upstairs
to summon her mother. It occurred to her that Mrs. Marshall might very
reasonably be at a loss as to the reason of this call. Indeed, she
herself felt a sinking alarm at the definiteness of the demonstration.
What could Mrs. Fiske have to say to Mrs. Marshall that would not lead
to some agitating crystallization of the dangerous solution which
during the past months Mrs. Marshall's daughter had been so
industriously stirring up? Mrs. Marshall showed the most open surprise
at the announcement, "Mrs. Colonel Fiske to see me? What in the
world--" she began, but after a glance at Sylvia's down-hung head and
twisting fingers, she stopped short, looking very grave, and rose to
go, with no more comments.

They went down the stairs in silence, tall mother and tall daughter,
both sobered, both frightened at what might be in the other's mind,
and at what might be before them, and entered the low-ceilinged
living-room together. A pale woman, apparently as apprehensive as
they, rose in a haste that had almost some element of apology in it,
and offered her hand to Mrs. Marshall. "I'm Mrs. Fiske," she said
hurriedly, in a low voice, "Jerry's stepmother, you know. I hope you
won't mind my coming to see you. What a perfectly lovely home you
have! I was wishing I could just stay and _stay_ in this room."
She spoke rapidly with the slightly incoherent haste of shy people
overcoming their weakness, and glanced alternately, with faded blue
eyes, at Sylvia and at her mother. In the end she remained standing,
looking earnestly into Mrs. Marshall's face. That lady now made a step
forward and again put out her hand with an impulsive gesture at which
Sylvia wondered. She herself had felt no attraction towards the thin,
sickly woman who had so little grace or security of manner. It was
constantly surprising Sylvia to discover how often people high in
social rank seemed to possess no qualifications for their position.
She always felt that she could have filled their places with vastly
more aplomb.

"I'm very glad to see you," said Mrs. Marshall in a friendly tone. "Do
sit down again. Sylvia, go and make us some tea, won't you? Mrs. Fiske
must be cold after driving out here from town."

When Sylvia came back ten minutes later, she found the guest saying,
"My youngest is only nine months old, and he is having _such_ a time
with his teeth."

"Oh!" thought Sylvia scornfully, pouring out the tea. "She's _that_
kind of a woman, is she?"