"Oh, Sheila Pat!"
Miss Kezia said coldly, "You are a very rude little girl." She turned
to Denis. "Will you tell me where that dog is to sleep?"
"On the mat outside Nell's door."
"I will not have a dog rampaging over my house to work what mischief it
likes while we sleep."
"She shall sleep on my bed," put in a very disdainful Atom.
"Certainly she shall not! Disgusting! Unhealthy! Spoiling my
counterpanes!"
Nell looked at Miss Kezia, a weary wonder in her face. "She can sleep on
the floor beside my bed," she said.
Miss Kezia hesitated; her eyes met those of the Atom--wide, defiant,
indomitable in her small, obstinate face. In her ears echoed some words
of Mrs. O'Brien's that Miss Kezia had privately labelled foolish.
"Sheila Pat is delicate. Perhaps we have spoilt her a little. She is
very strong-willed. She cannot be driven, but she can be led. Her
feelings use her up--exhaust her." There had been a little sudden
hopeless pause there; then--"I hope you will understand her."
Miss Kezia had not noticed the pause or the pleading note--a note
vibrating with the struggle against the speaker's own conviction. She
would not have understood, had she noticed, any more than she would ever
understand the Atom of humanity who was defying her now.
"Very well," she said, with a glance of dislike at poor K.K.
Denis broke in with a solicitous air, and a tone reminiscent of the
Blarney Stone:--
"I do wish you would go to bed, Aunt Kezia! You do look so tired."
Nell smiled suddenly.
"Yes, do, Aunt Kezia," she urged demurely.
Miss Kezia, after somewhat lengthy directions as to turning off the gas,
shutting, locking, and hanging a huge burglar bell on the dining-room
door, turned to leave the room.
Sheila Pat, stiff, erect, followed her with warlike gaze.