group of skaters? They believed she simply tolerated Felix. She had heard one of them say, in explanation of her kindness to him, that Sheilah Miller wouldn't hurt the feelings of a stray mongrel, if he came licking her hand. They would be surprised if they knew how she schemed and connived to make it easy for Felix Nawn—shrinking, cowering, afraid of crowds (like a stray mongrel, indeed, and a stray mongrel who had had experience with boys and stones)—to approach her. More than to approach her! What would they whisper to each other if they knew of her ruse this afternoon?
Halfway down Sabin's Hill Sheilah had remarked that she was cold, and had gone back to the house, for an extra sweater, she told the girls. She had put on the extra sweater, true enough, but really she had gone back to change the long white wool gloves she wore, which bound her arms in soft thick armor to the elbow, for gloves of wrist length. She was as guilty as that!
Suddenly Sheilah leaned forward and buried her head in the curve of her arm on top of the litter of flat toilet silver on her dressing-table. Why hadn't her mother sent her away to school last fall? She had begged to go. Ever since she was thirteen years old Felix Nawn had hung above her, like a cloud, hiding more and more of her sunshine, darkening more and more of her sky, growing heavier and heavier with
