There was silence in the room. Sheila Pat had turned her face to the pillow and buried it deep. Nell stood, the violets pressed against her cheek, waiting.
"No—thank you." It came with a little catch between the two first words, but firm, decided.
Denis bent his head suddenly, and whispered in her ear. She turned, stretched up her arms, and held him tight. Tears were running quietly down her face and dropping on to her nightgown, but Nell caught an ecstatically proud note in the whispered query, "Do you—really-truly—think I'm all that?"
When he had gone, she turned to Nell.
"Am I very heavy, Nell?"
Nell felt suddenly what a bit of a baby Sheila Pat was: she stroked her cheek gently.
"You weigh about as much as a good-sized robin. Why?"
"I do feel," wistfully, "I'd like to sit on your lap a little while!"
"Oh, petsums, come along."
She fell asleep almost directly.