had risen to his face; he had opened his eyes wide upon her, had sunk
back again and begun to smoke with short, excited puffs.

Sheila thought that he was shocked and she was very close to tears. She
blinked at the stove and moved her fingers uncertainly. "Nice girls," she
thought, "never want to go into saloons!"

Then Sylvester spoke. "You're a girl in a million, Miss Sheila!" he
said. His voice was more cracked than usual. Sheila transferred her
blinking, almost tearful look from the stove to him. "You're a heap too
good for dish-washing," said Sylvester.

For some reason the girl's heart began to beat unevenly. She had a
feeling of excitement and suspense. It was as if, after walking for many
hours through a wood where there was a lurking presence of danger, she
had heard a nearing step. She kept her eyes upon Sylvester. In his there
was that mysterious look of appraisal, of vision. He seemed nervous,
rolled his cigar and moved his feet.

"Are you satisfied with your work, Miss Sheila?"

Sheila assembled her courage. "I know you'll think me a beast, Mr.
Hudson, after all your kindness--and it isn't that I don't like the work.
But I've a feeling--no, it's more than a feeling!--I _know_ that your
wife doesn't need me. And I know she doesn't want me. She doesn't like to
have me here. I've been unhappy about that ever since I came. And it's
been getting worse. Yesterday she said she couldn't bear to have me
whistling round her kitchen. Mr. Hudson"--Sheila's voice broke
childishly--"I can't help whistling. It's a habit. I couldn't work at all
if I didn't whistle. I wouldn't have told you, but since you asked me--"