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Updated: May 25, 2025
Sherrett to herself, written from London, where he had just arrived after a visit to Berlin. "I have had no family news," he wrote, "of later date than January 20th. Trust all is well. Shall sail from Liverpool on the 9th." The date of that was March 20th. The fourteenth of April, Easter Monday, was fixed for Desire Ledwith's marriage. Rachel Froke came back on the Friday previous.
The door stood open to an inner apartment; a little study, beyond which were sleeping and bath-rooms. Rodney stepped upon the threshold, leaning against the frame, while Mr. Sherrett went to the mantel, found a match and a cigar, cut the latter carefully in two, and lit one half.
Sylvie's arm was bruised, and her dress torn; that was all. She felt a little jarred and dizzy at first, when Mr. Ingraham lifted her up, and Rodney Sherrett, picking himself out of the dust with a shake and a stamp, found his own bones unbroken, and hurried over to ask anxiously for he was a kind-hearted fellow how much harm he had done, and to express his vehement regret at the "horrid spill."
As Sylvie Argenter came out at the shop-door, Rodney Sherrett appeared at the same point, safely mounted on the runaway Duke.
"You will remove, I suppose?" said Mr. Sherrett "If you could hear of a house, if you could propose something definite, if you and Sabina could begin to pack up, how would that be?" He met her inquiry with primary, practical suggestions, just what she needed, wasting no words. He saw it was the best service he could do this little girl who had suddenly become the real head of the household.
If I use up a year or more in travelling, I shall be going on to twenty-two, you see; and I ought to have got ahead a little by that time." Mr. Sherrett turned round, surprised. This was a new phase. He wondered how deep it went, and what had occasioned it. "Do you mean you wish to study a profession, after all?" "No. I don't think I've much of a 'head-piece' as Nurse Pond used to say.
She thought she was in the way of some stranger, and hastily arose. "I beg your pardon," she said, instinctively, and turned as she spoke. "What for?" asked Rodney Sherrett, holding out both hands, and grasping hers before she was well aware. There were morning stars in her eyes, and a beautiful sunrise crimsoned her cheek. These two had not seen each other all summer.
Sherrett, ma'am, to see Miss Sylvie," she turned back to her volume of "London Society," much and mixedly reconciled in her thoughts to two things that occurred to her at once, one of them adding itself to the other as manifestly in the same remarkable order of providence; "that tip-out" from the basket-phæton, and the new white frill-trimmed polonaise that Miss Sylvie would put on, so needlessly, this afternoon, in spite of her remonstrance that the laundress had just left without warning, and there was no knowing when they should ever find another.
Sylvie's own dreams of a possible future for herself were only purple lights upon a far horizon. It seemed a very great way off, any bringing to speech and result the mute, infrequent signs of what was yet the very real, secret strength and joy and hope of her girl's heart. She had a thought of Rodney Sherrett that she was sure she had a right to. That was all she wanted, yet.
She can't spare Sabina, who has heard of a good place, and must go soon at any rate, because nobody else would know where things belonged or are put away, or fetch her anything she wanted. And the very things, I suppose, don't belong to us. How shall we break through and begin again?" Sylvie looked up earnestly at Mr. Sherrett, asking this question. This was what she really wanted to know.
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