a frantic hurry. At first Elsie
flinched from further scrutiny, but common sense told her that this
despondent mood must be fought. She dropped to her knees, found a
mother-o'-pearl _poudrier_, and picked up other scattered articles and
replaced them in the dressing-case. To accomplish this it was
necessary to rearrange various trays and drawers. Portraits of girl
friends, including her own, and of men unknown to her, letters,
memoranda, and other documents, were thrown about in disorder. All
these she put back in their receptacles, wondering the while what
motive had led Isobel to make such a frenzied search for some special
object that she cared not a jot what became of the remaining articles.
Yet, who could account for the frenzy of that terrible hour when the
captain announced the ship's danger? Even Courtenay himself, she
remembered, had emptied a locker in a rapid hunt for the dog's coat;
but he had laughingly explained his haste later when some chance
reference was made to his soaked garments.
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