decisions in regard to a girl's bringing-up. At least in her hearing.
'Well,' he shrugged, aware he had blundered, 'I only thought'
Dear, kind father!
'Never mind, father,' said Sheilah, and she shot him a little glance. He got it. He always got her little glances. 'I don't really care. I'll go.'
Anyhow, she had made the attempt. It would have resulted in one of those mysterious feuds between her mother and father—the kind you feel, though you can't actually see it, or hear it—if she had insisted upon staying at home.
The evening service of the Young People's Guild was held in the vestry of the church. Felix always sat in the back row up against the wall, with one or two other boys who had the same feeling as he, apparently, about seats, not only at church, but at school too, always choosing the back row—convenient for a hasty exit, and safe from observation. There had been an expanse of more than half a dozen empty rows of seats to-night between Felix and the little intimate group gathered around the platform. Sheilah had been aware of that expanse. That was the way it always was. Felix was a member of the Young People's Guild just as much as she was, but removed, outside.
