“Well, right now,” Grace said, “he’s in the kitchen.”
“Well, I’m afraid he can’t spend the night here, Grace.”
“Ma’am?”
“I say I’m afraid he can’t spend the night here. I’m not running a hotel.”
Grace stood for a moment, then said, “Yes, Ma’am,” and went out to the kitchen.
Eloise left the living room and climbed the stairs, which were lighted very faintly by the overglow from the dining room. One of Ramona’s galoshes was lying on the landing. Eloise picked it up and threw it, with as much force as possible, over the side of the banister; it struck the foyer floor with a violent thump.
She snapped on the light in Ramona’s room and held on to the switch, as if for support. She stood still for a moment looking at Ramona. Then she let go of the light switch and went quickly over to the bed. “Ramona. Wake up. Wake up.”
Ramona was sleeping far over on one side of the bed, her right buttock off the edge. Her glasses were on a little Donald Duck night table, folded neatly and laid stems down.
“Ramona!”
The child awoke with a sharp intake of breath. Her eyes opened wide, but she narrowed them almost at once. “Mommy?”