'We never arrive at conclusions,' calmly she went on quoting, 'by that old method of pleading and granting in our family. We confer and agree.'
But in spite of the announcement, 'Please let me go. Oh, please. Please,' Sheilah persisted, and there were tears in her eyes now.
'Oh, be calm, dear. Be calm,' purred Mrs. Miller in the quieting tone the books advised. 'Never let your emotions guide you, dear.'
Sheilah turned away. It was always like that. Oh, it was useless, useless. She was caught in a net—a soft, clinging net, and every effort she made to get out of it, simply seemed to bind the meshes closer and closer. Oh, well
She crossed the room to the tiled bathroom adjoining, and flashed it full of white light. Her mother and father had had the bathroom put in for her two years ago. Her mother had sacrificed her sewing-room to provide Sheilah with this luxury. Her mother was always making such sacrifices. She deserved a daughter who could reward her without effort. Sheilah had to use all the self-control that she possessed, not to turn upon her mother now, and tell her that she wished she would go out of the room and leave her alone. Instead, she approached the pedestaled washstand, turned a porcelain handle, and gushed the shining bowl full of steaming water. Then shoved up her sleeves.
