What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. The girl regarded him with the face of a Sphinx. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. Brother and Sister VIII. 102 When he took her out, he was proud of her.
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