Sylvia was struck by the reflection, but on turning it over she saw
in it only another reason for anger at Morrison. "You make your old
friend out as a very weak character," she said.

Mrs. Marshall-Smith's tolerant, clear view of the infirmities of
humanity was grieved by this fling of youthful severity. "Oh, my dear!
my dear! A young, beautiful, enormendously rich, tremendously enamored
girl? That's a combination! I don't think we need consider Felix
exactly weak for not having resisted!"

Sylvia thought she knew reasons for his not yielding, but she did not
care to discuss them, and said nothing.

"But whether," continued Mrs. Marshall-Smith, attempting delicately
to convey the only reflection supposed to be of comfort to a girl in
Sylvia's situation, "whether or not Molly will find after marriage
that even a very masterful and ruthless temperament may fail entirely
to possess and hold the things it has grabbed and carried off ..."

Sylvia repudiated the tacit conception that this would be a balm to
her. "Oh, I'm sure I hope they'll manage!" she said earnestly.

"Of course! Of course!" agreed Mrs. Marshall-Smith. "Who doesn't hope
so?" She paused, her loquacity run desperately thin. There was
the sound of a car, driving up to the front door. Sylvia rose in
apprehension. Her aunt motioned a reassurance. "I told Tojiko to tell
every one that we are not in--to anybody."

Helene came to the door on silent, felt-shod feet, a black-and-white
picture of well-trained servility. "Pardon, Madame, Tojiko says that
Mlle. Sommerville wishes to see Mlle. Sylvie."

Mrs. Marshall-Smith looked with considerable apprehension at her
niece. "You must get it over with some time, Sylvia. It'll be easier
here than with a lot of people staring at you both, and making nasty
speculations." Neither she nor Sylvia noticed that for an instant, in
her haste, she had quite dropped her careful pretension that Sylvia
could, of course, if she had really cared to....

Sylvia set her jaw, an action curiously visible under the smooth,
subtle modeling of her young cheeks. She said to Helene in a quiet
voice: "_Mais bien sur!_ Tell her we're not yet dressed, but if she
will give herself the trouble to come up...."

Helene nodded and retreated. Sylvia looked rather pale.

"You don't know what a joy your perfect French is to me, dear," said
Mrs. Marshall-Smith, still rapidly turning every peg in sight in an
endeavor to loosen tension; but no noti