Sheilah didn't tell Felix about Cicely's letter for two days. They had just finished the supper dishes. Felix always helped her with the supper dishes now. She preferred his help to Laetitia's. His clumsiness was so much more gentle.
The children had all gone out for an hour of the cool evening air. Felix was sitting at his carpenter's bench, Sheilah lying on the couch near by, as usual now. Felix was working on a baby-grand piano, staining it a mahogany red. He laid it down, before Sheilah had spoken many words, wiped his hands on a bit of waste near by, and listened with a stillness and concentration that disquieted Sheilah a little.
'Of course, I don't have to go, Felix,' she said to break the silence that followed her story. 'I don't really want to go. It seems too much trouble to get ready, but Cicely doesn't intend to send Laetitia and Roddie to camps unless I do, nor Phillip to the farm, and it would be so wonderful for them!'
'Of course,' murmured Felix, his eyes upon his idle hands.
'Laetitia and Roddie would be with such fine companions. They've never had a taste of the woods.
