ing—waiting—waitingIt couldn't last forever.
'Sheilah, dear,' said Mrs. Miller finally, still continuing to stroke. 'Tell mother something. Why didn't you go to Nevin Baldwin's school-dance? I've just heard about it.'
'I didn't want to.'
'Didn't want to! But, my dear! Nevin Baldwin!'
'Oh, mother, leave me, please.'
'And why didn't you tell mother about it?' Mrs. Miller purringly pursued, unaware that the long-withheld flood was driving hard at weakening gates. 'I can't understand it, sweetheart.' Oh, she was ever so gentle. 'Mother can't understand what has come over her daughter. You don't seem to wish to please me any more, to do the things that would please me. And we're so sympathetic. You know what I think of Nevin Baldwin. You know'
'Mother.' Sheilah suddenly sat up in bed. 'Will you go? Will you go?' Twice, quietly.
Mrs. Miller was unaware of any crisis. She started to put her arms around Sheilah, protectingly, shelteringly. And suddenly the gates broke!
Sheilah pushed her away. 'Don't touch me! Don't come near me!' she cried out. 'I can't bear to have you touch me! Go away! Get off my bed, and go away.'
Mrs. Miller stood up staring at Sheilah. Sheilah
