"I let her out," calmly. "I tried all the keys on the doors, and," triumphantly, "Sarah’s fitted it!" "Sheila Pat, I’m ashamed of you. My dear child, you’re not unpicking the stitches at all—you’re merely cutting little snips in the stuff. And, anyway, you’re not to do it." "I like this dress, but it’s rikkleously short. I don’t think it’s _perlite_ to wear them so short, Nell." "Well, you’ll have to be impolite then. Come along into the Stronghold, sweetheart. You’re frozen." "I did want to wear it to go and see that boy! Nell, wouldn’t _you_ just let down the hem?" "No, Atom, I won’t. I hate long frocks for short atoms." Presently, uneasily, "Do you hate me for being so hard, Sheila Pat?" "The O’Briens," excessively grown-upedly, "don’t hate each other so easily, Nell." When the Atom came back after tea she was very quiet. Nell wondered if she were tired; she answered all questions as to her afternoon’s enjoyment in her soft little voice that gave her curt sentences such a quaintness, but she originated no remark of her own. An hour after she had gone to bed Nell went into her room and peeped at her. She lay wide-eyed, thoughtful. A little after that she appeared suddenly in her night-gown at the door of the Stronghold. "Hulloa, Atom!" Denis seized her and swung her up; her arms went round his neck. "Denis," the strenuous little voice sounded as if it were near breaking, "I must go next door, please." "Now?" "Yes." "But you’re in your nightie, old girl! What do you want to go for?" "It’s a private reason." Her arms clung tighter; she pressed her cheek against his. Nell met the great eyes looking over his shoulder, and went up to her gently. "Can’t you wait till to-morrow, Atom?" "Why, you’ll have to," put in Molly. "If it’s Stewart you want, he’ll be in bed." "I must go now, Denis; please take me now." "We can wrap her up," said soft-hearted Denis. The arms round his neck gave a little spasmodic squeeze. "Thank y-you," said the Atom. Laughing, he wrapped her in a great coat of his and a blanket, and carried her down the steps and in next door. Mrs. Barclay was a good deal surprised to see them. Denis put the Atom down, and she stood shivering, her small white face peering with a queer intensity from out the blanket. "Stewart, my dear? Well, I am afraid he is in bed—" "Please may I go up to him?" "Very well; come along." "Please may I go by my _alone_?" "Oh! Yes, dear, if you like." "Thank you." She turned and went up the stairs to the room Stewart had shown her that afternoon. She knocked politely at the door, then went in. The gas was burning dimly. "You? Is it a fire next door?" He sat up in bed with joyful anticipation on his face. "No. I—I want to speak to you." "Is the Pearl ill?" "No." She climbed on to his bed and sat silent. "Hurry up!"