CHAPTER V

INTERCESSION


Babe tiptoed up the first flight, walked solidly and boldly up the
second, and ran up the third. She had decided to have a talk with Sheila,
to soothe her indignation, and, if possible, to explain Dickie. It seemed
to Babe that Dickie needed explanation.

Sheila's room was at the top of the house--the very room, in fact, whose
door opened on the bird cage of a balcony between two cupolas. Babe came
to the door and knocked. A voice answered sharply: "Come in," and Babe,
entering, shut the door and leaned against it.

It was a small, bare, whitewashed room, with a narrow cot, a washstand,
a bureau, and two extraordinary chairs--a huge one that rocked on
damaged springs, enclosed in plaited leather like the case of an
accordion, and one that had been a rocker, but stood unevenly on its
diminished legs. Babe had protested against Momma's disposal of the
"girl from Noo York," and had begged that Sheila be allowed to share her
own red, white, and blue boudoir below. But Sheila had preferred her
small room. It was red as a rose at sunset, still and high, remote from
Millings, and it faced The Hill.

Now, the gaslight flared against the bare walls and ceiling. Sheila's
hat and coat and muff lay on the bed where she had thrown them. She
stood, looking at Babe. Her face was flushed, her eyes gleamed, that
slight exaggeration of her chin was more pronounced than usual.