Molly and Sheila Pat were downstairs trying to play a duet on the piano.
When Nell and Denis went in, Sheila Pat glanced round; her eyes widened suddenly, her hand fell with a little crash of notes on the keyboard. She sat staring at Nell; a little quiver went through her.
"Yes—yes—oh, Atom!" Nell cried out.
She left Molly to Denis. She went closer to Sheila Pat, and told her—told her breathlessly, almost incoherently, her words hurrying one over the other.
Sheila Pat sat awhile, rigid on the stool, then suddenly she slipped to the floor, she ran at Nell, her arms held out: "Nell—oh, Nell!"
Nell held her close, whispering to her, and Sheila Pat cried, with never a thought of the hurt to her dignity.
That night when ready for bed she turned to Nell.
"Nell," she said in very dignified tones, "please don't wait."
She stood, a small figure in her white nightgown, her face very tired, her eyes very bright. Nell, looking at her, thought suddenly of the time she had been so ill. A little shiver went through her.
"Why not, sweet?" she said.