Once outside, she stopped to smooth her hair; then she stood considering, with a thoughtful brow. She went into her bedroom, dragged a chair to the toilet table, scrambled on to it, and anxiously examined the pair of slim legs displayed in the glass. What she saw displeased her; she stamped angrily, and toppled off the chair with a crash. "What’s up?" came a musical shout from the direction of the "Stronghold." "Nothin’ at all!" responded the Atom, with unabated dignity, though she was obliged for the moment to stand on one leg. She waited a minute, then lifting her loose frock, wiggled round and round in her efforts to unfasten her petticoat. She managed it at last, shook it down to her ankles, and mounted the chair again to view the effect. Her anxious face fell; she sighed heavily, and slowly climbed to the floor. She fumbled at the fastening of her petticoat, pulling it well up, then left the room. She went down the stairs till she reached the last flight that faced the front door. She sat down on the top stair and waited. The dusk deepened; the clock ticked on and on down in the hall, but the little pale face glimmered patiently at the top of the stairs. Presently a key grated in the lock of the door; Sheila Pat rose. The door opened, and a big broad man in a huge ulster came heavily in. Sheila Pat took a dignified step forward, missed, in the dusk, the stair, and rolled down and down to the big man’s feet. "Ach!" exclaimed the big man, and then he made noises that interested Sheila Pat, because they made her think of the hens in Biddy O’Regan’s cottage. She rose; her cheeks were scarlet with shame. "Are you hurrt?" exclaimed the big man. "Not at all. Please," said the Atom, with a dignity a good deal bigger than herself, "please don’t mention it. ’Tis a visit I’ve come to pay you," she added. "Ach!" said the big man again. Over a large and very fierce mustache, all grey bristles, his eyes were twinkling down at her. "Pray come in," he said, and opened the door of the room opposite the dining room. The Atom’s face kindled triumphantly as she looked round. Miss Kezia’s grim voice seemed to hover alluringly round the solid mahogany chairs and table. "You are not to enter this room. Remember, I have forbidden you." Sheila Pat climbed on to one of the big chairs and sat down with a complacent smile. Herr Schmidt eyed her anxiously. "You are quite sure you are not hurt, meine liebe? It was a bad fall, a very bad fall." Sheila Pat looked surprised. As a matter of fact her left elbow was smarting badly, and her left ankle bone, too, but in the O’Brien phraseology, this did not signify a "hurt." Moreover she objected to his alluding again to her undignified entrance into the hall. She gave her skirts a pull, and turned the conversation. "How-d’you-do?" she said. He came forward and gravely shook hands.