Left alone, Miss Semaphore slowly divested herself of her wearing apparel, donned her night-gear, and tied on the night-cap of her youth, adhered to despite change of fashion. Notwithstanding the confidence of her manner to her sister, she was secretly a little nervous, now that she was actually to make the experiment. Her spirits went up and down like a see-saw. At one moment she saw herself surrounded by admirers, singing, dancing, with fresh, unwrinkled complexion, bright colour, dark curly hair innocent of "Jetoline." A ravishing picture. Again she felt like a patient at a dentist's about to take gas for the first time. What would it be like. Oh, if only Toutou, if only anyone who had tried it could tell her exactly how it felt. Would she lose consciousness or feel pain? Might it not possibly kill her? By this time she had worked herself to a state of intolerable nervousness. She got into bed, and, sitting up, hugging the precious bottle in one hand, and a tea-spoon in the other, tried to decide whether she would actually make the experiment or not. By her bed, within easy reach, burned a gas jet, which she always turned out last thing, and a small table stood near, on which lay a book, a newspaper, a box of matches, and a glass.
