It was a look of love for her that amounted almost to worship. Oh, dear! That was the trouble about being an only child. It would be dreadful if she ever disappointed them. And she was worse than an only child (there had been a sister and a brother once), she was 'an only-child-left.' Well, she wasn't going to disappoint them!
The proof of it was at that moment inside her leather school-bag between the pages of her Cicero. It was in the form of a note written on a piece of ruled theme paper, folded to about the size of a lady's calling-card. Such was the size and style of all written communications that passed between the pupils of the Wallbridge high-school. On the outside of the note was written in pencil the name of Felix Nawn. Sheilah had written the note just after she had finished her practicing. She would slip it into Felix's desk at the first opportunity.
Last night by the gate in the shadow of the hedge, with Felix's fingers on her wrist, Sheilah had agreed to meet him with her skates next Saturday afternoon at five o'clock on the upper bend of the river, beyond the falls, by the ice-houses. If there was no skating, she had agreed to meet him without her skates. In her note Sheilah told Felix briefly that she had changed her mind about next Saturday, and then had added, with her early-morning courage still brave and bright, 'and please don't meet me
