uess she was kind of
in-ter-ested. She's skinny and pale, Girlie says. Your mother hasn't got
any use for her. I bet you, it won't be long before she makes tracks back
to Noo York, Dickie. Girlie says she won't be lingering on here much
longer. Too much competition."

Jim handed the note to Dickie, who had listened to this speech with his
seven-year-old expression. He made no comment, but silently unfolded
Sheila's note.

The writing itself was like her, slender and fine and straight, a little
reckless, daintily desperate. That "I," now, on the white paper might be
Sheila skimming across the snow.

"_My dear Dickie_--somehow I can't call you 'Mr. Hudson'--I am so
terribly sorry about the way I acted to you last night. I don't know
why I was so foolish. I have tried to explain to your father that you
did nothing and said nothing to frighten me, that you were very polite
and kind, but I am afraid he doesn't quite understand. I hope he won't
be very cross with you, because it was all my fault--no, not quite all,
because I think you oughtn't to have followed me. I'm sure you're sorry
that you did. But it was a great deal my fault, so I'm writing this to
tell you that I wasn't really frightened nor very angry. Just sorry and
disappointed. Because I thought you were so very nice. And not like
Millings. And you liked the mountains better than the town. I wanted--I
still want--you to be my friend. For I do need a friend here,
dreadfully. Will you come to see me some afternoon? I hope you didn't
hurt yourself when you slipped on those icy steps.

"Sincerely SHEILA ARUNDEL"

Dickie put the note into his pocket and looked unseeingly at Jim. Jim was
turning up the bottoms of his trousers preparing to go.

"So you won't come to our dance?" he asked straightening himself, more
ruddy than ever.

"Well, sir," said Dickie slowly and indifferently, "I wouldn't wonder
if I would."

CHAPTER VII

DISH-WASHING

On that night, while all Millings was preparing itself for the Greelys'
dance, while Dickie, bent close to his cracked mirror, was tying his
least crumpled tie with not too steady fingers, while Jim was applying to
his brown crest a pomade sent to him by a girl in Cheyenne, while Babe
was wondering anxiously whether green slippers could be considered a
match or a foil to a dress of turquoise blue, while Girlie touched her
cream-gold hair with cream-padded finger-tips, Sheila Arundel prowled
about her room with ho