steps coming down the hall, followed by the sudden turning of the knob and immediate throwing open of the door, without as much as a tap or a murmur of a 'by-your-leave.'
'Why, Sheilah, dear, you home?' her mother exclaimed now from the threshold. She was a woman of over fifty. Sheilah had been the last of her three children. Youth had definitely left her. She was thick in hip and shoulder, and her hair was the color of old pewter now. 'I didn't hear you come in.'
Sheilah replied, 'Yes, I'm home,' and then suddenly, vehemently, 'Mother, I wish you'd knock!'
'Knock?'
'Before coming into my room.'
'Why, Sheilah! What nonsense! Knock before coming into my own little daughter's room!'
'Oh, don't, mother.'
'What could she possibly have to hide from mother?'
'Oh, please, don't talk like that.'
'Like what?'
'That baby way you do! "Daughter and mother." Say "you and me." I can't bear it.'
'Why, Sheilah!'
Oh, of course she wouldn't understand!
'Well, I can't, and please knock. Please.'
'Why, Sheilah!'
