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She came in through the side door, and stole up the back stairs to her room. She didn't want her mother and father to know that she had come home. She wanted to be alone.
She closed and locked the door of the room, once—safely inside, then stood for a moment considering. No. Better not lock it. A locked door would be sure to make her mother ask questions. Her mother might have heard her, and come upstairs at any moment. She had ears for certain noises like a cat's. So now Sheilah turned the key back, then tiptoed cautiously across the room to the light over her dressing-table (the electric button by the door would send off a report like a cap-pistol), and pulled its tasselled cord. A warm pink effulgence flooded the room, flowed over Sheilah. She gazed at herself in the mirror.
Her cheeks were flaming. She pressed her hands against them hard. How hot they were! She hated hot cheeks. She hated feelings. What was the mat-
