. . . It was not the room, which was far more comfortable than Rebecca's own at the farm, nor the lackof view, nor yet the long journey, for she was notconscious of weariness; it was not the fear of astrange place, for she loved new places and courtednew sensations; it was because of some curiousblending of uncomprehended emotions that Rebeccastood her sunshade in the corner, tore off her besthat, flung it on the bureau with the porcupine quillson the under side, and stripping down the dimityspread, precipitated herself into the middle of thebed and pulled the counterpane over her head. In a moment the door opened quietly. Knockingwas a refinement quite unknown in Riverboro, andif it had been heard of would never have beenwasted on a child. Miss Miranda entered, and as her eye wanderedabout the vacant room, it fell upon a white andtempestuous ocean of counterpane, an ocean breakinginto strange movements of wave and crest and billow. "REBECCA!" The tone in which the word was voiced gave it allthe effect of having been shouted from the housetops. A dark ruffled head and two frightened eyesappeared above the dimity spread. "What are you layin' on your good bed in thedaytime for, messin' up the feathers, and dirtyin'the pillers with your dusty boots?" Rebecca rose guiltily. There seemed no excuseto make. Her offense was beyond explanation orapology. "I'm sorry, aunt Mirandy--something cameover me; I don't know what." "Well, if it comes over you very soon again we'llhave to find out what 't is. Spread your bed upsmooth this minute, for 'Bijah Flagg 's bringin' yourtrunk upstairs, and I wouldn't let him see such acluttered-up room for anything; he'd tell it all over town." . . . 1 How is Rebecca most likely feeling in the first paragraph of this excerpt? A. lonely B. frightened C. overwhelmed