Molly's countenance bore out this statement, although she said nothing.
Jock rose hastily. "Wait, I'll get 'em," he said. "Cecily and I were having a little gab session, and I forgot."
He bounded up the stairs, and down again a minute later bearing the silver slippers. Dopey and Cecily were standing in the hall, he with an arm laid across her shoulders in a gesture that appeared intimate but was probably merely for the sake of equilibrium. "She's not going back," he declared to Jock. "She's going bed. She's all in, aren't you, Sheshly?" He was flagrantly gratified about it.
"I am, I'm dead," Cecily said.
She shook hands with Jock, glancing up at him shyly. "Goodnight. And oh, thank you!"
"Goodnight," Jock echoed.
He watched her cross the hall and start up the stairs. Half way she hesitated, faced about. "Now I know why I came!," she quoted softly. . . .
Jock saw Dopey depart in glee for the gymnasium again. Then he walked back into the living room.
Molly was sitting rigidly in a chair. She had removed the offending slippers, and her slippered toes were sunk for greater comfort into a sofa cushion thrown on the floor. She clenched the arms of the chair convulsively, like a person at the dentist's. Anger had drained all the natural color from her face, so that her rouge resembled circles of rosy paper pasted on.
Jock felt a little penitent. There was something
