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Fulton sent a darky with a message to Sylvia's mother that he was taking the little girl for a sail to the forts, and in a short time they were on board the Butterfly, as Sylvia had named the white sloop, and were going swiftly down the harbor. "May I steer?" asked Sylvia, and Mr. Fulton smilingly agreed.
"You ought to appreciate his action." "I appreciate it as sincerely as I do yours, because you must have shown that you didn't want him to use the letter, though I'm inclined to think your motives were rather mixed; one could scarcely expect them all to be purely benevolent." Sylvia smiled. He was keen-witted and she found something amusing in the ironical good-humor which often characterized him.
... Sylvia emerged from behind the thin partition, sighing and smiling. "Did it seem very long?" she asked. "It's hard to make up your mind. It's like taking one color out of the rainbow and expecting it to look as pretty as the whole rainbow. But I'm ready now." "Remember, a week from Wednesday," called Madame Boucher, as Harboro and Sylvia moved toward the door.
Sylvia was flushed and frowning, more than half ashamed of the old lady's disclosures, fearful lest they might affect her own importance in the estimation of a friend who had lived in a Castle, and owned a sister who went to Court, and profoundly uninterested in Emmeline and her destiny; but Bridgie was all animation and curiosity, her grey eyes wide with anxiety as to the success of the corn-broker and his suit.
I argued that Sylvia was not of the hysterical type, but I could not make him agree that it was possible to predict what the attitude of any woman would be.
He proposed that he and Bridgie should look out for a furnished house, so as to have a home of their own and yet be ready for such changes as might arise. Jack anxiously questioned Sylvia as to the responsibility which would be hers, and she professed herself only too ready to sister the two dear boys.
I whispered. "If Lady say come, she come," he answered. This set me thinking, and I decided to write a note that Smilax could deliver. Sylvia might then feel assured that she was not being abducted by a negro whom Echochee had known only in childhood.
To his astonishment, Sylvia, finding herself thus seized and kissed despite herself, flushed scarlet, and, lifting up her tiny fist, struck him on the cheek with all her force. The blow was so sudden, and the momentary pain so sharp, that Maurice nearly slipped into his native coarseness, and rapped out an oath. "My dear Sylvia!" cried Vickers, in tones of grave reproof.
Then they fell asleep, and it was some time before both woke suddenly. A sound had wakened Henry, an odor Sylvia. Henry had heard a door open, forcing him into wakefulness; Sylvia had smelled the cigar again. She nudged her husband. Just then the tall clock in the sitting-room struck ten deliberately. "It's late, and he's awake, smoking, now," whispered Sylvia. Henry said nothing. He only grunted.
"To tell you the honest truth, we talked it out with him, and he wouldn't make any promises." To which Sylvia answered: "Very well, Clive that settles it. You can help me find some man for Celeste who loves her a little more than that!" That afternoon came Aunt Nannie, the Bishop's wife, in shining chestnut-coloured silk to match a pair of shining chestnut-coloured horses.
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