Sylvia; a novel

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SYLVIA

By Upton Sinclair

SYLVIA

LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE

PLAYS OF PROTEST

THE FASTING CURE

THE JUNGLE

THE INDUSTRIAL REPUBLIC

THE METROPOLIS

THE MONEYCHANGERS

SAMUEL THE SEEKER

KING MIDAS

PRINCE HAGEN

THE JOURNAL OF ARTHUR STIRLING

MANASSAS

THE OVERMAN

SYLVIA

A NOVEL

BV
I

UPTON SINCLAIR

THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA CHICAGO

Copyright, 1913. by
THB JOHN C. WINSTON Co.

Published, May IS, 1913

First Printing. April. 1913. Second Printing, May. 1913
Third Printing, May, 1913

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To
THE PEOPLE AT HOME

470'

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CONTENTS

BOOK I

SYLVIA LOVES

BOOK II
SYLVIA LINGERS

BOOK III
SYLVIA LOSES 277

SYLVIA

BOOK I

Sylvia Loves

§1

THIS is the story of Sylvia Castleman, of her
love and her marriage. The story goes back to
the days of her golden youth; but it has to be
told by an old woman who had no youth at all,
and who never dreamed of having a story to
tell. It begins with scenes of luxury among the
proudest aristocracy of the South; it is told by
one who for the first thirty years of her life was
a farmer's wife in a lonely pioneer homestead in
Manitoba, and who, but for the pictures and stories
in magazines, would never have known that such
a world as Sylvia Castleman's existed.

Yet I believe that I can tell her story. Eight
years of it I lived with her, so intensely that it
became as my own existence to me. And the
rest I gathered from her lips, even to the tiniest
details. For years I went about my daily tasks
with Sylvia's memories as a kind of radiance
about me, like a rainbow that shimmers over the
head of a plodding traveler. In the time that
I knew her, I never came to the end of her
picturesque adventures, nor did I ever know
what it was to be bored by them. The incident
might be commonplace — a bit of a flirtation,
the ordering of a" costume, the blunder of a negro
servant; but it was always Sylvia who was telling
it — there was always the sparkle of her eyes, the

(ii)

12 SYLVIA

mischievous smile, the swift glow of her counte
nance. And as the story progressed, suddenly
would come some incident so wild that it would
make you catch your breath; some fantastic,
incredible extravagance; some strange, quixotic
trait of character. You would find yourself face
to face with an attitude to life out of the Middle
Ages, with some fierce, vivid passion that carried
you back even farther.

What a world it is! I know that it exists —
for Sylvia took me home with her twice. I saw
the Major wearing his faded gray uniform (it
was "Reunion Day") and discoursing upon the
therapeutic qualities of "hot toddies." I watched
the negro boy folding and unfolding the news
paper, because Mrs. Castleman was obeying her
physician and avoiding unnecessary exertion.
I shook hands with Master Castleman Lysle,
whose names were reversed by special decree of
the state legislature, so that the memory of his
distinguished ancestress might be preserved to
posterity. And yet it will always seem like a
fairy-story world to me. I can no more believe
in the courtly Bishop, praying over my unre
pentant head, than I can believe in Don Quixote.
As for "Uncle Mandeville" — I could more easily
persuade myself that I once talked with Pan
Zagloba in the flesh.

I have Sylvia's picture on my desk — the youth
ful picture that means so much to me, with its
strange mixture of coquetry and wistfulness, of
mischief and tenderness. Downstairs in the

SYLVIA LOVES 13

dining-room is the portrait of Lady Lyslc, which
is so much like her that strangers always mistook
it. And if that be not enough, now and then
Elaine steals into my room, and, silent as a shadow,
takes her seat upon the little stool beside me,
watching me with her sightless eyes. Her fingers
fly swiftly at her knitting, and for hours, if need
be, she moves nothing else. She knows by the
sound of my pen that I am busy; with the wonder
ful acuteness of the blind she knows whether
I am successful or not, whether what I write be
joyous or painful.

How much she knows — much more than I
dream, perhaps! I wonder about it, but I never
ask her. Both Frank and I have tried to talk
to her, but we cannot; it is cowardly, pitiful,
perhaps — but we cannot! She used to ask ques
tions in the beginning, but she must have felt
our pain, for she asks no more ; she simply haunts
our home, the incarnation of the tragedy. So
much of her mother she has — the wonderful red-
brown eyes, the golden hair, the mobile, delicate
features. But the sparkle of the eyes and the
glow in the cheeks, the gaiety, the rapture — where
are they? When I think of this, I clutch my
hands in a sort of spasm, and gq to my work
again.

Or perhaps I go into Frank's den and see him
sitting there, with his haggard, brooding face,
his hair that turned gray in one week. He never
asks the question, but I see it in his eyes: "How
much have you done to-day?" A cruel task-

14 SYLVIA

master is that face of Frank's! He is haunted
by the thought that I may not live to finish the
story.

The ha'rdest thing of all will be to make you see
Sylvia as she was in that wild, wonderful youth
of hers, when she was the belle of her state, when
the suitors crowded about her like moths about
a candle-flame. How shall one who is old and
full of bitter memories bring back the magic
spirit of youth, the glamor and the glow of it,
the terrifying blindness, the torrent-like rush, the
sheer, quivering ecstasy of it?

What words shall I choose to bring before you
the joyf ulness of Sylvia? When I first met her
she was twenty-six, and had known the kind of
sorrow that eats into a woman's soul as acid
might eat into her eyes; and yet you would think
she had never been touched by pain — she moved
through life, serene, unflinching, a lamp of cheer
fulness to every soul who knew her. I met her
and proceeded to fall hi love with her like the
veriest schoolgirl; I would go away and think
of her, and clasp my hands together in delight.
There was one word that kept coming to me;
I would repeat it over and over again — " Happy!
Happy! Happy!" She was the happiest soul
that I have ever known upon the earth; a veri
table fountain of joy.

I say that much; and then I hasten to correct
it. It seems to be easy for some people to smile.
There comes to me another word that I used
to find myself repeating about Sylvia. She was

SYLVIA LOVES 15

wise! She was wise! She was wise with a
strange, uncanny wisdom, the wisdom of ages
upon ages of womanhood — women who have
been mothers and counselors and homekeepers,
but above all, women who have been managers
of men! Oh, what a manager of men was Sylvia!
For the most part, she told me, she managed them
for their own good; but now and then the irresist
ible imp of mischievousness broke loose in her,
and then she managed them any way at all, so
long as she managed them!

Yet that, too, does her less than justice, I
think. For you might search all over the states
of the South, where she lived and visited, and
where now they mention her name only in whis
pers; and nowhere, I wager, could you find a
man who had ceased to love her. You might
find hundreds who would wish to God that she
were alive again, so that they might run away
with her. For that is the third thing to be noted
about Sylvia Castleman — that she was good.
She was so good that when you knew her you
went down upon your knees before her, and never
got up again. How many times I have seen the
tears start into her eyes over the memory of what
the imp of mischievousness and the genius of
management had made her do to men! How
many times have I heard her laughter, as she
told how she broke their hearts, and then used
her tears for cement to patch them up again!

16 SYLVIA

§2

I REALIZE that I must make some effort to tell
you how she looked. But when I think of words
— how futile, stale and shopworn seem all the
words that come to me. In my early days my
one recreation was cheap paper-covered novels
and historical romances, from which I got my
idea of the grand monde. Now, when I try to
think of words with which to describe Sylvia,
it is their words that come to me. I know that
a heroine must be slender and exquisite, must
be sensitive and haughty and aristocratic. Sylvia
was all this, in truth; but how shall I bring to
you the thrill of wonder that came to me when
I encountered her — that living joy she was to
me forever after, so different from anything the
books had ever brought me!

She was tall and very straight, free in her
carriage; her look, her whole aspect was quick
and eager. I sit and try to analyze her charm,
and I think the first quality was the sense she
gave you of cleanness. I lived with her much;
I saw her, not merely made up for parties, but
as she opened her eyes in the morning; and I
cannot recall that I ever saw about her any of
those things that offend us in the body. Her
eyes were always clear, her skin always fair; I
never saw her with a cold, or heard her speak of
a headache. If she were tired, she would not
tell you so — at least, not if she thought you needed
her. If there was anything the matter with her,

SYLVIA LOVES 17

there was only one way you found it out — that
she stopped eating.

She would do that at home, when someone
was ill and she was under a strain. She would
literally fade away before your eyes — but still
just as cheerful and brave, laughing at the pro
tests of the doctors, the outcries of her aunts
and her colored "aunties." At such times she
had a quite new kind of beauty, that seemed to
strike men dumb; she used to make merry over
it, saying that she could go out when other
women had to shut themselves behind curtains.
For thinness brought out every line of her ex
quisitely chiseled features; every quiver of her
soul seemed to show — her tense, swift being was
as if cut there in living marble, and she was some
unearthly creature, wraith-like, wonderful, thrill
ing. There were poets in Castleman County;
they would meet her in this depleted state, and
behave after the fashion of poets in semi-tropical
climates — stand with their knees knocking and
the perspiration oozing out upon their foreheads;
they would wander off by moonlight-haunted
streams and compose enraptured verses, and come
back and fall upon their knees and implore her
to accept the poor, feeble tribute of their adoration.

I have seen her, too, when she was strong and
happy, and then she would be well-made and
shapely, with a charm of a more earthly sort.
Then her color would be like the roses she always
carried; and in each of her cheeks would appear
the most adorable of dimples, and under her chin

18 SYLVIA

another. She had a nose that was very straight
and finely carved; and right in the center, under
the tip, the sculptor had put a tiny little groove.
She had also a chin that was very straight, and
right in the center of this was a corresponding
little groove. You will laugh perhaps; but those
touches added marvelously to the expressiveness
of her countenance. How they would shift and
change when, for instance, her nostrils quivered
with anger, or when the imp of mischievousness
took possession of her, and the network of quaint
wrinkles gathered round her eyes!

Dimples, I know, are an ultra-feminine prop
erty; but Sylvia's face was not what is ordinarily
called feminine — it was a kind of face that paint
ers would give to a young boy singing in a church.
I used to tell her that it was the kind they gave
to angels of the higher orders; whereupon she
would put her arms about me and whisper, "You
old goose!" She had a pair of the strangest red-
brown eyes, soft and tender; and then suddenly
lighting up — shining, shining!

I don't know if I make you see her. I can
add only one detail more, the one that people
talked of most — her hair. You may see her hair,
very beautifully done, in the portrait of Lady
Lysle. The artist was shrewd and put the great
lady in a morning robe, standing by the open
window, the sunlight falling upon a cascade of
golden tresses. The color of Sylvia's hair was
toned down when I knew her, but they told me
that in her prime it had been vivid to out-

SYLVIA LOVES 19

rageousness. I sit before the painting, and the
present slips away and I see her as she was in
the glow of her youth — eager, impetuous, swept
with gusts of merriment and tenderness, like a
mountain lake in April.

So the old chroniclers report her, nine genera
tions back, when she came over to marry the
Governor of Massachusetts! They have her
wedding gown preserved in a Boston Museum,
and the Lysles have a copy of it, so that each
generation can be married in one like it. But
Sylvia was the first it became, being the first
blonde since her great progenitor. How strange
seems such a whim of heredity — not merely the
color of the hair and eyes, the cut of the features,
but a whole character, a personality hidden away
somewhere in the germ-plasm, and suddenly
breaking out, without warning, after a couple
of hundred years!

§3

WHEN I think of Sylvia's childhood and all the
hairbreadth escapes of which she told me, I mar
vel that she ever came to womanhood. It would
seem to be a perilous part of the world to raise
children in, with horses and dogs and guns, and
so many half-tamed negroes — to say nothing of
all the half-tamed white people. Sylvia had
three younger sisters and whole troops of cousins
— the Bishop's eleven children, and the children

20 SYLVIA

of Barry Chilton, his brother. I picture their
existence as one long series of perilous escapes,
with runaway horses, kicking mules and biting
dogs, and negroes who shot and stabbed one
another in sudden, ferocious brawls, or set fire
to Castleman Hall hi order that some other negro
might be suspected and lynched.

Also there were the more subtle perils of the
pantry and the green-apple orchard. I did not
see any accident during my brief stay at the
place, but I saw the dietetic ferocities of the
family and marveled at them. It seemed to me
that the life of that most precious of infants,
Castleman Lysle, was one endless succession of
adventures with mustard and ipecac and castor
oil. I want somehow to make you realize this
world of Sylvia's, and I don't know how I can
do it better than by telling of my first vision of
that future heir of all the might, majesty and
dominion of the Lysles. It was one of the rare
occasions when the Major was taking him on a
journey. The old family horses were hitched to
the old family carriage, and with a negro on the
box, another walking at the horses' heads, a third
riding on a mule behind, and a fourth sent ahead
to notify the police, the procession set forth to
the station. I know quite well that I shall be
called a liar; yet I can only give my solemn
word that I saw it with my own eyes — the chief
of police, duly notified, had informed all the
officers on duty, and the population of a bustling
town of forty thousand inhabitants, in the United

SYLVIA LOVES 21

States of America in the twentieth century, were
politely requested not to drive automobiles along
the principal avenue during the half-hour that
it took to convey Master Lysle to the train!
And of course such a "request" was a command
to all the inhabitants who were genteel enough
to own automobiles. Was not this the grandson
of the late General Castleman, the grand-nephew
of a former territorial governor? Was he not
the heir of the largest, the oldest and the most
famous plantation in the county, the future dis
penser of favors and arbiter of social fates? Was
he not, incidentally, the brother of the loveliest
girl hi the state, to whom most of the automobile
owners in the town had made violent love?

I would like to tell more about that world and
Sylvia's experiences in it — some of those amazing
tales! Of the negro boy who bit a piece out
of the baby's leg, because he had heard someone
say that the baby looked sweet enough to eat;
of the negro girl who heard a war-story about
"a train of gun-powder," and proceeded with
Sylvia's aid to lay such a train from the cellar
to the attic of the house. I would like to tell
the whole story of her girlhood, and the strange
ideas they taught her; but I have to pick and
choose, saving my space for the things that are
necessary to the understanding of her character.

Sylvia's education was a decidedly miscellaneous
one at first. "I think it is time the child had
some regular training," her great-aunt, Lady
Dee, would say to the child's mother. "Yes,

22 SYLVIA

I suppose you are right," would be the answer.
But then Lady Dee would go, and Major Castle-
man would come in, observing, "It's marvelous
the way that child picks things up, Miss Mar
garet." (A habit from his courtship days, you
understand.) "We must be careful not to over-
stimulate her mind." To which his wife would
respond, agreeably, "I'm sure you know best,
Mr. Castleman."

Every morning Sylvia would go with her father
on his rounds to interview the managers of the
three plantations; the Major in his black broad
cloth frock-coat, a wide black hat and a white
"bosom" shirt, riding horseback with an umbrella
over his head, and followed at a respectful dis
tance by his "boy" upon a mule. On these
excursions Sylvia would recite the multiplication
table, and receive lessons hi the history of her
country, from the point of view of its unrecon
structed-minority. Also she had lessons on this
subject from her great-aunt, who never paid one
of her numerous servants their small quarterly
stipend that she did not exclaim: "Oh, how I
hate the Yankees!"

I must not delay to introduce this great-aunt,
who was Sylvia's monitress in the arts and graces
of life, and left her on her death-bed such a curious
heritage of worldiness. Lady Dee was the last
surviving member of a younger branch of the
line of the Lysles. She was not a real countess,
like her great ancestress; the name "Lady" had
been given her in baptism. Early in the last

SYLVIA LOVES 23

century she had come over the mountains in a
lumbering coach, with an escort of mounted
riders, to marry the Surveyor General of the
Territory. She still had a picture of this coach,
along with innumerable other treasures in cedar
chests in her attic: fan-sticks of carved ivory,
inlaid with gold; gold garter buckles with wonder
ful enameling; old seals and silver snuff-boxes;
rare jewels, such as white topazes and red
amethysts; and a whole trunkful of the curious
tiny silk parasols with which great ladies used
to protect their creamy complexions — no more
than ten inches across, and with handles of
inlaid and carven ivory. When Sylvia was a
little girl with two pigtails hanging down her
back, it was one of the joys of her life to explore
these treasures, and deck herself in faded ball
costumes and chains of jewels and gold.

Also, from Lady Dee she received contributions
to her moral training; not in set discourses, but
incidentally and by allusions. Rummaging in
the cedar chests she once came upon a miniature
which she had never seen before ; a lady in whom
she recognized the eyes of the Lysles, and the
arrogance which all their portraits show. "Who
is this, Aunt Lady?" she asked; and the old
gentlewoman frowned and answered, "We never
speak of her, my dear. She is the one woman
who ever disgraced our name."

Sylvia hesitated a long time before she spoke
again. She had heard much of family skeletons
in the table-talk — but always other families.
"What did she do?" she asked, at last.

24 SYLVIA

"She was married to three men," was the
reply,

Again Sylvia hesitated. "You mean," she
ventured — "you mean — at the same time?"

Lady Dee stared. "No, my dear," she said,
gravely. "Her husbands died."

"But — but — " began the other, timidly, grop
ing to find her way m a strange field of thought.

"If she had been a woman of delicacy," pro
nounced Lady Dee, "she would have been true
to one love." Then, after a pause, she added,
solemnly, "Remember this, my child. Think
before you choose, for the women of our family
are like Sterne's starling — when they have once
entered their cage, they never come out."

It was Lady Dee who objected to the desultory-
nature of Sylvia's education, and began a cam
paign, as a result of which the Major sent her off
to a "college" at the age of thirteen. You must
not be frightened by this imposing statement,
for it is easy to call yourself a "college" in the
South. Sylvia was away for three years, during
which she really studied, and acquired much more
than the usual accomplishments of a young lady.

She had an extraordinarily capable mind; serene
and efficient, like everything else about her.
When I met her I was a woman of forty-five,
who a few years before had broken with my
whole past, having discovered the universe of
knowledge. I had been like a starving person
breaking into a well-filled larder, and stuffing
myself greedily and promiscuously. I had taken

SYLVIA LOVES 25

upon myself the task of contending with other
people's prejudices, and my rapture over Sylvia
Castleman was partly the realization that here
was a woman — actually a woman — who had no
prejudices whatever. She wanted me to tell
her all I knew; and it was a great delight to
expound to her a new set of ideas, and see her
mind go from point to point, leaping swiftly, lay
ing hold of details, ordering, comparing — above
all, applying. That you may have a picture of
this mind in action, let me tell you what she did
in her girlhood, all unassisted — how she broke
with the religion of her forefathers.

§4

THAT brings me to the Bishop, Basil Chilton,
who had come into the family by marriage to
one of Sylvia's aunts. At the time of his marriage
he had been a young Louisiana planter, handsome
and fascinating. He had met Nannie Castleman
at a ball, and at four o'clock in the morning had
secured her promise to marry him before sunset.
People said that he was half drunk at the time,
and this was probably a moderate estimate, for
he had been wholly drunk for a year or two
afterwards. Then he had shot a man in a brawl
and, despite the fact that he was a gentleman,
had almost been punished for it. The peril had
sobered him; a month or two later, at a Metho-

26 SYLVIA

dist revival, he was converted, made a sensational
confession of his sins, and then, to the horror
of his friends, became a preacher of Methodism.

To the Castlemans this was a calamity — to
Lady Dee a personal affront. "Whoever heard
of a gentleman who was a Methodist?" she de
manded; and as the convert had no precedents
to cite, she quarreled with him and for many
years never spoke his name. Also it was hard
upon Nannie Castleman — who had entered her
cage and had to stay! They had compromised
on the bargain that the children were to be
brought up in her own faith, which was Very
High Church. So now the unhappy preacher,
later Bishop, sat in his study and wrote his ser
mons, while one by one his eleven children came
of age, and danced and gambled and drank them
selves to perdition in the very best form imagin
able. When I met the family, the last of the
daughters, Caroline, was just making her debut,
and her mother, nearly sixty, was the gayest
dancer on the floor. It was the joke of the
county, how the family automobile would first
take the Bishop to prayer meeting, and then return
to take the mother and the chilolren to a ball.

Basil Chilton looked like an old-world diplomat,
as I had come to conceive that personage from
reading novels. He had the most charming
manners — the kind of manners which cannot be
cultivated, but come from nobility of soul. He
was gentle and gracious even to servants; and
yet imposing, with his stately figure and smooth,

SYLVIA LOVES 27

ascetic face, lined by care. He lived just a pony-
ride from Castleman Hall, and almost every
morning during vacations Sylvia would stop and
spend a little while with him. People said that
he loved her more than any of his own children.

So you can imagine what it meant when one
day the girl said to him, "Uncle Basil, I have
something to tell you. I've been thinking about
it, and I've made up my mind that I don't believe
in either heaven or hell."

Where had she got such an idea? She had
certainly not learned it at the "college," for the
institution was "denominational" and had no
text-books of later date than 1850. Somewhere
she had found a volume of Huxley's "Lay Ser
mons," but she had got nothing out of that, for
the Major had discovered her reading page three,
and had solemnly consigned the book to the
flames. No, it was simply that she had been
thinking for herself.

The Bishop took it well. He did not try
to frighten her, he did not even show her his
distress of mind. He told her that she was an
angel, the very soul of purity and goodness, and
that God would surely lead her to truth if only
she kept herself humble. As Sylvia put it to me:
"He knew that I would come back, and I knew
that I would never come back."

And that was the situation between them to
the very end — the bitter end. He always believed
that she would learn to see things as he saw
them. He died a year or so ago, the courtly

28 SYLVIA

old gentleman — consoled by the thought that he
was now to meet his God and Sylvia face to face,
and hear the former explain to the latter the
difference between Divine Law and mere human
ideas of Justice.

The rest of the family were not so patient
as the Bishop. To have a heretic in the house
hold was even worse than having a Methodist!
Mrs. Castleman, who agreed with the Bible as
she agreed with everything, was dumb with
bewilderment; while the Major set to work to
hunt out dusty volumes from the attic. He read
every word of Paley's " Evidences" aloud to his
daughter, and some of Gladstone's essays, and
several other books, the very names of which
she forgot. You may smile at this picture, but
it was a serious matter to the Castlemans, who
had based their morality upon the fear of fire
and brimstone and the weeping and gnashing of
teeth, and who kept Sylvia three months from
school to impress such images upon her imagi
nation.

There were several religious sects represented
in the county. These were generally at war with
one another, but they all made common cause
in this emergency, and committees of old ladies
from the "Christians," the "hard-shell Baptists,"
the "predestination Presbyterians," would come
to condole with "Miss Margaret," and would
kneel down in the parlor with Sylvia and pray
for her salvation, shedding tears over the cream
velour upholstery of the hand-carved mahogany

SYLVIA LOVES 29

sofas. A distant cousin who was "in orders,"
a young gentleman of charming presence and
special training in dialectics, was called in to
answer the arguments of this wayward young
lady, and stayed for three days, probing deeply
into his patient's mind — not merely her theological
beliefs, but the attitude to life which underlay
them. When he had finished he said to her,
"My dear Sylvia, it is my opinion that you are
the most dangerous person hi this county." She
told me the story, and added, "I hadn't the
remotest idea what the man meant!" But I
answered her that he had been perfectly right.
In truth, he was a seer, that young clergyman!

§5

THERE was a general feeling that Sylvia had
learned more than was good for her; and so the
family made inquiries, and selected the most
exclusive and expensive "finishing school" in
New York, for the purpose of putting a stop to
her intellectual development. And so we come
to the beginning of Sylvia's wordly career, and to
the visit she paid to Lady Dee — who now, at the
age of ninety, felt herself failing rapidly, and wished
to leave to her great-niece her treasures of worldly
counsel.

Lady Dee was one of those quaint figures you
meet in the South, who go to balls and parties

30 SYLVIA

wnen they are old enough to be sewing the layettes
of their great-grandchildren. I have seen a pic
ture of her at the age of eighty-five, in a cerise-
colored silk ball-gown with a lace " bertha," her
white hair curled in front and done in a pile with
a coronet of diamonds. You must imagine her
now, in an invalid's chair upon the gallery, but still
with her hair dressed as of old; telling to Sylvia
tales of her own young ladyhood — and incident
ally, with such deftness that the girl never guessed
her purpose, introducing instruction in the strategy
and tactics of the sex war.

Life was short, according to Lady Dee, and the
future was uncertain. A woman bloomed but
once, and must make the most of that. To be
the center of events during her hour, that was
life's purpose; and to achieve it, it was necessary
to know how to hold men. Men were sometimes
said to be strange and difficult creatures, but in
reality they were simple and easily handled. The
trouble was that most women went blindly at
the task, instead of availing themselves of the
wisdom which their sex had been storing up for
ages, in the minds of such authorities as Lady Dee.

The old lady went on to expound the science
of coquetry. I had read of the sex game, as it
is played in the grand monde, but I had never sup
posed that the players were as conscious and
deliberate as this veteran expert. She even used
the language of battle: "A woman's shield, my
child, is her innocence; her sharpest weapon is
her naivete. The way to disarm a man's sus-

SYLVIA LOVES 31

picions is to tell him what you're doing to him —
then you're sure he won't believe it!"

She would go into minute details of these Ama
zonian arts: how to beguile a man, how to promise
to many him without really promising, how to
keep him at the proper temperature by judicious
applications of jealousy. Nor was this sex war
to stop after the wedding ceremony — when most
women foolishly laid down their weapons. A
woman must sleep in her armor, according to
Lady Dee. She must never let her husband
know how much she loved him, she must make
him think of her as something rare and unattain
able, she must keep him in a state where her
smile was the greatest thing hi life to him. Said
the old lady, gravely: "The women of our family
are famous for henpecking their husbands — they
don't even take the trouble to hide it. I've
heard your grandfather, the General, say that
it was all right for a man to be henpecked, if
only it was by the right hen."

A training, you perceive, of a decidedly worldly
character; and yet there was nothing upon which
Sylvia's relatives laid more stress than the pre
serving of what they called her "innocence."
There were wild people in this part of the world —
high-spirited and hot-tempered, hard drinkers
and fast livers; there were deeds of violence,
and strange and terrible tales that you might
hear. But when these tales had anything to do
with sex, they were carefully kept from Sylvia's
ears. Only once had this rule been broken — an

32 SYLVIA

occasion which made a great impression upon the
child. The daughter of one of the neighboring
families had eloped, and the dreadful rumor was
whispered that she had traveled in a sleeping-car
with the man, and been married at the end of the
journey, instead of at the beginning.

And there was Uncle Mandeville, the youngest
of the Major's brothers — half drunk, though
Sylvia did not know it — pacing the veranda and
discussing the offending bridegroom. "He should
have been shot !" cried Mandeville. "The damned
scoundrel, he should have been shot like a dog!"
And suddenly he paused before the startled child.
He was a giant of a man, and his voice had the
power of a church-organ. He placed his hands
upon Sylvia's shoulders, pronouncing in solemn
tones, "Little girl, I want you to know that
I will protect the honor of the women of our
family with my life! Do you understand me,
little girl?"

And Sylvia, awestricken, answered, "Yes, Uncle
Mandeville." The worthy gentleman was so
much moved by his own nobility and courage that
the tears stood in his eyes; he went on, melo
dramatically, "With my life! With my life!
And remember the boast of the Castlemans —
that there was never a man in our family who
broke his word, nor a woman with a stain upon
her name!"

That had been in Sylvia's childhood. But
now she was a young lady, about to start for the
metropolis, and the family judged that the time

SYLVIA LOVES 38

had come for her to be instructed in some of these
delicate matters. There had been consultations
between her mother and aunts, in which the
former had been prodded on to the performing
of one of the most difficult of all maternal duties.
Sylvia remembered the occasion vividly, for her
mother's agitation was painful to witness; she
led the girl solemnly into a darkened room, and
casting down her eyes, as it she were confessing
a crime, she said:

"My child, you will probably hear evil-minded
girls talking of things of which my little daughter
has never heard. When these things are dis
cussed, I want you to withdraw quietly from the
company. You should remain away until vulgar
topics have been dismissed from the conversa
tion. I want your promise to do this, my
daughter."

Her mother's sense of shame had communi
cated itself to Sylvia. At first she had been
staring wonderingly, but now she cast down her
own eyes. She gave the desired promise; and
that was all the education concerning sex that
she had during her girlhood. This experience
determined her attitude for many years — a min
gling of shame and fear. The time had come for
her to face the facts of her own physical develop
ment, and she did so with agony of soul, and in
her ignorance came near to injuring her bodily
health.

Also, the talk had another consequence, over
which Mrs. Castleman would have been sorely

34 SYLVIA

distressed had she known it. Though the girl
tried her best, it was impossible for her to avoid
hearing some of the " vulgar" conversation of the
very sophisticated young ladies at the "finishing
school." In spite of herself, she learned some
thing of what sex and marriage meant — enough
to make her flesh creep and her cheeks burn with
horror and disgust. It seemed to her that she
could no longer bear to meet and talk to men.
When she came home for the Christmas holidays
and discovered that her mother was expecting a
child, the thought of what this meant filled her
with shame for both her parents; she wondered
how they could expect a pure-minded girl to love
them, when they had so degraded themselves.
So intense was this impression that it continued
over the Easter vacation, when she returned to
find the house hi possession of the new heir of
all the might, majesty and dominion of the
Lysles.

§6

Miss ABERCROMBIE'S "finishing school" was
located on Fifth Avenue, immediately opposite —
so the catalogue informed you — to the mansions
of the oldest Knickerbocker families. It was
Miss Abercrombie's boast that she had married
more than half her young ladies to millionaires,
and she took occasion to drop allusions to the
subject to all whom it might interest. She ran

SYLVIA LOVES 35

her establishment upon an ingenious plan, about
half her pupils being the daughters of Western
buccaneers, who paid high prices, and the other
half being the daughters of Southern aristocrats,
accepted at reduced rates. So the young ladies
from the West got the "real thing" in refinement,
and the young ladies from the South made ac
quaintances whose brothers were "eligible."

Sylvia had always had everything that she
wanted, and was under the impression that im
mense sums of money had been spent upon her
upbringing. But among these new associates she
found herself in the class of the poorest. She
had never owned a dress which they would con
sider expensive, whereas the dresses of these girls
were trimmed with real lace, and cost several
hundreds of dollars each. It was a startling
experience to many of them to discover that
a girl who had so few jewels as Sylvia could be
so haughty and self-possessed; which was, of
course, just what they had come for — to acquire
that superiority to their wealth which is the apex
of culture in millionairedom.

So Sylvia became an uncrowned queen, and all
the lumber princesses and copper duchesses and
railroad countesses vied in entertaining her.
They treated her to box-parties, where, duly
chaperoned, they listened to possibly indecent
musical comedies; and to midnight feasts where
they imperiled their complexions with peanut
butter and almond paste and chocolate creams
and stuffed olives and anchovies and crackers

36 SYLVIA

and mustard pickles and fruit cake and sardines
and plum pudding and sliced ham and salted
almonds — and what other delicacies might come
along in anybody's boxes from home. To aid
in the digestion of these "goodies" Sylvia was
taken out twice daily, and marched in a little
private parade up Fifth Avenue, wearing a hat
so large that all her attention was required to
keep it on in windy weather, and so heavy that
it made her head ache if the air were still; a collar
so high that she could not bend her head to balance
the hat; high-heeled shoes upon which she toddled
with her feet crowded down upon the toes; and
a corset laced so tight that her lower ribs were
bent out of shape and her liver endangered.
About the highest testimony that I can give to
the altogether superhuman wonderfulness of Sylvia
is that she stayed for two years at Miss Abercrom-
bie's, and came home a picture of radiant health,
eager, joyous — and lovely as the pearly tints of
dawn.

She came home to prepare for her debut; and
what an outfit she brought! You may picture
her unfolding the treasures in her big bedroom,
which had been freshly done over in pink silk;
her mother and aunts and cousins bending over
the trays, and the negro servants hovering in the
doorway, breathless with excitement, while the
"yard-man" came panting up the stairs with
new trunks. Such an array of hats and gowns
and lingerie, gloves and fans, ribbons and laces,
silk hose and satin slippers, beads and buckles!

SYLVIA LOVES 37

The "yard-man," a negro freshly promoted from
the corn-fields, went down into the kitchen with
shining eyes, exclaiming, "I allus said dis house
was heaven, and now I knows it, 'cause I seen
dem 'golden slippers'!"

It was not a time for a girl to do much philos
ophizing; but Sylvia knew that these " creations"
of Paris dressmakers had cost frightful sums of
money, and she wondered vaguely why the family
had insisted upon them. She had heard rumors
of a poor crop last year, and of worries about
some notes. Glad as the Major was to see her,
she thought that he looked careworn and tired.

"Papa," she said, "I've been spending an awful
lot of money."

"Yes, honey," he answered.

"I hope you don't think I have been extrava
gant, Papa."

"No, no, honey."

"I tried to economize, but you've no idea how
things cost in New York, and how those girls
spend money. My clothes — Mamma and Aunt
Nannie would have me buy them "

"It's all right, my child — you have only one
springtime, you know."

Sylvia paused a moment. "I feel as if I ought
to marry a very rich man, after all the money
you've spent upon me."

Whereat the Major looked grave. "Sylvia,"
he said, "I don't want any daughter of mine to
feel that she has to marry. I shall always be
able to support my children, I hope,"

38 SYLVIA

This was noble, and Sylvia was grateful for it;
but with that serene, observing mind of hers she
could not help noting that if her father by any
chance called her attention to some man of her
acquaintance, it was invariably a "marriageable"
man; and always there was added some detail as to
the man's possessions. "Billy Harding's a fellow
with a future before him," he would remark.
"He's one of the cleverest business men I know."

Sylvia was also impressed with a comical
phrase of her mother's, which seemed to indicate
that that good lady classified poverty with small
pox and diphtheria. The Major had suggested
inviting to supper a young medical student who
was honest but penniless; and "Miss Margaret"
replied, "I really cannot see what we have to
gain by exposing our daughters to an undesirable
marriage." Sylvia concluded that her famih-
pinned its faith to the maxim of Tennyson's
"Northern Fanner" —

"Doan't thou marry for munny, but goa wheer
munny is!"

§7

You must have a glimpse of Castleman Hall
as it was at the time of the dtbut. The old house
stands upon a hill, terraced on one side, and
overlooking the river from a high bluff on the
other. It is of red brick, originally square, with
a two-storied portico and hanging balcony in

SYLVIA LOVES 39

front; later on there had been added two wings
of white painted wood, for the library and con
servatory — now nearly covered with red roses and
Virginia creepers. On the afternoon of the great
day there was a reception to all the married
friends of the family. They came in conveyances
of every kind, from family coaches to modern
high-power limousines; they came in costumes
varying from the latest Paris modes to the ante
bellum splendor of old Mrs. Tagliaferro, who
hobbled cautiously over the polished hardwood
floors, with the help of her gold-headed cane on
one side, and her husband, the General, on the
other. Once arrived, she laid her hands upon
Sylvia's, and told her how pretty she was, and
how she must contribute a new stone to the
archway through which the Castlemans had
marched to fame for so many generations. There
had been many famous Castleman beauties,
quavered the old gentleman, in his turn, but none
more beautiful than the present one — save only,
perhaps, her mother. (This last as "Miss Mar
garet" appeared at his elbow, clad in ample
folds of gray satin and tulle.) So one by one
ladies and gentlemen came up and delivered gal
lant speeches and grave exhortations, until Sylvia
was overwhelmed with the sense of responsibility
involved in being a daughter of the Castlemans.
And then came the evening, with the debut
dance for the young people. Ten years later I
saw Sylvia in the gown she wore: white chiffon
over white messaline, with roses and a string of

40 SYLVIA

pearls. Wonderful she must have been that
night, at the age of eighteen, the climax of her
beauty; eager, glowing, a-quiver with excitement.
I picture her standing before the mirror, child
ishly ravished by her own loveliness, her mother
and aunts, scarcely less excited, putting the final
touches to her toilette. I picture her girl friends
in the dressing-room and the hall, gossiping,
chattering, laughing; the buzz of excitement,
then the hush when she appeared, the cries of
congratulation and applause. I picture the down
stairs rooms, decorated with lilies, magnolias and
white ribbons, the furniture covered with white
brocade, the chandeliers turned into great bells
of lilies, the soft light from white-shaded candles
flooding everything. I picture the swains, wait
ing eagerly at the foot of the staircase, each with
a bouquet for his chosen one in his hand. I can
hear the strains of the violins floating up the
staircase, and see the shimmering form of Sylvia
floating down, crowned with her dazzling glory
of golden hair. There was no one in Castleman
County who failed to realize that a belle was born
that night!

§8

IT was just a week after these festivities that
there occurred the death of Sylvia's great-aunt.
Nothing could have been more characteristic
than the method of her departure. She left home

SYLVIA LOVES 41

and betook herself to an aristocratic boarding-
house, kept by a "decayed gentlewoman" in New
Orleans; she might be a long time a-dying, she
said, and did not want anybody making a fuss
over her. Also she did not care to have her
nieces and nephews calling in to drop hints as
to the disposition of her rosewood bedroom set,
her miniature piano and her Queen Anne baby's
crib. She left a will in which she bequeathed
her property to her grand-niece, Sylvia Castle-
man, to be held in trust for her until she was
forty years of age. "Some man will take care of
her while she is beautiful," she wrote, "but later
on she may find use for my pittance." And
finally the old lady put in a clause to the effect
that the bequest was conditional upon her grand-
niece's obeying her injunction to wear no mourning
for her. "It is impossible to make a woman
with brown eyes look presentable in black," she
wrote. And this, you understand, in a document
which had to be filed for probate! Most fortunate
it was that all the editors of newspapers in the
South are gentlemen, who can be relied upon not
to print the news.

Sylvia obeyed the instructions of this extraor
dinary document, and felt it a solemn duty to
go to entertainments, even with tears in her eyes.
So now began a bewildering succession of dinners,
dances and receptions, balls and suppers, house
parties, hunting parties, auto parties, theatre
parties. It speaks marvels for her constitution that
she was able to stand the strain. When the last

42 SYLVIA

light had been extinguished she would drag her
self upstairs to bed, a limp train hung over her
limp arm, her feet aching in the tiny slippers
and her back aching in the cruel stays. The
Governor saw fit to appoint her as his "sponsor"
at the state militia encampment; and so for ten
days she would rise every morning at daybreak,
ride out with an " escort" to witness guard-
mount, and remain hi the midst of a rush of
gaieties until three or four o'clock the next morn
ing, when the nightly dance came to an end.

Sylvia always refused to give photographs of
herself to men. It was part of her feeling about
them that she could not endure the thought of
her image being in their rooms. But her enter
prising Aunt Nannie, the Bishop's wife, presented
one to the editor of a metropolitan magazine,
where it appeared under the heading of "A
Reigning Beauty of the New South." It was
taken up and reproduced in Southern papers,
and after that Sylvia found that her fame had
preceded her — everywhere she went new worship
pers joined her train, and came to her home
town to lay siege to her.

You may perhaps know something about these
Southern men. I had never dreamed of such,
and I would listen spellbound for hours to Sylvia's
tales of them. Men who, as Lady Dee had
phrased it, had nothing to do but make love to
their women! There were times when the realiza
tion of this brought me a shudder. I would see,
in a sudden vision, the torment of a race of

SYLVIA LOVES 48

creatures who were doomed to spend their whole
existence in the chase of their females; and the
females devoting their energies to stinging them
to fresh frenzies!

The men liked it ; they liked nothing else in the
world so much. "You may make me as unhappy
as you please," they would tell Sylvia — "if only
you will let me love you!" And Sylvia, in the
course of time, became reconciled to letting them
love her. She learned to play the game — to play
it with constantly increasing excitement, with a
love of mischief and a thirst for triumph.

She would show her latest victim twenty moods
in one evening, alluring him, repelling him, stimu
lating him, scorning him, pitying him, bewilder
ing him. When they met again, she would be
completely absorbed in the conversation of an
other man. He would be reduced at last to
begging for a chance to talk seriously with her;
and she, pretending to be touched, might let him
call, and show him her loveliest and most sym
pathetic self. So, before he realized it, he would
be caught fast. If he happened to be especially
conspicuous, or especially rich, or especially other
wise worth while, she might take the trouble to
goad him to desperation. Then he would be
ready to give proofs of his devotion — to go through
West Point, or to be made a judge, if only she
would promise to marry him. Each of these
tasks she set to an unfortunate wretch, who went
off and performed it — and came back and found
her married!

44

§9

SUCH were the customs of young ladies in
Sylvia's world; but I must not fail to mention
that she had sometimes the courage to set her
face against this "world." For instance, she
had a prejudice against drunkenness. She stood
fast by the bold precedent that she would never
permit an intoxicated person to dance with her;
and terrible humiliations she put upon two or
three who outraged her dignity. They hid in
their rooms in an agony of remorse, and sent
deputations of their friends to plead for pardon,
and went away from home and stayed for months,
until Sylvia consented to take them into her
favor again.

She took her place upon the icy heights of her
maidenhood, and was not to be drawn therefrom.
There were only two men in the world, outside
of fathers and uncles and cousins, who could
boast that they had ever kissed her. About
both of these I shall tell you in the course of
time. She was famous among other men for
her reserve — they would make wagers and lay
siege to her for months, but no one ever dared
to claim that he had secured his kiss.

With boyish frankness they would tell her of
these things; they told her all they thought
about her. I have never heard of men who
dealt so frankly in personalities, who would dis
cuss a woman and her various "points" so openly
to her face. "Miss Sylvia, you look like all your

roses to-night." — "Miss Sylvia, I swear you've
got the loveliest eyes in the world!" — "You'll be
fading soon now; you'd better marry while you've
got a chance!" — "I came to see if you were as
pretty as they say, Miss Castleman!"

She would laugh merrily. "Are you disap
pointed? Don't you find me ado'able?"

So far I have made no attempt to give you an
idea of Sylvia's way of speaking English. It was
a drawl so charming that Miss Abercrombie had
given instructions not to mar it by rash correc
tions. I can only mention a few of her words —
which is as if I gave you single hairs out of her
golden glory. She always spoke of "cannles."
She could, of course, make nothing of the letter r,
and said "funnichuh" and "que-ah" and "befo-
ah mawnin'." There had been an English heiress
at Miss Abercrombie's who had won the whole
school over to "gel," but when Sylvia arrived, she
swept the floor with " go-il." The most irresistible
word of all I thought was "bug;" there is no way
to indicate this by spelling — you must simply
take three times as long to say it, lingering over
the vowel sound, caressing it as if you thought
that "bu-u-u-gs" were the most "ado'able"
things in all the "wo'il."

Sylvia learned to apply with deadly effect the
maxim of Lady Dee — that a woman's sharpest
weapon is her naivete. "Beware of me!" she
would warn her helpless victims. "Haven't you
heard that I'm a coquette? No, I'm not joking.
It's something I'm bitterly ashamed of, but I

46 SYLVIA

can't help it; I'm a cold-hearted, selfish creature,
a deliberate breaker of hearts." And then, of
course, the victim would thrill with excitement
and exclaim, "See what you can do to me, Miss
Sylvia! I'll send you armfuls of roses if you can
break my heart!" You may judge how these
competitions ended from a chance remark which
Sylvia made to me — "When I look back upon
my life, it seems to me that I waded in a river
of roses."

The only protection which nature has vouch
safed against these terrors is the fact that sooner
or later such cold and cruel huntresses themselves
get snared. In the simile of "Sterne's starling,"
they are lured up to a certain cage, and after
much hopping about and hesitating, much ad
vancing and retreating, much chattering and
chirping, they adorn themselves in satin robes
and lace veils and lilies-of-the-valley, and to the
sound of sweet strains from "Lohengrin" they
enter the golden cage. And then, snap! the door
is shut and locked fast, and the proprietor of the
cage mounts guard over it — in Sylvia's part of
the world with a shotgun hi his hands.

§ 10

So I come to the time when this haughty lady
was humbled; that is to say, the time of her
meeting with Frank Shirley. Because it was

SYLVIA LOVES 47

through Harriet Atkinson that she came to know
him, I must first tell you in a few words about
that active and pushing young lady.

Harriet Atkinson was the one weak spot in
the fortifications of respectability which Sylvia's
parents had built up about her. Harriet's an
cestors were Yankees, of the very most odious
"carpet-bag" type. Her grandfather had been
a pawnbroker in Boston, so fierce rumor declared;
and her father was a street-railroad president, who
purchased "red-neck" legislators for use in his
business. Harriet herself was a brunette beauty,
so highly colored that she looked artificial, no
matter how hard she tried to look natural.

But in spite of these appalling facts, Harriet
Atkinson was the most intelligent girl whom
Sylvia had met during her three years at the
"college." She had a wit that was irresistible,
and also she understood people. You might
spend weeks in her company and never be bored;
whereas there were persons who could prove
possession of the "very best blood in the South,"
but who were capable of boring you most fright
fully when they got you alone for half an hour.

Sylvia was never allowed to go to Harriet's
home, nor was Harriet ever asked to Castleman
Hall. But Sylvia refused to give up her friend,
and for a year she intrigued incessantly to force
Harriet upon her hostesses, and to persuade her
own suitors to call at the Atkinson home. In
the end she married her off to the scion of a great
family— with consequences which are to be told

48 SYLVIA

at a later stage of my story. The point for the
present is that things happened exactly as Sylvia's
aunts had predicted; through her intimacy with
the undesirable Harriet Atkinson she was "ex
posed" to the acquaintance of several undesirable
men, among them Frank Shirley.

Sylvia had known about the Shirleys from
earliest childhood. She had heard the topic
talked about at the family dinner-table, and had
seen tears in her father's eyes when the final
tragedy came. For the Shirleys were among the
"best people," and this was not the land of thing
which was allowed to happen to such.

About twelve years previously the legislature
had appropriated money for the building of a
veterans' home, and the funds had been entrusted
to a committee, of which Robert Shirley was
treasurer. The project had lapsed for a couple
of years, and when the money was called for,
Robert Shu-ley was unable to produce it. Rumors
leaked out, and there came a demand in the
legislature for an accounting.

The Major was one of a committee of friends
who were asked by the Governor to make a private
investigation. They found that Shirley had
deposited the money to his private bank account,
after the unbusinesslike methods of a Southern
gentleman. Checks had been drawn upon it;
but there was evidence at the bank tending to
show that the checks might not have been signed
by Shirley himself. He had a younger brother,
a spendthrift and gambler, whom he had indulged

SYLVIA LOVES 49

and protected all his life. Such were the hints
which Sylvia had heard at home — when suddenly
Robert Shirley proceeded to the state Capitol
and requested the Governor to stop the investi
gation, declaring that he alone was to blame.

It was a terrible thing. Shirley was besought
to fly, he was told by the Governor's own author
ity that he might live anywhere outside the state,
and the search for him would be nominal. But
he stood fast; the money was gone, and some one
must pay the penalty. So the world saw the
unprecedented spectacle of a man of "good
family" standing trial, and receiving a sentence
of five years in the penitentiary.

He left a broken-hearted wife and four children.
Sylvia remembered the horror with which her
mother and her aunts had contemplated the fate
of these latter. Two girls, soon to become young
ladies, and cut off from all hope of a future!
"But, Mamma," Sylvia cried, "it isn't their fault!"
She recollected the very tone of her mother's
voice, the dying away to a horrified whisper at
the end: "My child, their father wore stripes!"

The Shirleys made no attempt to hold up their
heads against the storm, but withdrew into strict
seclusion on their plantation. Now, ten years
later, Robert Shirley having died in prison, his
widow was a pitiful shadow, his daughters were
hopeless old maids, and his two sons were farmers,
staying at home and acting as their own managers.

Of these, Frank Shirley was the elder. I am
handicapped in setting out to tell you about him

50 SYLVIA

by the fact that he sits in the next room, and
will have to read what I write; he is not a man
to stand for any nonsense about himself — nor yet
one whose ridicule an amateur author would
wish to face. I will content myself with stating
simple facts, which he cannot deny; for example,
that he is a man a trifle below the average height,
but sturdily built and exceedingly powerful. He
had in those days dark hair and eyes, and he
would not claim to have been especially bad-
looking. He is the most reserved man I have
ever known, but his feelings are intense when they
are roused, and on these rare occasions he is
capable of being eloquent. He is, in general,
a very solid and dependable kind of man; he
does not ask anything of anybody, but he is
willing to give, cautiously, after he has made
sure that his motive will be understood. As I
read that over, it seems to me a judicious and
entirely unsentimental statement about him,
which he will have to pass.

He was, he tells me, a lively boy; but after
the age of eleven he always had, as the most
prominent fact in his consciousness, the knowledge
that men set him apart as something different
from themselves. And this, of course, made
intercourse with them difficult; if they were
indifferent to him, that was insult, and if they
were cordial, then they were taking pity upon
him. He always knew that the people who met
him, however politely they greeted him, were
repeating behind his back the inevitable whisper,

SYLVIA LOVES 51

"His father wore stripes!" So naturally he found
it pleasanter not to meet people.

Then, too, there were his mother and sisters;
it was hard not to be bitter about them. He
knew that the girls were gentle and lovely; and
it rather made men seem cowardly, that it should
be certain that no one in their own social world
would ever ask them in marriage. There is so
much asking in marriage in the South — it is
really difficult for a gentlewoman to be passed
over altogether. The Shirley girls could not
discuss this, even in the bosom of their family;
but Frank came to understand, and to brood
over the thing in secret.

§ 11

So you see Frank Shirley was a difficult man to
get at — as much so as if he had been an emperor
or an anchorite. I have been interested in the
psychology of sex, and I wondered how much
this aloofness had to do with what happened to
Sylvia. There were so many men, and they
were all so much alike, and they were all so easy!
But here was a man who was different; a man
whom one could not get at without humiliating
efforts; a man of mystery, about whom one
could imagine things! I asked Sylvia, who
thought there might be something in this; but
much more in a deeper fact, which is known

52 SYLVIA

to poets and tellers of love-tales, but has not
been sufficiently heeded by scientists — that intui
tive, commanding and sometimes terrifying reve
lation of sexual affinity, which we smile at and
discredit under the name of "love at first sight."
The first time Sylvia met Frank she did not
know who he was; she saw at first only his back;
and yet she began at once to experience a thrill
which she had never known in her life before.
Absurd as they may sound, I will repeat her
words: "There was something about the back
of his neck that took my breath!"

It had been some years since she had heard
the Shirleys mentioned. They had quietly de
clined all invitations, and this made it easy for
everybody to do with decency what everybody
wanted to do — to cease sending invitations. The
Shirley plantation was remotely located, some
twenty miles away from Castleman Hall; and
so little by little the family had been forgotten.

But there was a certain Mrs. Venable, a young
widow who owned a hunting-lodge near the Shir
ley place; and as fate would have it, she was
one of the people whom Sylvia had persuaded to
take up Harriet Atkinson. One day, as the latter
was driving to the lodge in her automobile, she
was "mired" in the midst of a terrific thunder
storm, when along came a gentleman on horse
back, who politely insisted upon her taking his
waterproof, and then mounting behind him and
riding to his home up on the hill; by which
romantic method the delighted Harriet found

SYLVIA LOVES 53

herself conveyed to an old and evidently aristo
cratic homestead, and welcomed by some alto
gether lovely people.

Being younger than Sylvia, and not so much
on the "inside" as to local history, Harriet had
been obliged to get the story from Mrs. Venable.
It had heightened her interest in the Shirleys —
for Harriet's great merit was that she was human
and spontaneous where she should have been
respectable. She went to call again on the
family, and when she got home she made haste
to tell Sylvia about it. "Sunny," she said —
that was her way of taking liberties with Sylvia's
complexion — "you ought to meet that man
Frank Shirley." She went on to tell how good-
looking he was, how silent and mysterious, and
what a fine voice he had. "And the sweetest,
lazy smile!" she declared. "I'm sure he could
be a lady-killer if he did not take life so seriously!"
So, you see, Sylvia had something to start her
imagination going, and a reason for accepting
Mrs. Venable's invitation to a hunting party.

One sunshiny morning in the late fall she was
taking part in a deer-hunt, carrying a rifle and
looking as picturesque as possible. They put her
on a "stand" with Charlie Peyton, who ought
to have been at college, but was hanging round
making a nuisance of himself by sighing and
gazing. After waiting a half hour or so, off in
the woods they heard a dog yelping. Charlie
went off to investigate, thinking it might be a
bear; and so Sylvia was left to her fate.

54 SYLVIA

She heard a sound in the bushes at one side,
and thought it was a deer. The creature moved
past her, hidden by a dense thicket, and passed
a little way ahead, with a heavy trampling sound.
She had half raised her gun, when suddenly the
bushes parted, and with a leap over a fallen log
there came into view — not a deer, but a horse
with a rider upon his back.

The girl lowered her gun. The dog yelped
again and the man reined up his horse and stood
listening. The horse was restive; as he drew
rein upon it, it turned slightly, exhibiting
the rider's face. To the outward eye he was a
not unusual figure, wearing the khaki shirt and
knickerbockers affected by the younger genera
tion of planters when on duty. The shirt was
open, with a red bandana handkerchief tucked
round at the throat.

But Sylvia was not looking with the outward
eye. Sylvia had been reading romances, and had
a vague idea of a lover who would some day
appear, being distinguished from the ordinary
admirers of salons and ball-rooms by something
knightly in his aspect. And this man seemed to
have that something. His face was a face of
power, yet not harsh, rather with a touch of
melancholy.

As a rule Sylvia was immediately observant
of her own emotional states, especially where
men were concerned; but this once she was too
much interested to think what she was thinking.
She was noting the man's deeply-shadowed eyes

SYLVIA LOVES 55

and shiny black hair, his statue-like figure and
his mastery of the horse. She wondered if he
would look in her direction, and she waited, fas
cinated, for the moment when his glance would
rest upon her.

The moment came. He started slightly, and
then quickly his hand went up to his hat. "I
beg your pardon," he said, politely.

Sylvia noted his deep, full-toned voice; and
with a sudden thrill she recollected Harriet's
adventure. "Can this be Frank Shirley?" she
thought. She caught herself together and smiled.
"It is for me to beg pardon," she said. "I came
near shooting at you."

"I deserved it," he answered, smiling in turn.
"I was trespassing on my neighbor's land."

Sylvia had by now been "out" a full year,
and it must be admitted that she was a sophisti
cated young lady. When she met a man, her
thought was: "Could I love him? And how
would it be if I married him?" Her imagination
would leap ahead through a long series of scenes:
the man's home, his relatives and her own, his
occupations, his amusements, his ideas. She
would see herself traveling with him, driving with
him, presiding at dinner-parties for him — perhaps
helping to get him sober the next morning. As
a drowning man is said to live over his whole
past in a few seconds, so Sylvia might live her
whole future during a figure at a "german."

But with this man it was different. She could
not imagine him in any position in her world.

56 SYLVIA

He was an elemental creature, belonging in some
wild place, where there was danger to be faced
and deeds to be done. Sylvia had read "Paul
and Virginia," and " Robinson Crusoe," and
"Typee," and in her mind was a vague idea of
a primitive, close-to-nature life, which one yearned
for when one was tightly laced, or was sent into
the parlor to entertain an old friend of the family.
She imagined this strange knight springing for
ward and lifting her upon his saddle-bow, to bear
her away to such a world. She could feel his
powerful arms about her, his whispered words
in her ear; she could hear the clatter of his horse's
hoofs — away, away!

She had to make another effort, and remember
who she was. "You are not lost, I suppose?"
he was asking.

"Oh, no," she said. "I am on a 'stand."1

"Of course," he replied; again there was a
pause, and again Sylvia's brain went whirling.
It was absurd how the beating of her heart kept
translating itself into the clatter of horse's hoofs.

The man turned for a moment to listen to the
dog; and she stole another look at him. His
eyes came back and caught her glance. She
absolutely had to say something — instantly, to
save the situation. "I — I am not alone," she
stammered. Oh, how dreadful — that she, Sylvia
Castleman, should stumble over words!

"My escort has gone to look for the dog," she
added. "He will be back in a moment."

"Oh," he said; and Sylvia noted a sudden

SYLVIA LOVES 57

change in his expression — a set, repressed look.
She saw the blood mounting slowly, until it
colored his cheeks to a crimson.

"I beg your pardon," he said, coldly. " Good-
morning." He turned his horse and started on
his way.

He had taken her words as a dismissal. But
that was the least part of the mistake. Sylvia
read his mind in a flash — he was Frank Shirley,
and he thought that she had recognized him, and
was thinking of his father who had worn stripes!
Yes, surely it must be that — for what right had
he to be hurt otherwise — that she did not care
to stand conversing with a strange man in a
forest?

The thought sent her into a panic. She thought
of nothing but the cruelty of that idea. "No,
no!" she cried, the tears almost starting into her
eyes. "I did not mean to send you away at all!"

He turned, startled by her vehemence. For
a moment or two they stood staring at each other.
The girl had this one swift thought: "How
dreadful it must be to have such a thing in your
mind, to have to be waiting for insults from
people — or at best, for pity!"

Then, in his quiet voice, he said, "I really
think I had better go." Again he turned his
horse, and without another glance rode away,
leaving Sylvia staring at his vanishing figure,
with her hands tightly clutching her gun.

58 SYLVIA

§ 12

AFTER that Sylvia felt that she had in common
decency to meet Frank Shirley. She asked noth
ing more about her motives — she simply had to
meet him, to remove one thought from his mind.
But for two days she was at her wit's end, and
went round bored to death by everything and
everybody. She had a sudden whim to be let
alone; and how difficult it is to be let alone at
a house party! There was the everlasting Charlie
Peyton, looking at her out of sickly blue eyes, and
forever trying to get hold of her hand; there was
Billy Aldrich, with his sybaritic silk socks, his
shiny finger nails and talcum-powdered face;
there was Malcolm McCallum, a dandy from
Louisville, with his endless stream of impeccable
suits and his caravan of trunks; there was Harvey
Richards, a " steel-man" from Birmingham, who
had thrown his business to the winds and settled
down to the task of boring Sylvia. He was big
and burly, and had become the special favorite
of her family; he dandled the baby brother and
made fudge with the sisters — but Sylvia declared
viciously that his idea of love-making was to
poke at her with his finger.

She took to getting up very early in the morn
ing, so that she could go riding alone. As there
was but one road, it was not her fault if she passed
near the Shirley place. And if by any remote
chance he were to be out riding too —

It was the third morning that she met him.

SYLVIA LOVES 59

He came round a turn, and it all happened in a
flash, before she had time to think. He gave
her the stiffest greeting that was consistent with
good breeding; and then he was past. Of course
she could not look back. It was ten chances to
one that he would not do the same, but still he
might, and that would be dreadful.

She went on. She was angry with herself for
her stupidity. That she should have met him
thus, and had no better wit than to let him get
by! Theoretically, of course, ladies cannot stop
gentlemen to whom they have not been intro
duced; but there are always things that can
happen, in cases of emergency like this. She
thought of plans, and then she fell into a rage
with herself for thus pursuing a man.

The next morning when she went riding, she
forced herself to turn the horse's head in the
other direction from the Shirley place. But her
thoughts would come back to Frank, and pres
ently she was making excuses for herself. This
man was not as other men; if he avoided her,
it was not because he did not want to know her,
but because of his misfortune. It was wicked
that a man should be tied up in such a net of
misapprehension; to get him out of it would be,
not unmaidenly, but heroic. When she had met
him yesterday morning, she ought to have stopped
her horse, and made him stay and talk with her.
She was to leave in two days more!

She turned her horse and went back; and
when she was near the Shirley house — here he
came!

60 SYLVIA

She saw him far down the road, and so had
plenty of time to get her wits together. Had
he, by any chance, come out in the hope of
meeting her? Or would he be annoyed by her
getting in his way? Suppose he were to snub
her — how could she ever get over it?

She took a diamond ring from her finger, and
reached back and shoved it under the saddle
cloth. It was a "marquise" ring, with sharp
points, and when she threw her weight upon it,
the horse gave a jump. She repeated the action,
and it began to prance. "Now then!" whispered
Sylvia to herself.

§ 13

HE came near; and she reined up her chafing
steed. "I beg pardon," she said.

He raised his hat, and holding it, looked at
her inquiringly.

"I think my horse must have a stone in his
foot."

"Oh!" he said, and was off in a moment, throw
ing the reins of his mount over its head and
handing them to her.

"Which foot?" he asked/

"I don't know."

He bent down and examined one hoof, then
another, and so on for all four, without a word.
Then, straightening up, he said, "I don't see
anything."

SYLVIA LOVES 61

He looked very serious and concerned. How
"easy" he would be! "There really must be
something," she said. "He's all in a lather."

"There might be something deep in," he an
swered, making his investigation all over again.
"But I don't see any blood." (What a fine back
he has! thought Sylvia.)

He stood up. "Let me see his mouth," he
said. "Are you sure you've not held him too
tight?"

"I am used to horses," was her reply.

"Some of them have peculiarities," he remarked.
"Possibly the saddle has rubbed—

"No, no," answered Sylvia, in haste, as he
made a move to lift the cloth.

It was always hard for her to keep from laugh
ing for long; and there was something so comical
in his gravity. Then too, something desperate
must be done, for presently he would mount and
ride away. "There's surely no stone in his foot,"
he declared.

WTiereat Sylvia broke into one of her radiant
smiles. "Perhaps," she said, "it's in your horse's
foot!"

He looked puzzled.

"Don't you see?" she laughed. "Something
must be wrong — or you couldn't be here talking
to me!"

But he still looked bewildered. "Dear me,
what a man!" thought she.

A color was beginning to mount in his cheeks.
Perhaps he was going to be offended! Clearly,

62 SYLVIA

with such a man one's cue was frankness. So
her tone changed suddenly. ''Are you Mr.
Shirley?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"And do you know who I am?"

"Yes, Miss Castleman."

"Our families are old friends, you know."

"Yes, I know it."

"And then, tell me — " She paused. "Hon
estly!"

"Why— yes."

"I've been honest and told you — I'm not really
worried about my horse. Now you be honest
and say why you rode out this morning."

He waited before replying, studying her face —
not boldly, but gravely. "I think, Miss Castle
man, that it would be better if I did not."

Then it was Sylvia's turn to study. Was it
a rebuke? Had he not come out on her account
at all? Or was it still the ghost of his father's
prison-suit?

He did not help her with another word. (I
can hear Frank's laugh as he told me about this
episode. "We silent fellows have such an advan
tage! We just wait and let people imagine
things!")

Sylvia's voice fell low. "Mr. Shirley, you have
me at a great disadvantage." And as she said
this she gazed at him with the wonderful red-
brown eyes, wide open, childlike. So far there
had never been a man who could resist the spell
of those eyes. Would this man be able? The

SYLVIA LOVES 63

busy little brain behind them was watching every
sign.

"I don't understand," he replied; and she
took up the words:

"It is / who don't understand. And I dare
not ask you to explain!"

She was terrified at this temerity; and yet
she must press on — there was no other way.
She saw gates opening before her — gates into
wonderland!

She leaned forward with a little gesture of
abandonment. "Listen, Frank Shirley!" she
said. (What a masterstroke was that!) "I
have known about you since I was a little girl.
And I understand the way things are now, because
I am a friend of Miss Atkinson's. She asked
you to come over and meet me, and you didn't.
Now if the reason was that you have no interest
hi me — why then I'm annoying you, and I'm
behaving outrageously, and I'm preparing humilia
tion for myself. But if the reason is that you
think I wouldn't meet you fairly — that I wouldn't
judge you as I would any other man — why, don't
you see, that would be cruel, that would be
wicked! If you were afraid that I wanted to —
to patronize you — to do good to you "

She stopped. Surely she had said enough!

There was a long silence, while he gazed at
her — reading her very soul, she feared. "Sup
pose, Miss Castleman," he said, at last, "that
I was afraid that you wanted to do harm to me?"

That was getting near to what she wanted!
"Are you afraid?" she asked.

64 SYLVIA

"Possibly I am," he replied. "It is easy for
those who have never suffered to preach to those
who have never done anything else."

Sylvia did not know quite how to meet that.
It was so much more serious than she had been
looking for, when she had slipped that ring under
the saddle-cloth! "Oh," she cried, "what shall
I say to you?"

"I will tell you exactly," he said, "and then
neither of us will be taking advantage of the
other. You are offering me your friendship, are
you not?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, can you say to me that if I were
to accept it, the shame of my family would never
make any difference to you?"

She cried instantly, "That is what I've been
trying to tell you! Of course it would not."

"You can say that?" he persisted. "It would
make no difference whatever?"

She was about to answer again ; but he stopped
her. "Wait and think. You must know just
what I mean. It is not a thing about which
I could endure a mistake. Think of your family
—your friends — your whole world! And think
of everything that might arise between us!"

She stared at him, startled. He was asking
if he might make love to her! She had not
meant it to go so far as that — but there it was.
Her own recklessness, and his forthrightness, had
brought it to that point. And what could she
say?

SYLVIA LOVES 65

"Think!" he was saying. "And don't try to
evade — don't lie to me. Answer me the truth!"

His eyes held hers. She waited — thinking, as
he forced her to. At last, when she spoke, it
was with a slightly trembling voice. "It would
make no difference," she said.

And then she tried to continue looking at him,
but she could not. She was blushing; it was
a dreadful habit she had!

It was an absolutely intolerable situation, and
she must do something — instantly. He never
would — the dreadful sphinx of a man! She
looked up. "Now we're friends?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"Then," she said, laughing, "reach under the
saddle-cloth and get out my ring. I might lose
it."

Bewildered, he got the ring, and understanding
at last, laughed with her. "And now," cried
Sylvia, in her friendliest tone of voice, "get on
your horse again and behave like a man of enter
prise! Come!" She touched her mount and
went galloping; she heard him pounding away
behind her, and she began to sing:

"Waken, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chase is near
With hawk and hound and hunting-spear!"

C6 SYLVIA

§ 14

THEY were good comrades now; all their prob
lems solved, and a stirrup-cup of happiness to
quaff between them. Sylvia was amazed at her
self — the surge of exultation which arose in her
and swept her along upon its crest. Never in all
her life had she been as full of verve and anima
tion as she was throughout that ride. She
laughed, she sang, she poured out a stream of
fantasy; and all the while the clatter of the
horses hoofs — romance blending itself with reality!

But also she was studying the man. There
was something in her which must always be
studying people. Thank Heaven, he was a man
who could forget himself, and laugh and be good
fun! It was something to have got him out of
his melancholy, and set him to galloping here —
admiring her, marveling at her! She felt his
admiration like a storm of wind pushing her
along.

At last she drew up, breathless. "Dear me,"
she exclaimed, "what a lot of chattering I have
done! And we must be — how many miles from
home?"

"Ten, I should say," he replied.

"And I've had no breakfast!" she said. "We
really must go back."

He made no objection, and they turned. "You
must come and see fne at the lodge," she said.
"I am going home to-morrow afternoon."

But he shook his head. "Don't ask me," he

SYLVIA LOVES 67

replied. "You know I don't belong among
smart people."

She started to protest; but then she thought
of Billy Aldrich with his tight collars and fancy
stick-phis — of Malcolm McCallum with his Jap
anese valet; no, there was no use pretending
about such things. And besides, she did not
want these people to know her secret.

"But where can we meet?" she said. (How
perfectly appalling was that — without any hint
from him!)

"Can't we ride again to-morrow morning?" he
asked, quite simply.

And so they settled it. He left her at the
place where the road turned in to the lodge.
He tried to thank her for what she had taken
the trouble to do; but she was frightened now —
she dared not stay and listen any longer to his
voice. She waved him a bright farewell, and
rode off, feeling suddenly faint and bewildered.

She had half a mile or so to ride alone, and
in that ride it was exactly as if he were by her
side. She still heard his horse's hoofs, and felt
how he would look if she were to turn. Once
she thought of Lady Dee, and then she could
not help laughing. What would Lady Dee have
said! How many of the rules of coquetry had
she not broken in the space of two brief hours!
But after a little more thought, she consoled her
self. Possibly there were moves in this game
which even Lady Dee had never heard of! "I
don't think I managed it so badly," she was say
ing to herself, as she dismounted from her horse.

68 SYLVIA

And that was the view she took when she told
Harriet about it. She had not meant to tell
Harriet at all, but the secret would out — she had
to have some one to talk to. "Oh, my dear," she
exclaimed, "he's perfectly wonderful!"

"Who? What do you mean?" asked Harriet.

"Frank Shirley."

"What? You've met him?"

"Met him? I've been riding with him the
whole morning, and I've almost let him propose
to me!"

"Sylvia!" cried Harriet, aghast.

The other stood looking before her, grown
suddenly thoughtful. "Yes, I did. And what's
more, I believe that to-morrow morning I'm going
to let him propose to me."

"Sunny," exclaimed her friend, "are you a
woman, or one of Satan's hups?"

For answer Sylvia took her seat at the piano
and began to sing — a song by which all her lovers
set much store:

"Who is Sylvia? What « she,

That all our swains commend her?

Holy, fair and wise is she —

The heavens such grace did lend her

That she might adored be!"

§ 15

SYLVIA did very little thinking that first day —
she was too much possessed by feelings. Besides

this she had to go through all the routine of
a house party; to go to breakfast and make
apologies for her singular desire to ride alone;
to go quail-shooting and remind Charlie Peyton
to fire off his gun now and then; to curl her hair
and select a gown for dinner — and all the while
in a glow of happiness so intense as to come
close to the borderland of pain.

It was not a definite emotion, but a vague,
suffused ecstasy. She was like one who goes
about hearing exquisite music; angels singing
in the sky above her, little golden bells ringing
in every part of her body. And then always,
penetrating the mist of her feelings, was the
memory of Frank Shu-ley. She could see his
eyes, as they had looked up at her; she could
hear the tones of his voice — its low intensity as
he had said, "Think of everything that might
happen between us!" She would find herself
blushing crimson at the dinner-table, and would
have to chatter to hide her confusion.

When night came she went into a sleep that
was a half swoon of happiness; and awoke in
the early dawn, first bewildered, then horrified,
because of what she had done — her boldness,
her lack of dignity and reserve. She had thrown
herself at a man's head! And of course he would
be disgusted and would flee from her. She drank
her coffee and dressed a full half hour too early;
and meanwhile she was planning how she would
treat him that morning. But then, suppose he
did not come that morning?

70 SYLVIA

She rode out in the light of a sunrise she did
not see, amid the song of birds she did not hear.
Suppose he did not come! When she saw him,
far up the road, she wanted to turn and flee.
Her heart pounded, her cheeks burned, there was
a clashing as of cymbals in her ears. She reined
up her horse and sat motionless, telling herself
that she must be calm. She clenched her hands
and bit a little hole in her tongue; and so, when
he arrived, he found a young woman of the world
awaiting him.

She saw at once that something was wrong
with him. He too had been having moods and
agonies, and had come full of resolutions and
reservations! He greeted her politely, and had
almost nothing to say as they rode away 'together.
Sylvia's heart sank. He had come because he
had promised; but he was regretting his indis
cretions. Very well, she would show him that she,
too, could be polite! Under the spur of her fierce
pride, she could be a light-hearted child, utterly
unaware of the existence of any sulking male.

So they rode on. It was such a beautiful
morning, the odor of the pine-forests was so re
freshing and the song of the birds so free, that
Sylvia was soon all that she had set out to pretend.
She forgot her cavalier for several minutes, laugh
ing and humming. When she realized him again,
she had the boldness to tease him about himself —

"Oh, what can ail thee, knight-at-anns,
Alone, and palely loitering?"

SYLVIA LOVES 71

And when he had no poetry ready to reply, she
grew tired of him altogether, and touched her
horse and cantered quickly on. Let him follow
her if he chose — what mattered it! Moreover,
she rode well, and men always noticed it; she
was bare-headed, and no man ever saw the
golden glory of her hair in bright sunlight that
his heart did not begin to quiver within him!

After a while he spurred his horse and rode at
her side, and without looking, she saw that he
was watching her. She gave him just a little
smile, absent-minded and barely polite. Resolv
ing to punish him still more, she asked him the
tune. He gravely drew out his watch and replied
to her question. "I will ride as far as the
spring," she said. "Then I must be going back."

But he did not make the expected protest.
He was going to lose her, and he did not care!
Oh, what a man!

As they drew near the spring, Sylvia began to
be uneasy again. She did not want him to lose
her; she wanted him to care. She stopped to
breathe her horse, and to look at the moss-ringed
pool of water, and at the field of golden-rod
beyond. "How lovely!" she said; and repeated,
"How lovely!" He never said a word — and
when he might so easily have said, "Let us stay
a while!"

She was growing desperate. Her horse had got
its breath and had had some water — whatitelse?
"I must have some of that golden-rod!" she
exclaimed, suddenly. What was the matter with

72 SYLVIA

him, staring into space in that fashion? Had
he no manners at all? "I must have some
golden-rod," she repeated; and when he still
made no move, she said, "Hold my horse, please,"
and started to dismount.

He sprang off, and took the reins of her horse,
and those of his own hi the same hand, giving
his other hand to her. It was the first time he
had touched her, and it sent a shock through her
that sent her flying in a panic — out into the field
of flowers, where she could hide her cheeks and
her trembling!

§ 16

HE made the horses fast to tlie fence, carefully
and deliberately; and meantime she was gather
ing golden-rod. She knew that she made a
picture in the midst of flowers. She was very
much occupied as he came to her side.

A moment later she heard his voice: "Miss
Castleman."

Panic seized her again, but she looked up,
with her last flicker of courage. "Well?" she
asked.

"There is something I want to tell you," he
began. "I can't play this game with you — I am
no match for you at all."

"Why — what do you mean?" she managed to
say.

As usual, he knew just what he meant. "I

SYLVIA LOVES 73

am not a man who can play with his emotions,"
he said. "You must understand this at the
very outset — the thing is real to me, and I've
got to know quickly whether or not it is real to
you."

There he was ! Like a storm of wind that threat
ened to sweep away her pretenses, the whole pitiful
little structure of her coquetry. But she could
not let the structure go; it was her only shelter,
and she strove desperately to hold it in place.
"Why should you assume that I play with my
emotions?" she demanded.

"You play, not with your own, but with other
peoples' emotions," he replied. "I know; I've
heard about you — long ago."

She drew herself up haughtily. "You do not
approve of me, Mr. Shirley? I'm very sorry."

"You must know — " he began.

But she went on, in a rush of defensive reckless
ness: "You think I'm hollow — a coquette — a
trifler with hearts. Well, I am. It's all I know."
She flung her head up, looking at him defiantly.

"No, Miss Castleman," he said, "it's not all
you know!"

But her recklessness was driving her — that
spirit of the gambler that was in the blood of
all her race. "It is all I know." She bent over
and began strenuously to pluck sprays of golden-
rod.

"To break men's hearts?" he asked.

She laughed scornfully. "I had a great-aunt,
Lady Dee — perhaps you've heard of her. She

74 SYLVIA

taught me — and I've found out through much
experience that she was right." She gazed at
him boldly, over the armful of flowers. " 'Sylvia,
never let yourself be sorry for men. Let them
take care of themselves. They have all the
advantage in the game. They are free to come
and go, they pick us up and look us over and
drop us when they feel like it. So we have to
learn to manage them. And, believe me, my
child, they like it — it's what they're made for!' "

"And you believe such things as that?"

She laughed, a superbly cynical laugh, and
began to gather more flowers. "I used to think
they were cruel — when I was young. But now
I know that Aunt Lady was right. What else
have men to do but to make love to us? Isn't
it better for them than getting drunk, or gambling,
or breaking their necks hunting foxes? 'It's the
thing that lifts them above the brute,' she used
to say. 'Naturally, the more of them you lift,
the better.' "

"Did she teach you to deceive men deliber
ately?"

"She told me that when she was ordering her
wedding trousseau, she was engaged to a dozen;
a cousin of hers was engaged to another dozen,
and couldn't make up her mind which to choose,
so she sent notes to them all to say that she'd
marry the man who got to her first."

He smiled — his slow, quiet smile. Sylvia did
not know how he was taking these things; nor
did his next remark enlighten her. "Did it not

SYLVIA LOVES 75

surprise you to be taught that men were the
centre of creation?"

"No. They taught me that God was a man."

He laughed, then became grave. "Why do
you need so many men? You can't marry but
one."

"Not in the South. But when I am ready to
marry that one, I want it to be the one I want;
and the only way to be sure is to have a great
many wanting you. When a man sees a girl so
surrounded with suitors that he can't get near
her, he knows it's the one girl hi the world for
him. Aunt Lady had a saying about it, full of
wisdom." And Sylvia looked very wise herself.
" 'Men are sheep!' "

"I see," he said, somewhat grimly. "I fear,
Miss Castleman, I cannot enter such a com
petition."

"Is it cowardice?"

"Perhaps. It has been said that discretion is
the better part of valor. You see, to me love is
not a game, but a reality. It could never be that
to you, I fear."

Poor Sylvia! She was trying desperately hard
to remember and make use of her training. But
the rules she had learned were, so to speak, for
fresh-water sailing; no one had ever thought
that her frail craft might be blown out upon
a stormy ocean like this. Picture her as a terri
fied navigator, striving to steer with a broken
rudder, and gazing up into a mountain-wave that
comes roaring down upon her!

76 SYLVIA

He was a man who meant what he said. She
had tried her foolish arts upon him and had only
disgusted him. He was going away; and once
he had left her, she would be powerless to get hold
of him again!

Love could never be a reality to her, he had
said. With sudden tears in her voice she ex
claimed, "It could! It could!"

His whole aspect changed in a moment. A fire
seemed to leap into his eyes. "You mean that?"
he asked. And that was enough for her. As
he moved towards her, she backed away a step
or two. She thrust out the great bunch of
golden-rod, filling his arms with that, and retreated
farther into the yellow field.

He stood for a moment, nonplussed, looking
rather comical with his unexpected load. Then
he turned away without a word, and went to
where his horse was fastened, and began to tie
the flowers to his saddle.

She joined him before he had finished and
mounted her own horse, saying casually, "It is
late. We must return." He mounted and rode
beside her in silence.

At last he remarked, "You are going away
this afternoon?"

"Yes," she said.

"Then where can I see you?"

"You will have to come to my home."

There was a pause. "It will be a difficult
experience," he observed. "You will have to
help me through it."

SYLVIA LOVES 77

She answered, promptly, "You must come as
any other man would come. You must learn to
do that — you must simply not know what other
people are thinking."

At which he smiled sadly. " There is nothing
in" that. When everybody in the world is think,
ing one thing about you, you find there's no use
pretending not to know what it is."

There he was again — simple and direct. He
had a vision of the hostility of her relatives, the
horror of her friends; he went on to speak his
thoughts quite baldly. Was she prepared to face
these difficulties? She might have the courage,
she might not; but at least she must be fore
warned, and not encounter them blindly. She
said, "My own people will be kind, I assure you."
And when he smiled dubiously, she added,
"Leave it to me. I promise you I'll manage
them."

§17

SYLVIA, as you know, had been taught to dis
cuss the affairs of her heart hi the language of
military science. Continuing the custom, the
fortress of her coquetry had withstood an on
slaught which had brought dismay to the garri
son, who had never before known what it was to
be in real danger. In the hope of restoring con
fidence to the troops there was now undertaken
a raid into the territory of perfectly innocent and
defenseless neighbors.

78 SYLVIA

The first victim was Charlie Peyton. He had
implored one last opportunity to prove his devo
tion — being unable to imagine how his devotion
could be of no interest to Sylvia. So the guests
of the house-party were treated to the amazing
spectacle of this dignified and self-conscious
youth standing for two hours in the crotch of
an apple-tree. Meanwhile Sylvia went off for
a walk with Malcolm McCallum; and when at
last Charlie's time was up, and he set out in
search of her, he found his rival occupied in
crawling on his knees the length of a splintery
dock which ran out into the lake. Sylvia sat by,
absorbed in a book, and when Charlie questioned
her as to the meaning of this strange phenomenon,
she replied that Mr. McCallum (known to us
previously as "the Louisville dandy") was prob
ably experimenting with the creases in his trousers.

Dressing for luncheon and the trip home,
Sylvia had a consultation with her friend Harriet.
"Do you suppose I'm really in love?" was her
question.

"With whom?" asked Harriet.

But Sylvia paid no heed to this feeble wit.
"I don't think he approves of me, Harriet. He
thinks I'm shallow and vain — a trifler with hearts."

"What would you have him think?" persisted
the other.

"He isn't like other men, Harriet. He makes
me ashamed of myself. I think I ought to treat
him differently."

Whereat her friend became suddenly serious.

SYLVIA LOVES 79

"Look here, Sunny, don't you lose your nerve!
You stick to your game!"

"But suppose he won't stand it?"

"Make him stand it! Take my advice, now,
and don't go trying experiments. You've learned
one way, and you're a wonder at it — don't get
yourself mixed up at the critical moment."

Sylvia was gazing at herself in the mirror,
wondering at the look on her own face. "I don't
know what to do next!" she cried.

"The Lord takes care of children and fools,"
said Harriet. "I hope He's on His job!" Then
the luncheon gong sounded, and they went down
stairs.

There was a new man, who had arrived the
night before. He was named Pendleton, and
Sylvia found herself placed next to him. She
suspected that he had arranged this, and was
bored by the prospect, and purposely talked with
Charlie Peyton on her other side. Towards the
end of the meal a servant came in and whispered
to the hostess, who rose suddenly with the ex
clamation, "Frank Shirley is here!" Amid the
general silence that fell Sylvia began suddenly
to eat with assiduity.

The hostess went out, and returned after a
minute or so with Frank at her heels. "Do sit
down," she was saying. "At least have some of
this sherbet."

"I've had my luncheon," he replied; "I sup
posed you'd have finished." But he seated him
self at the table, as requested. There was a

80 SYLVIA

general pause, everybody expecting some explana
tion; but he volunteered none.

Opposite to Sylvia was Belle Johnston, an
insipid young person who had a reputation for
wit, for which she made other people pay. "Did
you think it looked like rain, Mr. Shirley?" she
inquired. Sylvia could have destroyed her.

"The weather is very pleasant," said Frank.
No one could be sure whether he was imperturb
able, or had missed the jest altogether.

Harriet, seeing her friend's alarming appetite
and discomfort, stepped in now to save the
situation. "I hope you brought me a message
from your sister," she remarked. "I am expect
ing one."

But Frank would have none of any such de
vices. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I haven't
brought it."

Sylvia was furious. Had he no tact, no social
sense at all — not even any common gratitude?
He ought to have waited outside, where he would
have been less conspicuous; instead of sitting
there, dumb as an oyster, looking at her and
obviously waiting for her! Sooner or later every
one must notice.

With a sudden impulse she turned to the man
at her side. "I am sorry you came so late," she
said.

"I am more than sorry," he replied, brighten
ing instantly.

"I really must go home this afternoon," she
said.

SYLVIA LOVES 81

He was encouraged by her tone of regret.
"I think I will tell you something," he said.

"Well?"

"I came here on purpose to meet you. I was
visiting my friends, the Aliens, at Thanksgiving,
and all the men there were talking of you."

This, of course, was ancient history to Sylvia.
"What were they saying?" she asked — and stole
a glance at Frank.

"They said you'd never let a man go without
hurting him. At least, not if you thought him
worth while."

"Dear me!" she exclaimed, astonished and
flattered. "I wonder that you weren't afraid to
meet me!"

"I was amused," answered the other. "I
thought to myself, I'd like to see her hurt me."

Sylvia lifted her delicate eyebrows and gave
him a slow, quiet stare, four-fifths scorn and one-
fifth challenge.

"Gad!" he exclaimed. "You are interesting
for a fact! When you look like that!"

"Not otherwise?" she inquired, now wholly
scornful.

"Oh, you're not the most beautiful woman
I ever saw! Nor the cleverest!"

"Do not challenge me like that."

"Why not?" he laughed.

"You might regret it."

"It would be a good adventure — I'd be willing
to pay the price to see the game. I admire a
woman who knows her business."

,6

82 SYLVIA

So the banter continued; the man displaying
his cleverness and Sylvia casting upon him
glances of mockery, of contempt, half veiling
curiosity and interest. He, of course, being
secretly convinced of his own irresistibility, was
noting these glances and speculating about them,
thrilled by them without realizing it, persuading
himself that the girl was really coming to admire
him. This was a kind of encounter which had
occurred, not once, but a hundred times in Sylvia's
career, and usually it meant nothing in particular
to her. But now it brought a reckless joy, be
cause of the shock it was giving to that other
man — the terrible man who sat across the way,
his eyes boring into her very soul!

§ 18

WHEN the luncheon was over, Sylvia made
her way to Harriet Atkinson and caught her by
the arm. "Harriet!" she exclaimed. "You
must help me!"

"What?" whispered the other.

"I can't see him!"

"But why not?"

"He wants to lecture me, and I won't stand
I'm going into the garden — take him some
where else — you must!" Then, seeing Frank
making toward her, she gave Harriet a vicious
pinch, and fled from the room! There was a

SYLVIA LOVES 83

summer-house in the garden at the far end, and
thither she went upon flying feet.

I was never sure how it happened — whether,
as Harriet always vowed, she tried to hold Frank
and could not, or whether she turned traitor to
her friend. At any rate Sylvia had been there
not more than a minute, and had scarcely begun
to get control of herself, when she heard a step,
and looking up, saw Frank Shirley coming down
the path.

There was but one door to the summer-house
— and he soon occupied that. "Go away!" she
cried. "Go away!" (That was all that was
left of her savoir faire!}

He stopped. "Miss Castleman," he said — and
his voice was hard, "I came here to see you. But
now I'm sorry I came."

The garrison rallied as to a trumpet-call.
"That is too bad, Mr. Shirley," she said, with
appalling hauteur. "But you know you do not
have to stay an instant."

He gazed at her in doubt for a moment. Her
heart was pounding and the color flooding her
face. "I don't believe you know what you are
doing!" he exclaimed.

' ' Really !" she replied, witheringly. " Do you?"

"No," he went on, "I don't understand you at
all. But I simply will find out!"

He strode towards her. She shrank into the
seat, but he caught her hands. For a moment
she resisted; but he held fast, and from his hands
she felt a current as of fire, flowing through all
her veins.

84 SYLVIA

Slowly he drew her to her feet. "Sylvia!" he
whispered. "Sylvia! Look at me!"

She obeyed him instinctively, and their eyes
met. "You love me!" he exclaimed. She could
hear his quick breathing. She felt herself sinking
towards him. She felt his arms about her, his
breath upon her cheek.

"I love you!" he murmured. And she closed
her eyes, and he kissed her again and again. In
his kisses it seemed to her that she would melt
away.

She was exultant and happy. The testimony
of his love was rapture to her. But then suddenly
came a fear which they had inculcated in her.
All the women who had ever talked to her on the
problem of the male-creature — all agreed that
nothing was so fatal as to allow the taking of
"liberties." Also there came sudden shame.
She began to struggle. "You must not kiss me!
It is not right!"

"But, Sylvia!" he protested. "I love you!"

"Oh, stop!" she pleaded. "Stop!"

"You love me!" he whispered.

"Please, please stop!"

A gentle pressure would have held her, but
she felt that he was releasing her — all but one
hand. She sank down upon the seat, trembling.
"Oh, you ought not to have done it!" she cried.

He asked, "Why not?"

"No man has ever done that to me before!"
The thought of what he had done, the memory
of his lips upon her cheek, sent the blood flying

SYLVIA LOVES 85

there in hot waves; she began to sob: "No, no!
You should not have done it!"

" Sylvia!" he pleaded, surprised by her vehe
mence. "Don't you realize that you love me?"

"I don't know! I'm afraid! I must have
time!" She was weeping convulsively now.
"You will never respect me again!'

"You must not say such a thing as that! It
is not true!"

"You will go away and remember it, and you
will despise me!"

His voice was calm and very soothing. "Sylvia,"
he said, "I have told you that I love you. And
I believe that you love me. If that is so, I had
a perfect right to kiss you, and you had a perfect
right to let me kiss you."

There he was, sensible as ever; Sylvia found
the storm of her emotion dying away. She had
time to recall one of the maxims of Lady Dee:
"A woman should never let a man see her weep
ing. It makes her cheeks pale and her nose red."
She resolved that she would stay in the protect
ing shadows of the summer-house until after he
had departed.

§ 19

SHE went home; and at the dinner-table she
was telling some of the adventures of the house-
party. "Oh, by the way," she said, carelessly,
"I met Frank Shirley."

86 SYLVIA

"Really?" exclaimed Mrs. Castleman. "Those
poor, unfortunate people!"

"He must be quite a man now/' said Aunt
Varina. "How old is he?"

"About twenty-one," said the mother. Sylvia
was amazed; she had not thought definitely of
his age, but he had seemed a mature man to her.

"I see him now and then," put in the Major.
"He comes to town. Not a bad-looking chap."

"He asked if he might call," said Sylvia. "I
told him, Yes. Was that right, Papa?"

"Why, certainly," was the reply.

"He seems a very shy, silent kind of man,"
she added. "He wasn't sure that he'd be wel
come."

"Why, my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Castleman.
"I'm sure we've never made any difference in our
treatment of the Shirleys!"

"Bob Shirley's children will always be welcome
to my home, so long as they behave themselves,"
declared the father.

And so Sylvia left the matter, content with
their attitude. Frank was wrong in his estimate
of her family.

Two days later there came a negro man, riding
a mule and carrying a bag, with a note from
Frank. He begged her to accept this present of
quail, because she had lost so much of her hunting
time, and Charlie Peyton's ami had been so bad.
Sylvia read the note, and got from it a pain
ful shock. The handwriting was boyish and
the manner of expression crude. She was used

SYLVIA LOVES 87

to leisure-class stationery, with her monogram
in gold at the top, and this was written upon a
piece of cheap paper. Somehow it made the
whole matter seem unreal and incredible to her.
She found herself trying to recall how he looked.

So she went to sleep; and awakening early the
next morning, waiting for the agreeable tinkle of
the approaching coffee-cup — there suddenly he
came to her! Just as real as he had been in the
summer-house, with his breath upon her cheek!
The delicious, bunding ecstasy possessed her
again — and then fresh humiliation at the memory
of his kisses! Oh, why did he not come to see
her — instead of leaving her the prey of her fancy?
She could not escape from the idea that she had
lost his respect by flinging herself at his head — •
by permitting him to kiss her.

The next morning came the negro again, this
time with a great bunch of golden-rod. "What
a present!" exclaimed the whole family; but
Sylvia understood and was happy. "It's because
of my hah1," she told the others, laughing. It
must be that he loved her, despite her indis
cretions!

He wrote that he was coming to see her that
evening; and that because of the length of the
ride, he would accept her invitation and come to
dinner. So Sylvia braced herself for the ordeal.

She dressed very simply, so as not to attract
attention. Uncle Mandeville was there, and two
girl cousins from Louisville, visiting the family,
and two of the Bishop's boys and one of Barry

88 SYLVIA

Chilton's, who dropped in at the last moment to
see them. That was the way at Castleman Hall
—there were never less than a dozen people at
any meal, and the cook allowed for twenty. To
all this crowd Sylvia had to introduce her strange
new conquest, ignoring their glances of inquiry
and parrying their mischievous shafts.

I must let you see this family at dinner. At
the head of the table sits the Major, with gray
hair and a gray imperial, wearing his black vest
cut so low that he can plead it is evening dress;
still adhering valiantly to the custom of his
fathers, and carving the roast for his growing
family, while the littlest girls, who come last,
follow each portion with hungry eyes and count
the number intervening. At the foot sits Mrs.
Castleman, serving the salad and dessert, her
ample figure robed in satin. "Miss Margaret"
is just at that stage of her life, after the birth
of the son and heir, when she has definitely
abandoned the struggle with an expanding waist
line. When I met her, some years later, she
weighed two hundred and eighty pounds, and
was the best-natured and most comically in
efficient human soul I have ever encountered hi
my life.

There is Aunt Varina Tuis, humble and incon
spicuous, weary after a day of trotting up and
down stairs after the housekeeper, to see that the
embroidered napkins were counted before they
went to the laundry, that the drawing-room furni
ture was dusted, the dead flowers taken out of

SYLVIA LOVES 89

the dining-room, the fleas in the servants' quarters
kept in subjection. Mrs. Tuis' queer little voice
is seldom heard at the dinner-table, unless she is
appealed to in some matter of family history:
whom this one married, whom that one had
been engaged to, whether or not it was true that
some neighbor's grandfather had kept a grocery
store, as rumored.

Then there is Uncle Mandeville, home to
recuperate from a spree in New Orleans; enor
mous in every direction, rosy-faced and prosperous,
with a resounding laugh and an endless flow of
fun. Beside him sits Celeste, the next daughter,
presenting a curious contrast to Sylvia, with her
restless black eyes, her positive manner and
worldly view-point. There are the two cousins
from Louisville, healthy and radiant, and the
two Chilton boys, Clive and Harley, and Barry's
boy, who is a giant like Uncle Mandeville, and
whenever he laughs, makes the cut glass to rattle
on the buffet.

All this family hunts in one pack. They know
all each other's affairs, and take an interest in
them, and stand together against the rest of the
world. They are a noisy crew, good-humored,
careless, but with hot tempers and little control
of them — so that when their interests clash and
they get 'on one another's toes, they quarrel as
violently as before they loved. Their conversa
tion is apt to be bewildering to a stranger, for
they seldom talk about general questions, having
a whole arcanum of family allusions not easily

90 SYLVIA

understood. At this meal, for example, they are
merry for half an hour over the latest tales of the
doings of an older brother of Clive and Harley,
who has married a girl with rich parents, but is
too proud to take a dollar from them, and is
forcing his bride to play at decent poverty. When
the provisions run out they visit the Bishop, or
the Major, or Uncle Barry, as may be most con
venient, and go off with an automobile-load of
hams and sausage-puddings and pickles and
preserves. How many jokes there are, and what
gales of merriment go round the table! The
Bishop's son the first kleptomaniac in the family!
Barry's young giant declaring that a single smile
from the bride cost his father a cow and calf!
The little girls, Peggy and Maria, chiming in
with their tale of how the predatory couple found
a lone chicken foraging in the rose-garden, con
fiscated it, carried it off under Basil's coat, tied
it by the leg under the piazza at the back of
their house in town — and then forgot it and let
it starve to death!

Sylvia sat watching this tableful of care-free,
rollicking people — the men handsome, finely built,
well-fed and well-groomed, the women delicate,
soft-skinned and exquisitely gowned — represent
ing the best type their civilization could produce.
A pleasant scene it was, with snowy damask cloth
and bouquets of roses, precious old silver and
quaint hand-painted china, with a background of
mahogany furniture and paneled walls. She
watched Frank in the midst of it, thinking of his

SYLVIA LOVES 91

home as Harriet had pictured it — the people
subdued and sombre, the stamp of poverty upon
everything. She was glad to see that he was
able to fit himself into the mood of this company,
enjoying the sallies of fun and pleasing those he
talked to.

The house being full of young couples who
wanted to be alone, Sylvia took Frank into the
library. She liked this room, with its red leather
furniture and cozy fireplace, and queer old book
cases with diamond-shaped panes of glass. She
liked it because the lights were on the table, and
no woman looks beautiful when lighted from
over her head. This may seem a small matter
to you, but Sylvia had learned how much depends
upon detail. She remembered one of the maxims
of Lady Dee: "Get a man on your home-ground,
where you can have things as you want them;
and then place your chair to show the best side
of your face."

These things I set down as Sylvia told them
to me — a long time afterwards, when we could
laugh over them. It was a fact about her all the"
way through, that whatever she did, good or bad,
she knew why she was doing it. In this she
differed from a good many other women, who
are not honest, even with themselves, and who
feel that things become vulgar only when they
are mentioned. The study of her own person
and its charms was of course the very essence of
her role as a " belle." At every stage of her
life she had been drilled and coached — how to

92 SYLVIA

dance, how to enter a drawing-room, how to
receive a compliment, how to toy with a suitor.
At Miss Abercrombie's, the young ladies had
an etiquette teacher who gave them instructions
in the most minute details of their deportment;
not to bend your body too much, but mainly
your knees, when you sat down; not to let your
hands lie flat at your sides, but to turn your
little fingers gracefully out; never to hesitate
or think of yourself when entering a room, but
to fix your thoughts upon some person, and
move towards that person with decision. Sylvia
had needed this last instruction especially, for
in the beginning she had had a terrible time
entering rooms. It should be a comfort to some
would-be belles to know that Sylvia Castleman,
who attained in the end to such eminence in her
profession, was at the outset a terrified child with
shaking knees and chattering teeth, who never
would have gone anywhere of her own choice!

§ 20

Now she was ready to try out all these instruc
tions upon Frank. The scene was set and lighted,
the curtain rose — but somehow there was a hitch
in the performance. Frank was moody again.
He sat staring before him, frowning somberly;
and she looked at him in a confusion of anxieties.
He did not love her after all — she had simply

SYLVIA LOVES 93

seized upon him and compelled his attention, and
now he was longing to extricate himself! Even
if this were not true, it would soon come to that,
for she could think of nothing interesting to say,
and he would be bored.

She racked her wits. What could she talk
about to a man who knew none of her "set,"
who never went to balls or dinners, who could
not conceivably care about polite gossip? Why
didn't he say something — the silent man! What
manners to take into company!

"I must make him look at me," she resolved.
So without saying a word, she began taking a
rose from her corsage and adjusting it in her hair.
The motion distracted him, and she saw that he
was watching. She had him!

"Is that hi right?" she asked. Of course a la
France rose in perfectly arranged hair is always
"in right," and Sylvia knew it. Her little device
failed abjectly, for Frank answered simply "Yes,"
and began staring into space again.

She tried once more, contenting herself with
the barest necessities of conversation. "Did you
shoot those quail yourself?"

Then he turned. "Miss Sylvia, I have some
thing I must say to you. I've had tune to think
things over." He paused.

Ah, now it was coming! He had had time to
think things over — and he called her "Miss
Sylvia!" Something cried out in her to make
haste and release him before he asked it. But
she could not speak — she was as if pinned by a
lance.

94 SYLVIA

He went on. "Miss Sylvia, I had made up
my mind that love was not for me. I knew that
to women of my own class I was a man with a
tainted name — a convict's son; and I would
rather die than marry L~°neath me. So I shut up
my heart, and when I met * woman, I turned
and went away — as I tried to do with you. But
you would not have it, and I could not resist
you. I've been amazed at the intensity of my
own feelings; it's something I could not have
dreamed of — and unless I'm mistaken, it's been
the same with you."

It was a bold man who could use words such
as those to Sylvia. To what merciless teasing he
laid himself open! But she only drew a deep
sigh of relief. He still loved her!

"I forced myself to stay away," he continued,
without waiting for her to answer. "I said, 'I
must not go near her again. I must run away
somewhere and get over it.' And then again
I said, 'I can make her happy — I will marry her.'
I said that, but I'm not going to do it."

He paused. Oh, what a voice he had! Sylvia
felt the blood ebbing and flowing in her cheeks,
pounding in her ears. She could not hear his
words very well — but he loved her!

"Sylvia," he was saying, earnestly — as if half
to convince himself — "we must both of us wait.
You must have tune to consider what loving me
would mean. You have all these people — happy
people; and I have nothing like that in my life.
Yon have this beautiful home, expensive clothes —

SYLVIA LOVES 95

every luxury. But I am a poor man. I have
only a mortgaged plantation, with a mother and
a brother and two sisters to share it. I have no
career — I have not even an education. All your
uncles, your cousins, your suitors, are college
men, and I am a plain farmer. So I face what
seems to me the worst temptation a man could
have. I see you, and you are everything in the
world that is desirable; and I believe that I could
win you and carry you away from here. My
whole being cries out, 'Go and take her! She
loves you! She wants you to!' But instead, I
have to come here and say, 'Think it over. Make
sure of your feelings; that it's not simply a flush
of excitement.' You being the kind of tender
hearted thing you are, it might so easily be a
romantic imagining about a man who's apart
from other men — one you feel sorry for and would
like to help! You see what I mean? It isn't
easy for me to say it, but I'd be a coward if I
didn't say it — and mean it — and stand by it."

There was a long pause. Sylvia was thinking.
How different it was from other men's love-
making! There was Malcolm McCallum, who
had taken her driving yesterday, and had said
what they all said: " Never mind if you don't
love me — marry me, and let me teach you to
love me." In other words, "Stake your life's
happiness upon a blind chance, at the command
of my desire." Of course they would surround
her with all the external things of life, build her
a great house and furnish it richly, deck her with

96 SYLVIA

silks and jewels and supply her with servants.
All the world would come to admire her, and
then she would be so grateful to her generous
lord that she could not but love him.

Her voice was low as she answered, "A woman
does not really care about the outside things.
She wants love most. She wants to be sure of
her heart — but of the man's heart too."

"As to that," he said, "I will not trust myself
to speak. You are the loveliest vision that has
ever come to me. You are "

"I know," she interrupted. "But that, too,
is mostly surface. I am luxurious, I am artificial
and shallow — a kind of butterfly." This was
what she said to men when she wished to be
most deadly. But now she really meant it;
there was a mist of tears in her eyes.

"That is nothing," he answered. "I am not
such a fool that I can't see all that. There are
two people in you, as hi all of us. The question
is, which do you want to be?"

"How can I say?" she murmured. "It would
be a question of whether you loved me "

"Ah, Sylvia!" he cried, in a voice of pain that
startled her. And suddenly he rose and began to
pace the room. "I cannot talk about my feeling
for you," he said. "I made up my mind before
[ came here that I would not woo you — not if
I had to bite off my tongue to prevent it. I said,
'I will explain to her, and then I will go away and
give her time.' I want to play fair. I want to
know that I have played fair."

SYLVIA LOVES 97

As he stood there, she could see the knotted
tendons in his hands, she could see the agitation
of his whole being. And suddenly a great current
took her and bore her to him. She put her hands
upon his shoulders, whispering, "Frank!'1

He stood stiff and silent.

"I love you!" she said. "I love you!" She
gave a little sob of happiness; and he caught her
in his arms and pressed her to his bosom, crush
ing all her roses, and stifling her words with his
kisses. And so, a few minutes later, Sylvia was
lying back hi her favorite chair, with the satis
faction of knowing at last that he was looking
at her. A couple of hours later, when he went
away, it was as her plighted lover.

§ 21

FRANK came again two days later; and then
Mrs. Castleman made her first remark. ' ' Sylvia, ' '
she said, "you mustn't flirt with that man."

"Why not, Mother?"

"Because he'd probably take it seriously. And
he's had a hard time, you know. We can't treat
the Shirleys quite as we do other people."

"All right," said Sylvia. "I'll be careful."

Frank wanted the engagement made known at
once — at least to the family. Such was his direct
way. But Sylvia had an instinct against telling;
she wanted a little time to watch and study and
plan.

98 SYLVIA

It was hard, however; she was absolutely shin
ing with happiness — there seemed to be a kind
of soul-electricity that came from her and affected
everyone she met. It gathered the men about
her thicker than ever — and at the very time that
she wanted to be alone with Frank and the
thought of Frank!

One evening when the Young Matrons' Club
gave its monthly cotillion, Frank, knowing noth
ing about this event, called unexpectedly. A
visit meant to him forty miles on horseback;
and so, to the general consternation, Sylvia refused
to attend the dance. All evening the telephone
rang and the protests poured in. "We won't
stand for it!" the men declared; and the women
asked, "Who is it?" She had been to a bridge-
party that afternoon, and everyone knew she was
not sick. But what man could it be, when all
the men were at the cotillion?

So the gossip began; and a week later another
incident gave it wings. It was a great occasion,
the semi-annual ball of the Country Club, and
Frank had been warned that Sylvia would not be
at home. But he wanted to see her in her glory,
and he galloped his twenty miles in darkness and
ram, and turned up at the club-house at mid
night, and stood in the doorway to watch. Sylvia,
seeing him and realizing what his presence meant,
was seized with a sudden impulse to acknowledge
him. She stopped dancing, and sent her partner
away, and stood talking to Frank. Oh, what a
staring, what a wagging of tongues! Frank

SYLVIA LOVES 99

Shirley! Of all people hi the world, Frank
Shirley!

Of course, the news came to the Hall. Early
in the morning, Aunt Nannie called up, announc
ing a visit, and there followed a family conclave
with Mrs. Castleman, Aunt Varina and Sylvia.

"Sylvia," said Mrs. Chilton, trying her best to
look casual, "I understand that Frank Shirley
was at the ball."

"Yes, Aunt Nannie."

There was a pause. "What was he doing
there?" asked "Miss Margaret," evidently having
been coached.

"Why, I'm sure, Mother, I don't know."

"Did you invite him?"

"Indeed, I did not."

"He isn't a member of the Club, is he?"

"No; but he knows lots of other people who
are."

"Everybody is saying he came to see you,"
broke in Aunt Nannie. "They say you stopped
dancing to talk with him."

"I can't help what they say, Aunt Nannie."

"Do you think," inquired the Bishop's wife,
"that it was altogether wise to get your name
associated with his?"

"Isn't he a gentleman?" asked Sylvia.

"That's all right, my dear, but you've got to
remember that you live in the world, and must
consider other people's point of view."

"Do you mean, Aunt Nannie, that Frank
Shirley's to be excluded from society because of
his father's misfortune?"

100 SYLVIA

"Not excluded, Sylvia. There are shades to
such things. The point is that a young girl —
a girl conspicuous, like you '

"But, Aunt Nannie, I asked mother and father,
and they were willing to receive him. Isn't
that true, Mother?"

"Why, yes, Sylvia," said "Miss Margaret,"
weakly, "but I didn't mean "

"It was all right for him to come here, once
or twice," interrupted Aunt Nannie. "But at a
Club ball "

"The point is, Sylvia dear," quavered Mrs. Tuis,
"you will get yourself a reputation for singularity."

And the mother added, "You surely don't have
to do that to attract attention!"

So there it was. All that fine sentiment about
the unhappy Shirleys went like a film of mist
before a single breath of the world's opinion!
They would not say it brutally — "He's a con
vict's son, and you can't afford to know him
too well." It was not the Southern fashion — at
least among the older generation — to be out
spoken hi worldliness. They had generous ideals,
and made their boast of "chivalry;" but here,
when it came to a test, they were all in accord with
Aunt Nannie, who was said to "talk like a cold
blooded Northern woman."

Sylvia decided at once that some one must
be told; so she went back to lunch with her aunt,
and afterwards sought out the Bishop in his
study. The walls of this room were lined with
ancient theological treatises and sermons in faded

SYLVIA LOVES 101

greenish-black bindings: an array which never
failed to appal the soul of Sylvia, who realized
that she had consigned to the scrap-heap all this
mass of learning — and had not yet apologized for
her temerity.

"Uncle Basil," she began, "I have something
very, very important to tell you." The Bishop
turned from his desk and gazed at her. "I am
engaged to be married," she said.

"Why, Sylvia!" he exclaimed.

"And I — I'm very much in love."

"Who is the man, my dear?"

"It is Frank Shirley."

Sylvia was used to watching people and read
ing their thoughts quickly. She saw that her
uncle's first emotion was one of dismay. "Frank
Shirley!"

"Yes, Uncle Basil.'5

Then she saw him gather himself together.
He was going to try to be fair — the dear soul!
But she could not forget that his first emotion
had been dismay. "Tell me about it, my child,"
he said.

"I met him at the Venable's," she replied,
"only a couple of weeks ago. He's an unusual
sort of man, lonely and unhappy, very reserved
and hard to get at. He fell in love with me—
very much in love; but he didn't want me to
know it. He did tell me at last."

The Bishop was silent. "I love him," she
added.

"Are you sure?"

102 SYLVIA

"As I've never loved anybody — as I never
dreamed I could love."

There was a pause. " Uncle Basil — he's a good
man," she said. "That is why I love him."

Again there was a pause. "Have you told
your father and mother?" asked the Bishop.

"Not yet."

"You must tell them at once, Sylvia."

"I know they will make objections, and I want
you to meet Frank and talk with him. You see,
Uncle Basil, I'm going to marry him — and I
want your help."

The Bishop was silent again, weighing his
next words. "Of course, my dear," he said,
"from a worldly point of view it is not a good
match, and I fear your parents will regard it as
a calamity. But, as you know, I think of nothing
but the happiness of my darling Sylvia. I won't
say anything at all until I have met the man.
Send him to see me, little girl, and then I will
give you the best counsel I can."

§ 22

FRANK went to pay his call the next day, and
then came back to Sylvia. "He's a dear old
man," he said. "And he wants what is best
for you."

"What does he want?" demanded Sylvia.

"He says we should not marry now — that I

SYLVIA LOVES 103

ought to be better able to take care of you.
And of course he's right."

There was a pause; then suddenly Frank
exclaimed, "Sylvia, I can't be just a farmer if
I'm going to marry you."

"What can you be, Frank?"<

"I'm going to go to college."^

"But that would take four years!"

"No, it needn't. I could dig in and get into
the Sophomore class this winter. I've been
through a military academy, and I was going to
Harvard, where my father and my grandfather
went, but I thought it was my duty to come
home and see to the place. But now my brother
has grown up, and he has a good head for busi
ness."

"What would you do ultimately?"

"I've always wanted to study law, and I think
now I ought to. Nobody is going to be willing
for us to marry at once; and they're much less
apt to object to me if I'm seriously going to make
something of myself."

Sylvia went over the next morning to get her
uncle's blessing. The good Bishop gave it to
her — together with some exhortations which he
judged she needed. They were summed up in
one sentence which he pronounced: "There is
nothing more unhappy in this world than a
serious-minded man with a worldly-minded wife."
Poor old Uncle Basil, with his snow-white hair
and his patient, saintly face, worn with care —
how much of his own soul he put into that

104 SYLVIA

utterance! Sylvia laid her head upon his shoulder,
and let the tears run down upon his coat.

After a while, he remarked, "Sylvia, your aunt
saw Frank come here."

"What!" exclaimed Sylvia. "You don't mean
that she'll guess!"

"She's very clever at guessing, my child."
So Sylvia, as she rode home, realized that she
had no more time to lose. When she got to the
Hall, she set to work at once to carry out her
plans.

She found her Aunt Varina in her room with
a headache. On her dressing-table was a picture
of the late-lamented Mr. Tuis, which Sylvia picked
up. By manifesting a little interest in it, she
quickly got her aunt to talking on the subject
of matrimony.

Mrs. Tuis was the youngest of the Major's
sisters. In the face of the protests of her rela
tives she had married a comparatively "com
mon" man, who was poor and had turned out
to be a drunkard, and after leading Aunt Varina
a dog's life, had taken chloral. So Mrs. Tuis had
come back to eat the bread of charity — which,
though it was liberally sweetened with affection,
had also a slightly bitter taste of compassion.

Her ill-fated romance was a poor thing, per
haps — but her own. As she told it her bosom
fluttered and the tears trickled down her cheeks;
and when she had got to a state of complete
deliquescence, her niece whispered: "Oh, Aunt
Varina, I'm so glad you believe in love! Aunt

SYLVIA LOVES 105

Varina, will you keep a solemn secret if I tell
it to you?"

And so came the story of the amazing engage
ment. Mrs. Tuis listened with wide-open, startled
eyes, every now and then whispering, "Sylvia!
Sylvia!" Of course she was thrilled to the deeps
of her soul by it; and of course, in the mood
that she had been caught, she could not possibly
refuse her sympathy. "You must help me with
the others," said the girl. "I'm going to tell
mother next."

§ 23

THE first thing that struck you about "Miss
Margaret" was her appalling incompetence. But
underneath it lay the most exclusively maternal
soul imaginable. She had nursed her children
when they were almost two years old, great
healthy calves running about the place and
standing up to suck; she had rocked them to
sleep in her arms when they were big enough
to be reading Virgil; she had shed as many tears
over a broken finger as most mothers shed over
a funeral. She wanted her daughters to be
happy, and to this end she would give them
anything that civilization provided; she would
even be willing that one of them should marry
a man whose father "wore stripes" — so far as
she was concerned, and so long as she remained
alone with the daughter. You must picture her,

106 SYLVIA

clasping Sylvia in her arms and weeping from
general agitation; moved to pity by the tale of
Frank's loneliness, moved to awe by the tale of
his goodness — but then suddenly smitten as by
a thunderbolt with the thought: "What will
people say! What will your Aunt Nannie say!"

While Sylvia was bent upon having her way,
you must not imagine that she did not feel any
of these emotions. /Although she was mostly
Lady Lysle, her far-off ancestress, she was also
a little of "Miss Margaret," and was almost
capsized in these gales of emotion. She remem
bered a hundred scenes of tenderness and devo
tion; she clasped the great girl-mother in her
arms, and mingled their tears and vowed that
she would never do anything to make her un
happy. It was a lachrymal lane — this pathway
of Sylvia's engagement!

With her father she took a different line. She
got the Major alone in his office and talked to
him solemnly, not about love and romance, but
about Frank Shirley's character. She knew that
the Major was disturbed by the wildness of the
young men of the world about him; she had
heard him discuss the pace at which Aunt Nan
nie's boys were traveling. And here was a man
who had sowed no wild oats, and had learned the
lesson of self-control.

She was surprised at the way the Major took
it. He clutched the arms of his chair and went
white when he caught the import of her dis
course; but he heard her to the end, and then

SYLVIA LOVES 107

sat for a long while in silence. Finally, he in
quired, "Sylvia, did anybody ever tell you why
your Uncle Laurence killed himself?"

"No," she replied.

"He was engaged to a girl, and her parents
made her break off the match. I never knew
why; but it ruined the girl's life, as well as his,
and it made a terrible impression on me. So I
made a vow — and now, I suppose, is the time I
have to keep it. I said I would never interfere
in a love-affair of one of my children!"

Sylvia was deeply affected, not only by his
words, but by the intense agitation which she
saw he was repressing. "Papa, does it seem so
very dreadful to you?" she asked.

Again there was a long wait before he an
swered. "It is something quite different from
what I had expected," he said. "It will make
a difference in your whole life — to an extent
which I fear you cannot realize."

"But if I really love him, Papa?"

"If you really love him, my dear, then I will
not try to oppose you. But oh, Sylvia, be sure
that you love him! You must promise me to
wait until I can be sure you are not mistaken
about that."

"I expect to wait, Papa," she said. "There
will be no mistake."

They talked for half an hour or so, and then
Sylvia went to her room. Half an hour later
"Aunt Sarah," the cook, came flying to her in
great agitation. "Miss Sylvia, what's de matter
wid yo' papa?"

108 SYLVIA

"What?" cried Sylvia, springing up.

"He's sittin' on a log out beyan' de garden,
cryin' fo' to break his heart!"

Sylvia fled to the spot, and fell upon her
knees by him and flung her arms about him,
crying, "Papa, Papa!" He was still sobbing;
she had never seen him exhibit such emotion in
her life before, and she was terrified. "Papa,
what is it?"

She felt him shudder and control himself.
"Nothing, Sylvia. I can't tell you."

"Papa," she whispered, "do you object to
Frank Shirley as much as that?"

"No, my dear — it isn't that. It's that the
whole thing has knocked me off my feet. My
little girl is going away from me — and I didn't
know she was grown up yet. It made me feel
so old!"

He looked at her, trying to smile and feeling
a little ashamed of his tears. She looked into
the dear face, and it seemed withered and
wrinkled all of a sudden. She realized with a
pang how much he really had aged. He was
working so hard — she would see him at his ac
counts late at night, when she was leaving for a
ball, and would feel ashamed for her joys that he
had to pay for. "Oh, Papa, Papa!" she cried,
"I ought to marry a rich man!"

"My child," he exclaimed, "don't let me hear
you say a thing like that!"

Poor, poor Major! He said it and he meant
it; he was, I think, the most naive of all the

SYLVIA LOVES 109

members of his family. He was a "Southern
gentleman," not a business man; he hated money
with his whole soul — hated it, even while he spent
it and enjoyed what it brought him. He was
like a chip of wood caught in a powerful current;
swept through rapids and over cataracts, to his
own boundless bewilderment and dismay.

§ 24

"HE is without any pride of family." That
had been the verdict upon the Major pronounced
by his mother, who had been a grand lady in her
own day. She would turn to her eldest daughter
and say, "Look after him, Nannie! Make him
keep his shoes shined!" And so now, towards
the end of their conference, Sylvia and her father
found themselves looking at each other and say
ing, "What wilt Aunt Nannie say?" Sylvia
was laughing, but all the same she had not the
nerve to face her aunt, and 'phoned the Bishop
to ask him to break the news.

Half an hour later the energetic lady's automo
bile was heard at the door. And now behold,
a grand council, with the Major and his wife,
Mrs. Chilton, Mrs. Tuis, Mr. Mandeville Castle-
man, Sylvia and Celeste — the last having learned
that something startling had happened, and being
determined to find out about it.

"Now," began Aunt Nannie, "what is this
that Basil has been trying to tell me?"

110 SYLVIA

There was no reply.

"Mandeville," she demanded, "have you heard
this news?"

''No," said Uncle Mandeville.

"That Sylvia has engaged herself to Frank
Shirley!"

"Good God!" said Uncle Mandeville.

"Sylvia!" exclaimed Celeste, in horror.

"Is it true?" demanded Aunt Nannie — in a
tone which said that she declined to comment
until official confirmation had been received.

"It is true," said Sylvia.

"And what have you to say about it?" inquired
Aunt Nannie. She looked first at the Major,
then at his wife, and then at Mrs. Tuis; but no
one had anything to say.

"I can't quite believe that you're in your
right senses," continued the speaker. "Or that
I have heard you say the words. What can
have got into you?"

"Nannie," said the Major, clearing his throat,
"Sylvia doesn't want to marry him for a long
time."

"But she proposes to be engaged to him, I
understand!"

"Yes," admitted the other.

'And this engagement is to be announced?"

"Why — er — I suppose "

"Certainly," put in Sylvia.

"And when, may I ask?"

"At once."

"And is there nobody here who has thought

SYLVIA LOVES 111

of the consequences? Possibly you have over
looked the fact that one of my daughters has
planned to marry Ridgely Peyton next month.
That is to be called off?"

"What do you mean, Aunt Nannie?"

"Can you be childish enough to imagine that
the Peytons will consent to marry into a family
with a convict's son in it?"

"Nannie!" protested the Major.

"I know!" replied Mrs. Chilton. "Sylvia
doesn't like the words. But if she proposes to
marry a convict's son, she may as well get used
to them now as later. It's the thing that people
will be saying about her for the balance of her
days; the thing they'll be saying about all of us
everywhere. Look at Celeste there — just ready
to come out! How much chance she'll have —
with such a start! Her sister engaged to Frank
Shirley!"

Sylvia turned to Celeste, and the eyes of these
two met. Celeste turned pale, and her look was
eloquent of dismay.

"Nannie," put in the Major, protestingly,
"Frank Shirley is a fine, straight fellow "

"I've nothing to say against Frank Shirley,"
exclaimed the other. "I know nothing about
him, and never expect to know anything about
him. But I know the story of his family, and
I know that he's no right in ours. And what's
more, he knows it too — if he were a man with
any conscience or self-respect, he'd not consent to
ruin Sylvia's life!"

112 SYLVIA

"Aunt Nannie," broke in the girl, "is one to
think of nothing in marriage but worldly pride?"

"Worldly pride!" ejaculated the other. "You
call it worldly pride — because you, who have
been the favorite child of the Castlemans, who
have been given every luxury, every privilege,
are asked not to trample your sisters and cousins!
To give way to a blind passion, and put a stain
upon our name that will last for generations!
Where do you suppose you'd have been to-day
if your forefathers had acted in such fashion?
Do you imagine that you'd have been the belle
of Castleman Hall, the most sought-after girl in
the state?"

That was the argument. For some minutes
Mrs. Chilton went on to pour it forth. And
angry as she was, Sylvia could not but feel the
force of it, and realize the effect it was producing
on the other members of the council. It was not
the voice of a woman speaking; it was the voice
of something greater than any of them, or than
all of them together — a thing that had come
from dun-distant ages, and would continue into
an unpenetrable future. It was the voice of the
Family! No light thing it was, in truth, to be
the favorite daughter of the Castlemans! Not
a responsibility one could evade, an honor one
could decline!

"You are where you are to-day," proclaimed
the speaker, "because other women thought of
you when they chose their husbands. And I
have never observed in you any unwillingness
to accept the advantages they have handed on

SYLVIA XOVES 113

to you, any contempt for admiration and suc
cess. You are only a girl, of course; you can't
be expected to realize all the meaning of your
marriage to your family; but your mother and
father know, and they ought to have impressed
it on you, instead of leaving you to run wild and
be trapped by the first unprincipled man that
came along!"

There was a pause. The Major and his wife
sat in silence, with a guilty look upon their faces.
" Worldly pride!" exclaimed Aunt Nannie, turn
ing upon them. "Have you told her about your
own marriage?"

"What do you mean?" asked the Major.

"You know very well," was the reply, "that
Margaret, when she married you, was head over
heels in love with a nice, respectable, poor young
preacher. And that she married you, not because
she was in love with you, but because she knew
that you were a noble-minded gentleman, the
head of the oldest and best family in the county."
And then Aunt Nannie turned upon Sylvia.
"Suppose," she demanded, "that your mother
had been sentimental and silly, and had run
away with the preacher — have you any idea where
you'd be now?"

Sylvia was hardly to be blamed for having no
answer to this question, which might have been
too much for the most learned scientist. There
was silence hi the council.

"Or take Mandeville," pursued the Voice of
the Family.

114 SYLVIA

"Nannie!" protested Mandeville.

"You don't want it talked about, I know,"
said the other, "but this is a time for truth-
telling. Your Uncle Mandeville was madly in
love with a girl — a girl who had position, and
money too; but he would not marry her because
she had a sister who was 'fast/ and he would not
bring such blood into the family.''

There was a pause. Uncle Mandeville's head
was bowed.

"And do you remember," persisted Aunt
Nannie, "that when the question was being dis
cussed, your brother here asked that his growing
daughters be spared having to hear about a
scandal? Do you remember that?"

"Yes," said Mandeville, "I remember that."

"And how much nobler was such conduct
than that of your Uncle Tom. Think "

One could feel a sudden thrill go through the
assembly. "Oh!" cried Miss Margaret, protest-
ingly; and Mrs. Tiiis exclaimed, "Nannie!"

"Think of what happened to Tom's wife!"
the other was proceeding; but here she was
stopped by a firm word from the Major. "We
will not discuss that, sister!"

There was a solemn pause, during which Sylvia
and Celeste stared at each other. They knew
that Uncle Tom Harley, their mother's brother,
was an army officer stationed in the far West;
but they had never heard before that he had
a wife, and were amazed and a little frightened
by the revelation. It is in moments such as

SYLVIA LOVES 115

these, when the tempers of men and women
strike sparks, that one gets glimpses of the skele
tons that are hidden far back in the corners of
family closets!

§ 25

THERE was a phrase which Sylvia had heard
a thousand tunes in the discussions of her rela
tives; it was "bad blood." "Bad blood" was
a thing which possessed and terrified the Castle-
man imagination. Sylvia had but the vaguest
ideas of heredity. She had heard it stated that
tuberculosis and insanity were transmissible, and
that one must never marry into a family where
these disorders appeared; but apparently, also,
the family considered that poverty and obscurity
were transmissible — besides the general tendency
to do things of which your neighbors disapproved.
And you were warned that these evils often skipped
a generation and reappeared. You might pick
out a most excellent young man for a husband,
and then see your children return to the criminal
ways of his ancestors.

That was Aunt Nannie's argument now. When
Sylvia cried, "What has Frank Shirley done?"
the reply was, "It's not what he did, but what
his father did."

• "But," cried the girl, "his father was innocent!
I've heard Papa say it a hundred times!"

"Then his uncle was guilty," was Aunt Nannie's

116 SYLVIA

response. "Somebody took the money and
gambled it away."

"But is gambling such a terrible offence? It
seems to me I've heard of some Castlemans
gambling."

"If they do," was the reply, "they gamble
with their own money."

At which Sylvia cried, "Nothing of the kind!
They have gambled, and then come to Uncle
Mandeville to get him to pay their debts!"

Now that was a body-blow; for it was Aunt
Nannie's own boys who had adopted this custom,
which Sylvia had heard sternly reprehended hi
the family councils. Aunt Nannie flushed, and
Uncle Mandeville made haste to interpose —
"Sylvia, you should not speak so to your aunt."

"I don't see why not," declared the girl. "I
am saying nothing but what is true; and I have
been attacked in the thing that is most precious
in life to me."

Here the Major felt it his duty to enter the
debate. "Sylvia," he said, "I don't think you
quite realize your aunt's feelings. It is no selfish
motive that leads her to make these objections."

" Not selfish?" asked the girl. "She's admitted
it's her fear for her own daughters, Papa "

"It's just exactly as much for your own sister,
Sylvia." It was the voice of Celeste, entering
the discussion for the first time. Sylvia stared
at her, astonished, and saw her eyes alight, her
face as set and hard as Aunt Nannie's. Sylvia
realized all at once that she had an enemy in her
own house.

SYLVIA LOVES 117

She was trembling violently as she made reply.
"Then, Celeste, I have to give up everything
that means happiness in life to me, because I
might frighten away rich suitors from my sister?"

" Sylvia," put in the Major, gravely, before
Celeste could speak, "you must not say things
like that. It is not because Frank Shirley is poor
that we are objecting. The pride of the Castle-
mans is not simply a pride of worldly power."

"She degrades us and degrades herself when
she implies it!" exclaimed Aunt Nannie.

"It is a high and great pride," continued the
Major. "The pride of a race of men and women
who have scorned ignoble conduct and held them
selves above all dishonor. That is no weak or
shallow thing, Sylvia. It is a thing which sus
tains and upholds us at every moment of our
lives: that we are living, not merely for our
individual selves, but for all the generations that
are to be. It may seem a cruel thing that the
sins of the fathers should be visited upon the
children, but it is a law of God. It was some
thing that Bob Shirley himself said to me, with
tears in his eyes — that his children and his chil
dren's children would have to pay for what had
been done."

"But, Papa!" cried Sylvia. "They don't have
to pay it, except that we make them pay it!"

"You are mistaken, my child," said the Major,
quietly. "It's not we alone. It was the whole
of society that condemned him. We cannot
possibly wipe out the blot on the Shirley
escutcheon."

118 SYLVIA

"We can only drag ourselves down with them!"
exclaimed Aunt Nannie.

"Why, it's just as if we said that going to
prison was nothing!" cried Celeste.

"You must remember how many people there
are looking up to us, Sylvia," put in Uncle Mande-
ville, solemnly.

There they were, all in chorus; Sylvia gazed
in anguish from one to another. She gazed at
her mother, just at the moment that that good
lady was preparing to express her opinion. For
the particular thing which held the imagination
of "Miss Margaret" in thrall was this vision of
the Castlemans living their life as it were upon
a stage, with the lower orders in the pit looking
on, imbibing instruction and inspiration from
the action of the lofty drama.

Sylvia had heard it all before, and she could
not bear to listen to it now. The tears, which
had long been in her eyes, suddenly began to roll
down her cheeks; she sprang up, exclaiming pas
sionately, "You are all against me! Everyone of
you!"

"Sylvia," said her father, in distress, "that is
not true!"

"We would wade through blood for you!"
exclaimed Uncle Mandeville — who was always
looking for a chance to shoot somebody for the
honor of the Castleman name.

"We are thinking of nothing but your own
future," said the Major. "You are only a child,
Sylvia "

SYLVIA LOVES 119

But Sylvia cried, "I can't bear any more!
You promised to stand by me, Papa — and now
you let Aunt Nannie come here and persuade
you — Mamma too — all of you ! You will break
my heart!" And so saying she fled from the
room, leaving the family council to proceed as
best it could without her.

§ 26

SYLVIA shut herself in her room and had a
good, exhaustive cry. Then, with her soul atmos
phere cleared, she set to work to think out her
problem.

She had to admit that the family had presented
a strong case. There was the matter of heredity,
for example. Just how much likelihood might
there be, in the event of her marrying Frank, of
her finding herself with children of evil tendencies?
Just what truth might there be in Aunt Nannie's
point of view, that he was a selfish man, seeking
to redeem his family fortunes by allying himself
with the Castlemans? The question sounded
cold-blooded, but then Sylvia always had to face
the truth.

Also there was the problem, to what extent
a girl ought to sacrifice herself to her family.
There was no denying that they had done much
for her. She had been as their right eye to them;
and what did she owe them in return? There

120 SYLVIA

was no one of them whom she did not love, sin
cerely, intensely; there was no one over whose
sorrows she had not wept, whose burdens she
had not borne. And now she faced the fact that
if she 'married Frank Shirley, she would cause
them unhappiness. She might argue that they
had no right to be unhappy; but that did not
alter the fact — they would be unhappy. Sylvia's
life so far had been a process of bringing other
people joy; and now, suddenly, she found herself
in a dilemma where it was necessary for her to
cause pain. Upon whom ought it to fall — upon
her mother and father, her uncles and aunts — or
upon Frank Shirley and herself?

Of all the arguments which produced an effect
upon her, the most powerful was that embodied
hi Aunt Nannie's phrase, "a blind passion."
Sylvia had been taught to think of "passion"
as something low and shameful; she did not like
the vision of herself as a weak, infatuated crea
ture, throwing away all that other people had
striven to give her. Many were the phrases
whereby all her life she had heard such conduct
scorned; there was a phrase from the Bible that
was often cited — something about " inordinate
affection." Just what was the difference between
ordinate and inordinate affection? And how was
she to decide in which category to place her love
for Frank Shirley?

For the greater part of two days and two
nights Sylvia debated these problems; and then
she went to her father. The color was gone from

SYLVIA LOVES

her cheeks, and she was visibly thinner; but her
mind was made up.

She told the Major all the doubts that had
beset her and all the arguments she had con
sidered. She set forth his contention that the
pride of the Castlemans was not a " worldly
pride;" and then she announced her conclusion,
which was that he was permitting himself to be
carried along, against his own better judgment,
by the vanity of the women of his family.

Needless to say, the Major was startled by this
pronouncement, delivered with all the solemnity
of a pontiff ex cathedra. But Sylvia was ready
with her proofs. There was Aunt Nannie, schem
ing and plotting day and night to make great
marriages for her children. Spending her hus
band's money in ways he disapproved, and get
ting — what? Was there a single one of her
children that was happy? Was there a single
couple — for all the rich marriages — that wasn't
living beyond its income, and jealous of other
people who were able to spend more? Harley,
grumbling because he couldn't have a motor of
his own — Clive, because he couldn't afford to
marry the girl he loved! And both of them
drinking and gambling, and forcing Uncle Mande-
ville to pay their debts.

"Sylvia, you know I have protested to your
Aunt Nannie."

" Yes, Papa — but meantime you're ruining your
own health and fortune to enable your daughters
to run the same race. Here's Celeste, like a

SYLVIA

hound in the leash, eager to have her chance —
just Aunt Nannie all over again! I know, Papa
—it's terrible, and I can't bear to hurt you with
it, but I have to tell you what my own decision
is. I love Frank Shirley; I think my love for
him is a true love, and I can't for a moment
think of giving it up. I'm sorry to have to
break faith with the Family; I can only plead
that I didn't understand the bargain when I
made it, and that I shall take care not to make
my debt any greater."

"What do you mean, Sylvia?"

"I mean that I want to give up the social
game. I want to stop spending fortunes on
clothes and travel and luxuries; I want to stop
being paraded round and exhibited to men I'm
not interested in. I want you to give me a little
money — just what I need to live — and let me go
to New York to study music for a year or two
more, until I am able to teach and earn my own
living."

"Earn your own living! Sylvia!"

"Precisely, Papa. And meantime, Frank can
go through college and law school, and when we
can take care of ourselves, we'll marry. That's
my plan, and I'm serious about it — I want you
to let me do it this year."

And there sat the poor Major, staring at her,
his face a study of unutterable emotions, whisper
ing to himself, "My God! My God!"

When Sylvia told me about this scene I re
minded her of her experience with the young

SYLVIA LOVES 123

clergyman who had come to convert her from
heresy. " Don't you see now," I asked, "why he
called you the most dangerous woman in Castle-
man County?"

§ 27

THIS procedure of Sylvia's was a beautiful
illustration of what the military strategists call
an " offensive defence." By the simple sugges
tion of earning her own living, she got everything
else in the world that she wanted. It was agreed
that she might make known her engagement to
Frank Shirley. It was agreed that she need have
no more money spent upon clothes and parties.
Most important of all, it was agreed that Aunt
Nannie was to be informed that Sylvia's course
was approved by her parents, and that Frank
Shirley was to be welcomed to Castleman Hall.

But of course she was not to be allowed to earn
money. Her father made it clear that the bare
suggestion of this caused him more unhappiness
than she could endure to inflict. When she pro
tested, "I want to learn something useful!" the
dear old Major was ready with the proposition
that they learn something useful together; and
forthwith unlocked the diamond-paned doors of
the old mahogany book-cases, and dragged forth
dust-covered sets of Grote's "History of Greece,"
and Hume's "History of England," and Jeffer
son Davis' "Rise and Fall of the Confederate

124 SYLVIA

Government" — out of which ponderous volumes
Sylvia read aloud to him for several hours each
day thereafter.

So from now on this is to be the story of a
wholly reformed and chastened huntress of hearts.
No more for her the tournaments of coquetry,
no more the trumpets of the ball-room peal. No
longer shall we behold her, clad hi armor of
chiffon and real lace, with breastplate of American
beauty roses and helmet of gold and pearls. No
longer shall we see the arrows of her red-brown
eyes flying over the stricken field, deep-dyed with
.the heart's blood of Masculinity. Instead of
this the dusty tome and the midnight oil and the
green eye-shade confront us; we behold the un
canny spectacle of the loveliest of created mortals
clad in blue stockings and black-rimmed spec
tacles. — All this scintillating wit, I make haste
to explain, is not mine, but something which
Avery Crittenden, the town wag, dashed off in
a moment of illumination, and which appeared
in the Castleman County Register (no names,
if you please!) a couple of weeks after the news
of Sylvia's reformation had stunned the world.

I wish that space were less limited, so that I
could tell you how Castleman County received
the tidings, and some few of the comical episodes
in the long war which it waged to break down
her resolution of withdrawal. It was the light
of their eyes going out, and they could not and
would not be reconciled to it. They wrote let
ters, they sent telegrams; they would come and

SYLVIA LOVES 125

literally besiege the house — sit in the parlor and
condole with "Miss Margaret/' no longer because
Sylvia refused to marry them, but merely because
she refused to lead the german with them! They
would come with bands of music, with negro
singers to serenade her. One spring night a whole
fancy-dress ball adjourned by unanimous consent,
and stormed the terraces of Castleman Hall and
held its revels under the windows; and so of
course Sylvia had to stop trying to read about
Walpole's ministry and invite them in and give
them wine and cake. On the evening of one of
the club dances there was an organized con
spiracy; seventeen of her old sweethearts sent
her roses, and when in spite of this she did not
come, the next day came seventeen messengers,
bearing seventeen packages, each containing a
little cupid wrapped hi cotton-wool — but with his
wings broken!

Such was the pressure from outside; and
within — there would be a new gown sent by
Uncle Mandeville, who was on another spree in
New Orleans; a gown that was really a dream
of beauty and a crime not to wear. Or there
would be talk at the table about Dolly Wither-
spoon, Sylvia's chief rival, and the triumph she
had won at the cotillion last night; how Stanley
Pendleton was "rushing" her, and how Cousin
Harley had been snubbed by her. And then
some one gave a ball, and Charlie Peyton rang
up to say that he was getting drunk and going
to the devil unless Sylvia would come and dance

126 SYLVIA

with him! And when this device succeeded, and
the rumor of it spread — how many of the nicest
boys in the county took to getting drunk and
going to the devil, because Sylvia would not
come and dance with them!

I mention these things in order that you may
understand that, sincere as Sylvia was in her
effort to withdraw from "society," she was not
entirely successful. She still met "eligible" men,
and she was still an object of family concern.
A few days after the council, she had been sur
prised by a visit from Aunt Nannie, who came
to apologize and make peace. "I want you to
know, Sylvia dear," she declared, "that what I
said to you was said with no thought of anything
but your own good." There was a reconcilia
tion, with tears in the eyes of both of them — and
a renewal of the activities of Aunt Nannie. How
often it happened to Sylvia, when at some dance
she fell into the clutches of an undesirable man,
that Aunt Nannie found a pretext for joining
them — and presently, without quite realizing
how, Sylvia found that the man was gone, and
that she was settled for a tete-a-tete with a more
suitable companion! Once she stopped to lunch
eon with the Bishop, and found herself being
shown a new album of photographs. There
among English cathedrals and Rhenish castles
she stumbled upon a picture of the "Mansion
House," the home of the wealthy Peytons.
"What a lovely old place!" she exclaimed; and
her aunt remarked, "Charlie will inherit that,
lucky boy!"

SYLVIA LOVES 127

She remembered also the case of Ned Scott,
the young West Pointer who came home on
furlough, setting all the girls' hearts aflutter with
his gray and gold gorgeousness. "My, what a
handsome fellow!" exclaimed Aunt Nannie. "It
makes me happy just to watch him walk!"

"An army man always has a good social posi
tion," remarked "Miss Margaret," casually.
• "And an assured income," added Aunt Varina,
timidly.

"He has a mole on his nose," observed Sylvia.

§ 28

FRANK SHIRLEY had passed the midwinter exam
inations at Harvard, and was settled in the dormi
tory of his fathers; and so for a while the acute
agitation subsided. It began again in the sum
mer, however — when Sylvia proposed staying at
the Hall, instead of going with the family to the
summer-place in the mountains of North Carolina.
It was obvious that this was hi order to be near
her lover; and so the whole battle had to be
fought over again. Aunt Nannie was unable to
understand how Sylvia could be willing to "pub
lish her infatuation to the world."

"But I have only the summer when I can see
him," the girl argued.

"But even so, my dear — to give up everything
else, to change all your plans, the plans of you''
whole family!"

128 SYLVIA

"Nobody need change, Aunt Nannie. Aunt
Varina will stay with me gladly."

" Others have to stay, if it's only to hide what
you are doing. It's not decent, Sylvia! Believe
me, you will lose the man's own respect if you
behave so. No man can permanently respect
a woman who betrays her feelings so openly."

"My dear Aunt Nannie," said Sylvia, quietly,
"I am quite sure that I know Frank Shirley
better than you do."

"Poor, deluded child," was Mrs. Chilton's
comment. "You'll find to your sorrow some
day that men are all alike!"

But the girl was obdurate. The family had to
proceed to desperate measures. First her mother
declared that she would stay also — she must
remain to protect her unfortunate child. And
then, of course, the Major decided that it was
his duty to remain. There came the question of
Celeste, who had planned a house party, and fore
saw the spoiling of her fun by the selfishness of
her sister. There was also the baby — the precious,
ineffable baby, the heir of all the might, majesty
and dominion of the Lysles. The family physician
intervened — the child must positively have the
mountain air. Also the Major's liver trouble was
serious, he was sleeping badly and working too
hard, and was in desperate need of a change.
Prompted by Aunt Nannie, the doctor said this
in Sylvia's hearing — and settled the matter.

It had been Frank's idea to remain at Cam
bridge and study during the summer, so as to

SYLVIA LOVES 129

make up some "conditions;" but when he learned
that Sylvia intended to remain at the Hall, he
decided to stand the expense of coming home.
He arrived there to find that she had suddenly
changed her mind and was going — and offering
but slight explanation of her change. Sylvia
was intensely humiliated because of the attitude
of her family, and was trying to spare Frank the
pain of knowing about it.

So came the beginning of unhappiness between
them. Frank was acutely conscious of his in
feriority to her in all worldly ways. And he knew
that her relatives were trying to break down her
resolution. He could not believe that they would
succeed; and yet, there was a bitter and disillu
sioned man within him who could not believe that
they would fail. In his soul there were always
thorns of doubt, which festered, and now and
then would cause him pangs of agony. But he
was as proud as any savage, and would have
died before he would ask for mercy. When he
learned that she was going away from him, for
no better reason than her relatives' objections,
he felt that she did not care enough for him.
And then, when he did not protest, it was Sylvia's
turn to worry. So it really did not matter to
him whether she stayed or not! It might be
that Aunt Nannie was right after all, that a man
ceased to love a woman who gave herself too
freely.

130 SYLVIA

§ 29

THE matter was complicated by the episode
of Beauregard Dabney, about which I have to
tell.

You have heard, perhaps, of the Dabneys of
Charleston; the names of three of them — Beaure-
gard's grandfather and two great-uncles — may
be read upon the memorial tablets in the stately
old church which is the city's pride. In Charleston
they have a real aristocracy- — gentlemen so poor
that they wear their cuffs all ragged, yet are
received with homage in the proudest homes in
the South. The Dabneys had a city mansion
with front steps crumbling away, and a country
house which would not keep out the rain; and
yet when Beauregard, the young scion of the
house, fell prey to the charm and animation of
Harriet Atkinson, whose father's street railroad
was equal to a mint, the family regarded it as
the greatest calamity since Appomattox.

He had followed Harriet to Castleman County;
and when the news got out, a detachment of
uncles and aunts came flying, and captured the
poor boy, and were on the point of shipping him
home, when Harriet called Sylvia to the rescue.
Sylvia could impress even the Dabneys; and if
only she would have Beauregard and one of the
aunts invited to Castleman Hall, it might yet be
possible to save the situation.

Sylvia had met young Dabney once, when
visitine in Charleston. She remembered him as

SYLVIA LOVES 131

an effeminate-mannered youth, with what would
have been a doll-baby face but for the fact that
the nose caved in in the middle in a disturbing
way. "Tell me, Harriet," she asked, when she
met her friend — "are you in love with him?"

"I don't know," said Harriet. "I'm afraid
I'm not — at least, not very much."

"But why do you want to marry a man you
don't love?"

Harriet was driving, and she grasped the reins
tightly and gave the horse a flick with the whip.
"Sunny," she said, "you might as well face the
fact — I could never fall in love as you have.
I don't believe in it. I wouldn't want to. I'd
never let myself trust a man that much."

"But then, why marry?"

"I have to marry. What can I do? I'm tired
of being chaperoned, and I don't want to be an
old maid."

Sylvia pondered for a moment. "Suppose,"
she said, "that you should marry him, and then
meet a man you loved?"

"I've already answered that — it won't happen.
I'm too selfish." She paused, and then added,
"It's all right, Sunny. I've figured over it, and
I'm not making any mistake. He's a good fellow,
and I like him. He's a gentleman — he does not
offend me. Also, he's very much in love with
me, which is the best way; I'll always be the
boss in my own home. He's respected, and I'll
help out my poor struggling family if I marry
him. You know how it is, Sunny — I vowed I'd

132 SYLVIA

never be a climber, but it's hard to pull back
when your people are eager for the heights. And
then, too, it's always a temptation, to want to go
where you're told you can't go."

"Yes, I know that," said Sylvia. "But that's
a joke, and marrying's a serious matter."

"It's only that because we make it so," retorted
the other. "I find myself bored to death, and
here's something that rouses my fighting blood.
They say I shan't have him — and so I want him.
I'm going to break into that family, and then
I'm going to shake the rats out of the hair of some
of those old maid aunts of his!"

She laughed savagely and drove on for a while.
"Sunny," she resumed at last, "you're all right.
You know it, but I tell you so anyway. You
never were a snob that I know — but I'm cynical
enough to say that it's only because you are too
proud. Can you imagine how you'd feel if any
body tried to patronize you? Can you imagine
how you'd feeljif everybody did it? I'm tired
of it— don't you see? And Beauregard is my way
of escape. I'm going to marry him^if I possibly
can; my mind is made up to it. , I've got the
whole plan of campaign laid out — your part
included."

"What's my part, Harriet?"

"It's very simple. I want you to let Beaure
gard fall in love with you."

"With me!"

"Yes. I want you to give him the worst
punishment you ever gave a man in your life."

SYLVIA LOVES 133

"But what's that for?"

"He's in love with me — he wants me — and he's
too much of a coward to marry me. And I want
to see him suffer for it — as only you can make
him. I want you to take him and maul him,
I want you to bray him and pound him in your
mortar, I want you to roll him and toss him
about, to walk on him and stamp on him, to beat
him to a jelly and grind him to a powder! I want
you to keep it up till he's thoroughly reduced —
and then you can turn him over to me."

"And then you will heal him?" inquired Sylvia
— who had not been alarmed by this bloodthirsty
discourse.

"Perhaps I will and perhaps I won't," said the
other. "What is there in the maxims of Lady
Dee about a broken heart?"

"The best way to catch a man," quoted Sylvia,
"is on the rebound!"

§ 30

I DON'T know how this adventure will seem to
you. To me it was atrocious; but Sylvia under
took it with a child's delight.

"I had on a white hat with pink roses," she
said, when she told me about it; "and I could
always do anything to a man when I had pink
roses on. Beauregard was waiting for Harriet
to go driving when I first saw him; she was
upstairs, late on purpose. He said something

134 SYLVIA

about my looking like a rose myself — he was the
most obvious of human creatures. And when
he asked me to get in and sit by him, I said,
'Harriet will be jealous.' Of course he was
charmed at the idea of Harriet's being jealous.
So he asked me to take a little drive with him,
and we stayed out an hour — and by the time we
got back, I had him!"

Two days later he was on his knees begging
Sylvia to marry him. At which, of course, she
was horrified. "Why, you're supposed to be
in love with my best friend!"

He was frank about it, poor soul. "Of course,
Miss Sylvia," he explained, "I was in love with
Harriet; and Harriet's a fine girl, all right. It's
bad about her family, but I thought we could go
away where nobody knew her, and people would
accept her as my wife, and they'd soon forget.
She's jolly and interesting, and all that. But
you understand, surely, Miss Sylvia — no man
would marry Harriet Atkinson if he could get
you. You — you're quite different, Miss Sylvia.
You're one of us!"

He made Sylvia furious by his matter-of-fact
snobbery; and so she was lovely to him. She
told him that she, too, had been in love, but her
family was opposed to the man, and now she was
very unhappy. She told him that she was not
worthy of the love of such a man as he. Poor
Beauregard tried his best to reassure her, and
followed her about day and night for ten days,
and was a most dreadful nuisance.

SYLVIA LOVES 135

Each day she would report to Harriet the stage
of infatuation to which he had come; until at
last Harriet's thirst for blood was satisfied. Then,
dressed all in snow-white muslin and lace, Sylvia
took her devoted suitor off to a seat in a distant
grape-arbor, and there administered the dose she
had prepared for him. "Mr. Dabney," she said,
"this joke has got to be such a bore that I can't
stand it."

"What joke?" asked Beauregard, innocently.

"You know that I have called myself a friend
of Harriet Atkinson's. When you came to me
and told me that you loved her, but wanted to
marry me because my family was better than
hers — did it never occur to you how it would
strike her friend? Evidently not. Well, let me
tell you then — I could think that it was the
stupidest joke I had ever heard, or else that you
were the most arrogant jack that ever walked on
two legs. I said that I would punish you — and
I've been doing it. You must understand that
I never felt the least particle of interest hi you;
I never met a man who'd be less apt to attract
me, and I can't see how you managed to interest
Harriet. I assure you you've no reason for
holding the extravagant opinion of yourself which
you do."

The poor youth sat staring at her, unable to
believe his ears. And so, of course, Sylvia began
to feel sorry for him. "I can see," she said,
"that there might be something in you to like —
if only you had the courage to be yourself. But

136 SYLVIA

you're so terrorized by your aunts and uncles,
you've let them make you into such a dreadful
snob "

She paused. "You really think I am a snob?"
he cried.

"The worst I ever met. I couldn't bring my
self to discuss it with you. Let me give you this
one piece of advice, though; if you think you're
too good to marry a girl, pray find it out before
you tell her that you love her. Of course, I'm
not sorry that it happened this time, for you
won't break Harriet's heart, and she's a thousand
times too good for you. So I'm not sorry that
you've lost her."

"You — you think that I've lost her, Miss
Sylvia?" gasped the other.

"Lost her?" echoed Sylvia. "Why, you don't
mean — But then she stopped. She must not
make it impossible for him to think of Harriet
again. "You've lost her, unless she's a great
deal more generous than I'd ever be."

Beauregard took his drubbing very well. He
persuaded Sylvia to discuss his snobbery with
him, and confessed the offence, and got up quite
a fire of indignation against his banded relatives.
Also he admitted that Harriet was too good for
him, and that he had treated her like a cad.
His speeches grew shorter and his manner more
anxious, and Sylvia could see that his main
thought was to get back and find out if he'd
really lost Harriet.

So she called her friend up on the 'phone and

SYLVIA LOVES 137

announced, "He's coming. Get on your prettiest
dress without delay!" And then Sylvia went
away and had a cry — first, because she had said
such cruel things, and second, because her mother
and father would be unhappy when they learned
that Beauregard had escaped her.

An hour later Harriet called up to say that it
was all over. "Did you accept him?" asked
Sylvia.

To which the other answered, "You may trust
me now, Sunny! You have made him into a
soft dough, and I'll knead him." And sure enough,
the new Beauregard Dabney sent his aunts and
uncles flying, and followed Harriet to her summer
home on the Gulf, and was hardly to be induced
to wait for a conventional wedding — so eager was
he to prove to himself and to Sylvia Castleman
that he was really not a coward and a snob!

§31

IT was in the midst of these adventures that
Frank Shirley made his unexpected return from
the North. On the day when he came to see
her first, she naturally forgot about the existence
of Beauregard Dabney — until Beauregard sud
denly appeared and flew into a fit of jealousy.
Then the imp of mischievousness got hold of
Sylvia; she found herself wondering, "Would it
be possible for Frank to be jealous of Beaure
gard? And if he was, how would he behave?"

138 SYLVIA

"I knew it was dreadful then," she told me,
"but I couldn't have helped it if I'd been risking
my life. I had to see what Frank would do when
he was jealous. I simply had to! It was a kind
of insanity!"

So she tried it, and did not get much fun out
of the experience. Frank was like an Indian in
captivity; he could not be made to cry out under
torture. He saw Beauregard's position, and the
unconcealed delight of the family; .but he set
his lips together and never gave a sign. Sylvia
was going away for the summer, and Beauregard
was talking about following her. There would
be other suitors following her, no doubt — and new
ones on the ground. Frank went home, and
Sylvia did not hear from him for several days.

The Beauregard episode came to its appointed
end, and then, hi a letter to Frank, Sylvia men
tioned that she had accomplished her purpose —
the youth was engaged to Harriet. She thought
this was explaining things. But how could Frank
imagine the complications of the art of man-
catching? Was Sylvia jesting with him, or try
ing to blind him, or apologizing to him, or what?

Sylvia kept putting off her start to the moun
tains — she could not bear to go while things were
in such a state between them. But, while she
was still hesitating, to her consternation she
received a note from him saying that he was
starting for Colorado. He had received a tele
gram that an aunt was dead ; there were business
matters to be attended to — some property which

SYLVIA LOVES 139

for his sisters' sake could not be neglected. It
was a cold, business-like note, with not a word
of sorrow at parting; and Sylvia shed tears over
it. Such is the irrationality of those in love, she
had forgotten all about young Dabney or any
other cause for doubt and unhappiness she might
haye given Frank. She thought that he, and he
alone, had been unkind. And meantime, Frank
had made up his mind that she was repenting
of her engagement, and that it was his duty to
make it easy for her to withdraw.

So the two spent an unhappy summer. Sylvia
let herself be taken about to parties, but she
grew more weary every hour of the social game.
"I've smiled until I've got the lockjaw," she
would say. She was losing weight and growing
pale, in spite of the mountain air.

September came, and Harriet's wedding was
set for the next month, and likewise Frank's
return to Harvard. He came back from the
West, and Sylvia wrote asking him to come and
visit her for a week. But to her consternation
there came in reply a polite refusal from Frank.
There was so much that needed his attention
on the plantation, and some studying that must
be done if he was to make good. For three days
Sylvia struggled with herself, the last stand of
that barbarian pride of hers; then she gave way
completely and sent him a telegram: "Please
come at once."

She would have recalled it an hour afterwards,
but it was too late; and that evening she received

140 SYLVIA

an answer, to the effect that he would arrive in
the morning. She spent a sleepless night imagin
ing his coming, and a score of different ways in
which she would meet him. She would throw
herself at his feet and beg him not to torture
her; she would array herself in her newest gown
and fascinate him in the good old way; she would
climb once more upon the pinnacle of her pride
and compel him to humble himself before her.

In the morning she drove to meet him, together
with a cousin who had come on the same train.
She never stood a worse social ordeal than that
drive and the luncheon with the family. But at
last they were alone together, and sat gazing at
each other with eyes full of bewilderment and
pain.

"Sylvia," said Frank, finally, "you do not
look happy."

"Why should I be happy?" she asked.

There was a pause. "Listen," he said. "Can
we not deal honestly with each other — openly
and sincerely, for once. Surely that is the best
way, Sylvia — no matter how much it hurts."

"I am ready to do it," she replied.

"You don't have to spare my feelings," he went
on. "I know all you have to contend with, and
I shan't blame you. The one thing I can't bear
is to be played with, to be lured by false hopes,
to drag on and on, tormented by uncertainty."

She was gazing at him, bewildered. "Why do
you say all that, Frank?" she cried.

"Why should I not say it?" he asked; and
again they stared at each other.

SYLVIA LOVES 141

Suddenly she broke out, in a voice full of
anguish, "Frank, this is what I want to know —
answer me this! Do you love me?"

"Do I love you?" he echoed.

"Yes," — and with greater intensity, "I want
you to be honest about it!"

" Honey!" he said, his voice trembling, "it's
the question of whether I'm allowed to love you.
It's so terrible to me — I can't stand the uncer
tainty."

She cried again, "But do you want to love me?"

She heard his voice break, she saw the emo
tion that was shaking him, and with a sudden
sob she was in his arms. "Oh, Frank, Frank!"
she exclaimed. "What have we been doing to
each other?"

And so at last the fog of misunderstanding was
lifted. "Sweetheart," he exclaimed, "what could
you have been thinking?"

"I thought you had stopped loving me because
I had been too bold, because I had been un
womanly."

"Why, Sylvia, you must be mad! Have I not
been hungry for your love?"

"Oh, tell me that I can love you!" she wailed.
"Tell me that you won't grow tired of me if I
love you!"

He clasped her in his arms and covered her lips
with kisses; he soothed her like a frightened child.
She was free now to sob out her grief, to tell him
what she had felt throughout all these months of
misery. "Oh, why didn't you come to me like
this before?" she asked.

142 SYLVIA

"But, Sylvia," he answered, "how could I
know? I saw you letting another man make
love to you

"But, Frank, that was only a joke!"

"But how could I know that?"

"How could you imagine anything else? That
I could prefer Beauregard Dabney to you!"

"That's easy to say," he replied. "But there
was your family — I knew what they'd prefer,
and I saw how they were struggling to keep us
apart. And what was I to think — why should
you be giving him your time, unless you wanted
to let me know "

"Ah, don't say that! Don't say that!" she
cried, quickly. "It's wicked that such a thing
should have happened."

"We must learn to talk things out frankly,"
he said. "For one thing you must not let your
family come between us again. You must free
me from this dreadful fear that they are going
to take you from me."

And suddenly Sylvia blazed up. All the mis
understanding had come from the opposition of
her family, and her unwillingness to talk to Frank
about it. "I never saw it so clearly before,"
she exclaimed. "Frank, I can never make them
see things my way. And they'll always have
this dreadful power over me — because I love
them so!'

"What can you do then?" he asked.

"I'm going to betray them to you!" she cried.
And as he looked puzzled, she went on, "I'm

SYLVIA LOVES 143

going to tell you about them! I'm going to tell
3'ou everything they've said and done, and every
thing they may say and do in the future!"

"And that," said Frank to me, "was the most
loving thing she ever said!" Such was the power,
in Sylvia's world, of the ideal of the Family!

BOOK II

Sylvia Lingers

10

§ 1

AT the railroad station in Boston, on an after
noon in May, Sylvia Castleman and Mrs. Tuis
were arriving from New York. You must picture
Sylvia in a pale grey cloak, with a pale blue
blouse; also a grey hat with broad brim and
"bluets" on top. You can imagine, perhaps,
how her colors shone from under it. She was
meeting Frank for the first time in eight months.

The host of the occasion was Cousin Harley
Chilton, now also a student at Harvard. It was
mid-afternoon, and he had borrowed a motor car
to show her something of Cambridge. Their
bags were sent to their hotel in the city, and
Frank took his place by Sylvia's side. They
had to talk about commonplaces, but he could
feel her delight and eagerness like an electric
radiance. As they flew over the long bridge,
he wrapped a robe about her. What a thrill
went through him as he touched her! "Oh, I'm
so happy! so happy!" she exclaimed, her eyes
shining into his. He had given her a new name
hi his letters, and he whispered it now into her
ear: "Lady Sunshine! Lady Sunshine!"

They came to a vista of dark stone buildings,
buried in the foliage of enormous elms. "Here
are the grounds," he said; and Sylvia cried, "Oh
Harley, go slowly, I want to see them." Her

148 SYLVIA

cousin complied, and Frank began pointing out
the various buildings by name.

But suddenly the car drew hi by the curb and
stopped. Harley leaned forward, remarking,
"Spark-plug loose, I think."

Now the sparking seemed to be all right, so
far as Frank could judge, but he did not know
very much about automobiles. In general he was
a guileless nature, and did not understand that
this was the beginning of Sylvia's social career at
Harvard. But Sylvia, who knew about automo
biles, and still more about human nature, saw
two men strolling in her direction, and now about
twenty yards away — upper classmen, clad in white
flannel trousers, blue coats, huge straw hats like
baskets, and ties knotted with that elaborately
studied carelessness which means that the wearer
has spent fifteen minutes before the mirror prior
to emerging from his room.

Naturally Sylvia looked at them, for they
were interesting figures; and naturally they
looked back, for Sylvia was an interesting figure
too. One could not hear, but could almost see
them exclaiming: "By Jove! Who is she?"
They went by — almost, but not quite. They
stopped, half turned and stood hesitating.

Harley looked up from his spark-plugs, a frown
of annoyance on his face. He glanced toward
the two men. "Hello, Harmon," he said.

"Hello, Chilton," was the reply. "Some
thing wrong?"

"Yes," said Harley, "Can't make it out."

SYLVIA LINGERS 149

The two approached, lifting their hats, the
one who had spoken a trifle in advance. "Can
I help?" he asked, solicitously.

"I think I can manage it," answered Harley;
but the men did not move on. "Whose car?"
asked the one called Harmon.

"Bert Wilson's," said Harley. "I don't know
its tricks."

The other's eyes swept the car, and of course
rested on Sylvia, who was in the seat nearest the
curb. That made an awkward moment — as he
intended it should. "Mr. Harmon," said Harley,
"let me present you to my cousin, Miss Castle-
man."

The man brightened instantly and made a bow.
"I am delighted to meet you, Miss Castleman,"
he said, and introduced his companion. "You
have just arrived?" he inquired.

"Yes," said Sylvia.

"But you've been here before?"

"Never befo-ah," said Sylvia; whereupon he
knew from what part of the world she had come.
There began an animated conversation — Harley
and his spark-plugs being forgotten entirely.

All this Frank watched, sitting back in his
seat in silence. He knew these men to be Seniors,
high and mighty swells from the "Gold Coast;"
but he had never been introduced to them, and
so he was technically as much a stranger to them
as if he had just arrived from the far South him
self. Sylvia, who was new to the social customs
of Harvard, never dreamed of this situation, and
so left him to watch the comedy undisturbed.

150 SYLVIA

There came along a couple of Freshmen; class
mates of Harley's and members of his set. He
was buried in his labors, but they were not to
be put off. "What's the matter, old man?"
they asked; and when he answered, "Don't
know," they stood, and waited for him to find
out, stealing meantime fascinated glances at the
vision in the car.

Next came two street-boys; and of course
street-boys always, stop and stare when there
is a car out of order. Then came an old gentle
man, who paused, smiling benevolently, as he
might have paused to survey a florist's window.
So there was Sylvia, quite by accident, and in
perfect innocence, holciing a levee on the side
walk, with two men whose ties proclaimed them
members of an ineffable and awe-inspiring "final"
club doing homage to her.

"My cousin's a Freshman," she was saying.
"So I'll have three years more to come here."

"Oh, but think of us!" exclaimed the basket-
hats together. "We go out next month!"

"Can't you manage to fail in your exams?"
she inquired. "Or is that impossible at Har
vard?" She looked from one to another, and
in the laugh that followed even the street-boys
and the benevolent old gentleman joined.

By that time the gathering was assuming the
proportions of a scandal. Men were coming
from the "Yard" to see what was the matter.

"Hello, Frank Shirley," called a voice. "Any
body hurt?" And Sylvia answered in a low

SYLVIA LINGERS 151

voice, "Yes, several." She looked straight into
Harmon's eyes, and she got his answer — that she
had not spoken too rashly.

The seance came to a sudden end, because
Harley realized that he was subjecting club men
to an ordeal on the street. He straightened up
from his spark-plug. "I think she's all right
now," he said — and to one of the street-boys,
"Crank her up, there."

"Where are you stopping?" asked Harmon.

Harley named the hotel, but did not take the
hint — which was presumptuous in a Freshman.
"Good-bye, Miss Castleman," said the Senior,
wistfully; and the crowd parted and the car
went on.

After which Sylvia sank back in her seat and
looked at Frank and laughed. "Isn't it wonder
ful," she exclaimed, "what a woman can do with
her eyes!"

§2

THEY returned to the hotel, where there were
engagements — a whole world waiting to be con
quered. But Sylvia delivered an ultimatum;
she would pay no attention to anyone until she
had an hour alone with Frank. When Aunt
Varina had meekly left her, she first flew into
Frank's arms and permitted him to kiss her;
and then, seated decorously in a separate chair,
she proceeded to explain to him the mystery of
her presence there.

152 SYLVIA

She had come to New York to buy clothes for
herself and the rest of the family; that much
Frank had known. He had begged her to run
up to Cambridge, but the family had refused
permission. Celeste was going to have a house
party, the baby had been having more convul
sions — these were only two of a dozen reasons
why she must return. Frank had been intending
to go down to New York to see her — when sud
denly had come a telegram, saying that she would
arrive the next afternoon.

"It was my scheme," she said, "and I expect
you to be proud of me when you hear it. If

you scold me about it, Frank !" She said

this with the tone of voice that she used when
it was necessary to disarm some one.

It was difficult for Frank to imagine himself
objecting to any device which had brought her
there. "Go ahead, honey," said he.

"It has to do with Harley," she explained.
"Mother sent me one of his letters, telling about
the terrible tune he's been having here. You
see, he's scared to death for fear he won't make
the 'Dickey' — or that he won't be among the
earlier tens. So they were all upset, and they've
been scurrying round getting letters of introduc
tion for him, moving heaven and earth to get
him hi with the right people. I read his letter,
and then suddenly the thought flashed over me,
'There's my chance!' Don't you see?"

"No," said Frank, and shook his head— "I
don't see at all."

SYLVIA LINGERS 153

"Sometimes," said the girl, "when I think
about you, I get frightened, because — if you
knew how wicked I really am — ! Well, anyhow,
I sat down and wrote to Harley that he was a
goose, and that if he had sense enough to get
me to Harvard, he'd make the 'Dickey/ and
one of the 'final' clubs as well. I told him to
write Aunt Nannie at once; and sure enough,
just about the tune they got Harley's letter,
there came a telegram saying I might come!"

It was impossible for Frank not to laugh —
if it were only because Sylvia was so happy. "So,"
he said, "you've come to be a social puller-
in for Harley!"

"Now, Frank, don't be horrid! I saw it this
way — and it's obvious arithmetic: If I do this,
I'll see Frank part of every day for a couple of
weeks; if I don't, I'll only see him for a day
when he comes to New York. There's only one
trouble — you must promise not to mind."

"What is it?"

"We must not tell anybody that we're engaged.
If people knew that, I couldn't do much with
them."

"But I've told some people."

"Whom?"

"Well, my room-mate."

"He's not a club man, so that won't matter.
It doesn't really matter, if we simply don't an
nounce it. You must promise not to mind,
Frank — be good, and let me have my fun hi my
foolish way, and you sit by and smile, as you did
in the car."

154 SYLVIA

Frank's answer was that he expected to sit by
and smile all his life; a statement which led to
a discussion between them, for Sylvia made
objection to his desire to shrink from the world,
and declared that she meant to fight for him, and
manage him, and make something out of him.
When these discussions arose he would laugh,
in his quiet, good-natured way, and picture him
self as a diplomat at St. James', wearing knee-
breeches and winning new empires by means of
the smiles of "Lady Sunshine." "But, you
forget one thing," he said — "that I came to
Harvard to learn something."

"When you go out into the world," propounded
Sylvia, "you'll realize that the things one knows
aren't half so important as the people one knows."

Frank laughed. "That wouldn't be such a
bad motto for our Alma Mater," he said; then,
thinking it over, "They might put it up as an
inscription, where Freshmen with social ambitions
could learn it. A motto for all college climbers —
'Not the things one knows, but the people one
knows!' '

Sylvia was looking at him, a trifle worried.
"Frank," she said, "suppose you go through life
finding fault with everything in that fashion?"

"I don't know," he replied. "But I shall
always fight a wrong when I see one. Wait till
you've been here a while, and you'll see about
this!"

"I ought to have come before," she said; "I
could have solved so many problems for you.

SYLVIA LINGERS 155

It's the same everywhere in life — those who are
out rail at those who are in, but when you hear
both sides, you see the matter differently. I've
a grudge against you, Frank — you misrepresented
things. You told me they had abolished the
Fraternity system here, and I didn't know about
the clubs, and so I permitted you to be a 'goat.' '

"They call it a 'rough-neck' here," he corrected.

"Well, a 'rough-neck.' Anyway, I let you
take a back seat. And just as if you didn't have
ability "

"Ability!" Frank exclaimed. Then, checking
himself, he went on gently to explain the social
system he had found at Harvard. In the Southern
colleges, ability and good breeding might still
get a poor man recognition. But the clubs here
were run by a little, group of Boston and New
York society men, who had been kept in a "set"
from the day they were born. They went to
kindergarten together, to dancing school together
— their sisters had private sewing circles, instead
of those at church. They had their semi-private
dormitories on Auburn Street — one might come
with a string of automobiles and a stud of polo
ponies, but he would find that his money would
not rent one of those places unless the crowd had
given its O. K. They roomed apart, they ate and
drank apart, and the men in their own class never
even met them.

Sylvia listened in bewilderment. "Surely,
Frank," she exclaimed, "there must be some
friendliness "

156 SYLVIA

He smiled. "Just as I said, honey — you're
judging by the South. We've snobbery enough
there, God knows — but some of us are kind-
hearted. You can't imagine things up here —
how cold and formal people are. They have
their millions of dollars and the social position
this gives them; they are jealous of those who
have more and suspicious of those who have
less — and they've been that way for so long that
every plain human feeling is dead in them. Take
a man like Douglas van Tuiver, for example.
You've heard of him, I suppose?"

"I've heard of the van Tuivers, of course."

"Well, Douglas is our bright particular social
star just now. He's inherited from three estates
already — the Lord only knows how many tens of
millions in his own right. He's gone the 'Gold
Coast' crowd one better — has his own private
house here in Cambridge, and an apartment in
Boston also, I'm told. He entered society there
at the same time that he entered college; and he
doesn't think much of our social life — except the
little set he'd already met in Boston and New
York. He's stiff and serious as a chief justice —
self-conscious, condescending

"Do you know him?" asked Sylvia.

"I never met him, of course; but I see him
all the time, because he's in some of my sections."

"In some of your sections!" cried Sylvia.
"And you never met him?"

The other laughed. "You see, honey," he said,
"how little you are able to imagine life at Har-

SYLVIA LINGERS 157

vard! Douglas, my dear, has been yachting with
English peers; he has Scotch earls for ancestors,
and an accent that he has acquired in their honor.
He sets more store by them, I suppose, than he
does by his old Knickerbocker ancestors, who left
him several farms between Fifth and Madison
Avenues."

" Is he a club man?" asked Sylvia.

"He lives to set the social standards for our
clubs; a sort of arbiter elegantiarum. It's one of
the sayings they attribute to him, that he came
to Harvard because American university life was
in need of Hone.' '

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Sylvia; and again,
in a lower voice, "Oh, dear me!" She pondered,
and then with sudden interest inquired, "He'd
be a good man for Harley to meet, wouldn't he?"

"None better," smiled Frank, "if he wants to
make the 'Dickey.' '

"Then," said Sylvia, "he's the man I'd best
go after."

The other laughed. "All right, honey. But
you'll find him hard to interest, I warn you. His
career has all been planned — he's to marry
Dorothy Cortlandt, who'll bring him ten or
twenty millions more."

And Sylvia set her lips in a dangerous expres
sion. "He can marry Dorothy Cortlandt," she
said, "but not until I've got through with him!"

158 SYLVIA

§3

THAT evening was reserved for a performance
of the "Glee Club;" and just before dinner
Harley came in, bubbling over with delight, to
say that Harmon had called up and invited him
to bring his cousin and share his box.

And so behold Sylvia, clad in pale blue silk,
with touches of gold embroidery and a gold band
across one shoulder, swimming like a new planet
into the ken of the watchers of these brilliantly
lighted skies. There were few acquaintances of
"Bob" Harmon who did not come to the door
of the box to get a closer view of the phenomenon ;
while the delighted cousin found himself besieged.
Sedate upper-classmen put their arms across his
shoulders, tremendous club men got him by the
coat sleeve in the lobby. "Let us in on that,
Chilton!" "Now don't be a hog, old man!"-
"You know me, Chilton!" Yes, Harley knew
them all, and calculated to keep knowing them
for some time to come.

The next morning he came early, and took Sylvia
for a drive, to lay before her the whole situation,
and coach her for the part she was to play; for
this was the enemy's country, and there were
many pitfalls to be avoided.

It ought perhaps to be explained at the outset
how it happened that Aunt Nannie, whose time
was spent in erecting monuments to Southern
heroes, had sent one of her sons to the headquarters
of those who had slain them. It had come about

SYLVIA LINGERS 159

through the seductions of a young lady named
Edith Winthrop, whose father was building a
railroad through half a dozen of the Southern
states. He had brought a private-train party
upon an inspection trip, and the Major and
Harley, happening to be at the capital, had met
them at a luncheon given by the Governor.
Everybody knows, of course, that the Winthrops
live in Boston; and everybody in Boston knows
of Mrs. Isabel Winthrop, that charming matron
whose home has been as the axle of the Hub for
the past twenty years. At Cambridge it was at
first a scandal, and later a tradition, how the
lovely lady was strolling in the "Yard" one
spring evening, and a group of Seniors broke into
the merry chorus of a popular musical-comedy
air —

"Isabella, Isabella,
Is a queen of good society!
Isabella, Isabella,
Is the dandy queen of Spain!"

And now Harley had come to Cambridge to
lay siege to the princess of this line. They had
invited him to tea, where he had felt himself an
obscure and humiliated Freshman. In his pride
he had gone away, vowing that he would not
return until he had made the " Dickey," and made
it without any social aid from the lady of his
adoration. But, alas, Harley had found this a
task of undreamed-of difficulty. There were so
many Edith Winthrops in Boston, New York,

160 SYLVIA

Philadelphia and other centers of good breeding;
and there were so many obscure Freshmen trying
to make the " Dickey" in order to shine before
them!

"You can't imagine how it is, Sylvia," he said.
"They don't know us here — we're nobodies.
I've met all the Southern men who amount to
anything, but it's Eastern men who run the
worth-while clubs. And it's almost impossible to
meet them — I'd be ashamed to tell you how I've
had to toady."

"Harley!" exclaimed the girl.

"I'll tell you the facts," he answered — "you'll
have to face them — just as I did."

"But how could you stay?"

He laughed. "I stayed," he said, "because I
wanted Edith."

He paused, then continued: "First I thought
I'd try football; but you see I haven't weight
enough — I only made the Freshman 'scrub.'
I joined the Shooting Club-- and I certainly can
shoot, you know; but that hasn't seemed to help
very much. I went in for the Banjo Club, and
I've worked my fingers off, and I expect to make
the Board, but I don't think that will be enough.
You see, ability really doesn't count at all."

"That's what Frank said," remarked Sylvia,
sympathetically. "What is it that counts?
Learning?"

"Rot — no! ' exclaimed Harley.

uThen what is it?"

"It's knowing the right people. But you can't

SYLVIA LINGERS 161

manage that here — it has to be done before you
get to college. The crowd doesn't need you,
they don't care what you think about them — and
I tell you, they know how to give you the cold
shoulder!"

Sylvia was indignant in spite of herself. "You,
a Castleman!" she exclaimed. "Why, your
ancestors were governors of this place while
theirs were tavern-keepers and blacksmiths!"

"I know," said the other — "but it isn't ancestors
that count here — it's being on the ground and
holding on to what you've got."

"They're all rich men, I suppose?"

"Perfectly rotten! You're simply out of it
from the start. I heard of a man last year who
spent fifty thousand dollars trying to make the
' Dickey,' and then only got in the seventh ten!
You've no idea of the lengths men go to; they
pull every sort of wire, social and business and
financial and political — they bring on their fathers
and brothers to help them '

"And their cousins," said Sylvia, and brought
the discussion to an end with a laugh. "Now
come, Harley," she said, after a pause. "Let's
get down to business. You want me to meet
the right men, and to make them aware of the
existence of my Freshman cousin. Have you got
a list of the men? Or am I to know by their
ties?"

Harley named and described several she would
meet. Through them she would, of course, meet
others; she must feel her way step by step, being

H

162 SYLVIA

guided by circumstances. There was another
matter, which was delicate, but must be broached.
"I don't want to seem like a cad," said he,
"but you see, Frank Shirley isn't a club man — he
hasn't tried to be '

"I understand," said Sylvia, with a smile.

"Of course, the fact that you come from his
home town, that's excuse enough for his knowing
you. But if you make it too conspicuous — that
is "

Harley stopped. "It's all right, Harley,"
smiled Sylvia; "you may be sure that Frank
Shirley has too much of a sense of humor to want
to get in our way."

The other hesitated over the remark. It
looked like deep water, and he decided not to
venture in. "It's not only that," he went on —
"there's Frank's crowd. They're all outsiders,
and one or two of them especially are impossible."

"In what way?"

"Well, there's Jack Colton, Frank's room-mate.
He's gone out of his way to make himself obnoxious
to everybody. He's done it deliberately, and I
suppose he has his reasons for it. I only hope he
has sense enough not to want to 'queer' you."

"What's he done?"

"He's a Western chap — from Wyoming, I
think. Seems to have more money than he
knows how to spend decently. He insisted on
smoking a pipe in his Freshman year, and when
they tried to haze him, he fought. He's wild
as anything, they say — goes off on a spree every
month or two "

SYLVIA LINGERS 163

"How does Frank come to be rooming with
such a man?" asked Sylvia, in surprise.

"Met him traveling, I understand. They
were in a train- wreck."

"Oh, that's the man! But Frank didn't tell
me he was wild."

"Well," said the other, "Frank would naturally
stand up for him. I suppose he's trying to keep
him straight."

There was a silence. Then suddenly Sylvia
asked, "Harley, did you ever meet Douglas van
Tuiver?"

"No!" replied Harley. "Why do you ask?"

"Nothing — only I heard of him, and I was
thinking perhaps he'd be a good man to help
you."

"Small doubt of that," said the boy, with a
laugh. "But it might be difficult to meet 'him."

"Why?"

"Well, he picks the people he meets. And he
doesn't come to public affairs."

"Stop and think a minute. Is there nobody
who might know him?"

"Why— there's Mrs. Winthrop."

"He goes there?"

"They're great chums, I understand. I could
get her to invite you."

But Sylvia, after a moment's thought, shook her
head. "No," she said, "I think I'll let him take
me to her."

"By Jove!" laughed Harley. "That's cool!"
And then he asked, curiously, "What makes you
pick him out?"

164 SYLVIA

"I don't know," said Sylvia. "I find myself
thinking about him. You see, I meet men like
Mr. Harmon and the others last night — they're
all obvious. I've known them by the dozen
before, and I can always tell what they'll say.
But this man sounds as if he might be different.

"Humph!" said Harley. "I wish you could
get a chance! But I fear you'd find him & difficult
proposition. Girls must be forever throwing
themselves at his head "

"Yes," said Sylvia. "But I wouldn't make
that mistake." Then, after a pause, she added,
"I think it might be good for him, too. I might
make a man of him!"

§4

THERE was a Senior named Thurlow, whom
Sylvia had met at the "Glee Club" affair, and
who, after judicious approach through Harley and
Aunt Varina, had secured her promise to come to
tea in his rooms. So she saw one of the dormi
tories on Auburn Street, having such modern
conveniences as "buttons," a squash court, and
a white marble swimming pool — with a lounging
room at one end, and easy chairs from which to
watch one's fellow mermen at play.

Thurlow showed her about his own apartments,
equipped with that kind of simplicity that is so
notoriously expensive. He showed her his tennis
cups and rowing trophies, talking most inter-

SYLVIA LINGERS 165

estmgly about the wonderful modern art, the
pulling of an oar — in which there are no less than
seventy errors a man can commit in the "catch,"
and a hundred-and-seventy in the "stroke."
Thurlow, it appeared, must have committed sev
eral hi last year's race, for he had snapped his
oar, and only saved the day by jumping over
board, being picked up in a state of collapse,
and reported as drowned in the first newspaper
extras.

There came others of his set: Jackson, the
coxswain of the crew, known as "Little Billee,"
a wizened up and drolly cynical personage; also
Bates, his room-mate, who was called "Tubby,"
and was hard put to it when the ladies asked him
why, because he could not explain that he was
"a tub of guts." The wits declared that he
weighed two hundred and twenty when he was
in training for the fat man's race; he had been
elected the official funny man of his class, and
whenever he made a joke he led off with a queer
little cackle of high-pitched laughter, which never
failed to carry the company with him. There
came Arlow Bynner, the famous quarter-back,
and Tom, his twin brother, so much like him that
when he had first come to college the Sophomores
had dyed his hair. There came Shackleford,
millionaire man-of-fashion, who had been picked
for president of the new Senior Class, and who
looked so immaculate that Sylvia thought of
magazine advertisements of leisure-class brands of
tobacco.

166 SYLVIA

There were six men in the room, and only two
women — of which one was Aunt Varina, the chap-
erone. You can imagine that it was an ordeal
for the other woman! It is easy enough for a
girl to make out when she is looking at memorial
inscriptions and historic elm trees, at smoking
outfits and rowing sculls; but it's another matter
to be cornered by six fastidious upper-classmen,
their looks saying plainer than words: " We've
been hearing about you, but we're from Missouri
— now bring out your bag of tricks!"

Poor Sylvia — she began, as usual, by having
a fright. She could think of nothing to say to
all these men. She chose this moment to recol
lect some warnings which had been given by Har
riet, before she left home, as to the exactingness
and blase"ness of Northern college men; also
some half-ventured hints of her cousin, that
possibly her arrows might be too light in the
shaft for the social heavyweights of this intel
lectual center. She gazed from one to another
in agony; she bit her tongue until she tasted
blood, scolding and exhorting herself like a foot
ball coach driving a "scrub" team.

It was "Bob" Harmon whose coming saved
her. The very sight of him brought her inspira
tion. She had managed him, had she not?
Where was the man she had ever failed to manage?
She recollected how she had looked at him, and
what she had said to him in the auto ; there came
suddenly the trumpet-call in her soul, in the far
deeps of her the trampling and trembling, the

SYLVIA LINGERS 167

fluttering of banners and murmuring of voices —
signs of the arrival of that rescuing host which
came to her always in emergencies, and constituted
the miracle of Sylvia. Her friend Harriet Atkin
son, herself no dullard in company, would sit by
and watch the phenomenon hi awe. "Sunny,"
she would say, "I can see it coming! I can see
it beginning to bubble! The light comes into
your eyes, and I whisper to myself, 'Now, now!
She's going to make a killing!' '

What is it — who can say? That awakening hi
the soul of man, that sense of uplift, of new
power arriving, of mastery conscious and exultant!
To some it is known as genius, and to others as
God. To have possessed it in some great crisis
is to have made history; and most strange have
been the courses to which men have been lured
by the dream of keeping it continuously — to stand
upon a pillar and be devoured by worms, to hide
in desert caves and lash one's flesh to strips — or
to wear tight stays and high-heeled shoes, and
venture into a den of Harvard club-men!

§5

HALF an hour or so later, when they were
passing tea and cake, the flame of her fun burned
less brightly for a few minutes, and she had tune
to remember a purpose which was stored away
in the back of her mind. All her faculties now

168 SYLVIA

became centered upon it; and those who wish
may follow the winding serpent of her cunning.

She had been telling them about the negro
boy who had bitten a piece out of the baby.
Thurlow remarked, "Yours must be an interesting
part of the world."

"We love it," she said. "But you wouldn't."

"Why not?"

"You'd miss too many things you are used to.
Our college boys have no such luxury as this."
She looked about her.

"You think this so very luxurious?"

"I do indeed. I'm not sure that I think it's
good taste for young fellows."

"But why not?"

"It gets you out of touch with life," replied
Sylvia, with charming gravity. ("Don't play too
long on one string!" had been a maxim of Lady
Dee.) "I think it's demoralizing. This place
might be a sanatorium instead of a dormitory —
if only you had elevators to take the invalids
upstairs."

Somebody remarked, "We have elevators in
many of the dormitories."

"Is that really so?" asked Sylvia. "I don't
see how you can go beyond that — unless some
of you take to having private houses."

There was a laugh. "We've come to that,
too," said Bates.

"What?" cried the girl. "Surely not!"

"Douglas van Tuiver has a house," replied
Bates.

SYLVIA LINGERS 169

"Surely you are jesting!"

"No! I'll show it to you, Miss Castleman."

"Who is Douglas van Tuiver?"

The men glanced at one another. "Haven't
you ever heard of the van Tuivers?" asked one.

"Who are they?" countered Sylvia, who never
lied when she could avoid it.

"They are one of our oldest families," said
Shackleford — who came from New York. "Also
one of the best known."

"Well," said Sylvia, duly rebuked, "you see
how very provincial I am."

"He's a nephew of Mrs. Harold Cliveden,"
ventured Harmon.

"Cliveden?" repeated Sylvia. "I think I've
heard that name." She kept a straight face —
though the lady was the reigning queen of New
port, and a theme of the society gossip of all
American newspapers. Then, not to embarrass
her friends by too great ignorance, she hurried
on, "But you surely don't mean that this man has
a house all to himself?"

"He has," said Thurlow.

"He has more than that," said Jackson. "He
has a castle in Scotland."

"I don't mind castles so much. One can
inherit them "

"No, he bought this one."

"Well, even so — castles are romantic and
interesting. One might have a dream of founding
a family. But for a man to come to college and
occupy a whole house — what motive could he
have but ostentation?"

170 SYLVIA

No one answered — though she waited for an
answer. At last, with a grave face, she pro
nounced the judgment, "I would expect to find
such a man a degenerate."

They were evidently shocked, but covered it
by laughing. "Lord!" said Bates, "I'd like to
have van Tuiver hear that!"

"Probably it would be good for him," replied
Sylvia, coldly.

Everybody grinned. "Wish you'd tell him!"
said the man.

"I'd be delighted."

"Would you really?"

"Why certainly."

"By Jove, I believe you'd do it!" declared
Bates.

"But why shouldn't I do it?"

"I don't know. When people meet van
Tuiver they sometimes lose their nerve."

"Is he so very terrible?"

"Well, he's rather imposing."

Then Sylvia took a new line. "Of course,"
she said, hesitatingly, "I wouldn't want to be
irreverent —

"May I go and bring him here?" inquired
Bates, eagerly.

To which she replied, "Perhaps one owes more
deference to Royalty. Shouldn't you take me to
him?"

"We'll keep you on a throne of your own,"
said Thurlow — "at least, while you are here."
(It was quite as if he had been a Southern man.)

SYLVIA LINGERS 171

But Bates was not to be diverted from his
idea. "Won't you let me go and get him?" he
inquired.

"Does he visit in dormitories?"

"Really, Miss Castleman, I'm not joking.
Wouldn't you like to meet him?"

"Why should I?"

"Because — we'd all like to see what would
happen."

"From what you say about him," remarked
Sylvia, "he sounds to me like a bore. Or
at any rate, a young man who is in need of
chastening."

"Exactly!" cried Bates. "And we'd like to
see you attend to it!"

The time had come, Sylvia thought, to play
upon a new string. She looked about her with
a slightly distrait air. "Don't you think," she
inquired, "that we are giving him too large a
portion of this charming afternoon?"

The men appreciated the compliment; but the
other theme still enticed them. Said Jackson,
"We can't give up the idea of the chastening, Miss
Castleman."

"Of course, if you are afraid of him — " added
Bates, slyly.

There was a momentary flash in Sylvia's eyes.
But then she laughed — "You can't play a game
like that on me!"

"We would so like," said Jackson, "to see
van Tuiver get a drubbing!"

"Please, Miss Castleman!" added Harmon,
"give him a drubbing!"

172 SYLVIA

But the girl only held out her white-gloved
hands. "Look at these," she said, "how pure
and spotless!"

Said " Tubby" : " I hereby register a vow, I will
never partake of food again until you two have
met!"

Sylvia rose, looking bored. "I'm going to run
away," she said, "if you don't find something
interesting to talk about." And strolling to
wards a cabinet, "Mr. Thurlow, come and intro
duce me to this charming little Billikin!"

§6

SYLVIA had promised to go with Frank the next
day to a luncheon in his rooms. She found her
self looking forward with relief to meeting his
"crowd." "Oh, Frank," she said, when they
had set out together, "you've no idea how glad
I am to see you. I have such a craving for
something home-like. You can't understand,
perhaps "

"Perhaps I can," said Frank, smiling. "I
can't say that I've been in Boston society, but
I've been on the outskirts."

"Frank," she exclaimed, "you don't ever worry
about me, do you? Truly, the more I see of
other people, the more I love you. And all I
want is to be alone with you. I'm tired of the
game. Everybody expects me to be pert and
saucy; and I can be it, you know "

SYLVIA LINGERS 173

She stopped, and he smiled. "Yes, I know."

"But since I've met you, I get sorry, sometimes
even ashamed. You see what you've done to
me!"

"What in the world have you been doing?"
he asked.

"Oh, some day I'll tell you — don't ask me now,
It's just that I'm tired of society — I wasn't cut
out for the life."

"Why, it was only a few days ago that you
were talking about bringing me out!"

"I know, Frank. I try to play the game, but
deep down in my soul I hate it. I'm successful
now, but it's the truth that in the beginning
I never took a step that I wasn't driven. When
I went into a ball-room, my teeth would chatter
with fright, and I'd want to hide in a corner.
Aunt Nannie would get hold of me, and take me
into the dressing-room, and scold me and stir
me up. I can hear her now. 'You! Sylvia
Castleman, my niece, a wall-flower! Have you
forgotten who you are?' So then, of course, I'd
have to think of my ancestors and be worthy of
them. She'd pinch my cheeks until they were
red, and wipe the wet corners of my eyes, and
put a fresh dab of powder on my nose, and stick
in a strand of hah-, and twist a curl, and shift
a bow of ribbon to the other shoulder — and then
out I'd go to be stared at."

"You've got the job pretty well in hand by
now," smiled Frank.

"Yes, I know, but I don't really like it — not

174 SYLVIA

with my real self. I'm always thinking what
fun it would be to be natural! I wonder what
I'd turn into! And whether you'd like me!"

"I'd take my chances."

"Would you really, Frank? Just suppose I
stopped dressing, for instance? Suppose I never
wore high heels and stiff collars? Suppose I dis
pensed with my modiste, and you discovered that
I had no figure."

"I'd take my chances," he laughed again.

"You look at me, and you like what you see.
But you've no idea what a work of art I am, nor
how much I cost — thousands and thousands of
dollars! And so many people to watch me and
scold me — so much work to be done on me, day
after day! Suppose my hair wasn't curled, for
instance! Or suppose my nose were shiny!"

"I don't mind shiny so much, Sylvia "

"Ah! But if it was red! That's what they're
always hammering into me — whenever I forget
my veil. Or look at these lovely soft hands of
mine — such beautiful nails. Do you realize that
I have to keep them in glycerine gloves all night
— and ugh! how clammy and nasty they are when
it's cold! And the time it takes to keep the nails
polished!"

"You see," she went on, after a pause, "you
don't take my wickedness seriously. But you
should ask Harriet Atkinson about some of the
things we've done. She'll come and say, ' There's
a new man coming to-night. Teach me a " spiel " !'
She'll tell me all about him, where he comes from

SYLVIA LINGERS 175

and what he likes, and I'll tell her what to say
and what to pretend to be. And I've done it
myself — hundreds of times."

"Did you_ do it for me?" asked Frank,
innocently.

Sylvia paused. "I tried to," she said. "Some
times I did, but then again I couldn't." She
put her hand upon his arm, and he felt a pressure,
thrilling him with a swift delight.

But they had come now to the dormitory, so
her outburst had to end. She took her hand from
his arm, saying, "Frank, I don't want you to kiss
me any more until we're married. I'm going to
stop doing everything that makes me ashamed!"

§7

BEHOLD now a new "Lady Sunshine," in a clean
white apron which her hosts had provided for
the occasion, stirring mushrooms in cream and
superintending stewed chicken, while Frank
washed salad in the bathroom, and Jack Colton
was half way up to his elbows in mayonnaise.
This was the first time that Sylvia had met
Frank's roor^-mate, with whom she had intended
to be very* stern, because of his "wildness."
Although she was used to wild boys, and had
helped to tame a number of them, she did not
approve of such qualities in a companion of her
lover.

176 SYLVIA

Jack, however, was a boy with what the Irish
call "a way with him." He had curly brown hair
and a winning countenance, and such a laugh
that it was not easy to disagree with him. More
over a halo of romance hung about him, owing to
the fact that Frank had first met him after a
railroad wreck, sitting in the snow and holding
in his lap a baby whose mother had been killed.
Jack had engaged a nurse and sent the child all
the way out to his own mother in Wyoming;
and how could any girl object to a friendship
begun under such auspices? If his mother was
indulgent and sent him more pocket money than
he could decently spend, might not one regard
that as the boy's misfortune rather than his
fault?

There was Dennis Dulanty, a fair-haired young
Irishman who wrote poems, and was Sylvia's
slave from the first moment she entered the
room. There was Tom Firmin, a heavily built
man with a huge head made bigger by thick,
black hair. Firmin was working his way through
college and had no time for luncheon parties, but
he had come this once to meet Sylvia. The girl
listened to him with some awe, because Frank
had said he had the best mind in the class.
Finally there was Jack's married sister, who
lived in Boston, and was chaperone.

There were four little tables with four chafing
dishes, and two study tables put together and
covered with a spread of linen and silver. There
were strawberries which Dulanty had dropped
upon the floor; there were sandwiches which

SYLVIA LINGERS 177

Tom Firmin had tried in vain to cut thin, and
wine about which Jack Colton talked far too
wisely, for one so young. Jack had been round
the world, and had tasted the vintage of many
countries, and told such interesting adventures
that one forgot one's disapproval.

Sylvia found herself happy here, and decided
that Frank's crowd was far more interesting than
Thurlow's. All these men were outsiders, holding
themselves aloof from the social life of the Uni
versity and resentful -of the conditions they had
found there. After awhile it occurred to Sylvia
that it would be entertaining to hear what these
men would have to say upon a subject which had
been occupying her mind; so, by a few deft
touches, she brought the conversation to a point
where some one else was moved to mention the
name of Douglas van Tuiver.

Immediately she discovered that she had
touched a live wire. There was Tom Firmin,
frowning under his thick black eyebrows. "For
my part, I have just one thing to say: a man who
has any pretense at self-respect cannot even know
him."

"Is he as bad as all that?" Sylvia asked.

"It's not a question of personality — it's a
question of the amount of his wealth."

Sylvia would have appreciated this if it had
been a jest. But apparently the speaker was
serious, and so she gazed at him in perplexity.
"Is a very rich man to have no friends?" she
asked,

12

178 SYLVIA

"Never fear," laughed Jack, "there are plenty
of tuft-hunters who will keep him company."

"But why should you sentence him to the
company of tuft-hunters, just because he happens
to be born with a lot of money?"

"It isn't I that sentence him," said Firmin —
"it's the nature of things."

"But," exclaimed the girl, "I've had million
aires for friends — and I hope I'm not the dreadful
thing you say."

The other smiled for the first time. "Frank
Shirley insists that there are angels upon earth,"
he said. "But if you don't mind, Miss Castle-
man, I'd prefer to illustrate this argument by
every-day mortals like myself. I'm willing to
admit, as a theoretical proposition, that there
might be a disinterested friendship between a
poor man and a multimillionaire; but only if
the poor man is a Diogenes and stays in his tub.
I mean, if he has no business affairs of any sort,
and takes no part in social life; if he never lets
the multimillionaire take him automobiling or
invite him to dinner; if he has no marriageable
sisters, and the multimillionaire has none either.
But all these, you must admit, make a difficult
collection of circumstances."

"Miss Castleman," said Jack, "you can see
why we call Tom Firmin our Anarchist."

But Sylvia was not to be diverted. She had
never heard such ideas as this, and she wanted
to understand them. "You must think hardly
of human nature!" she objected.

SYLVIA LINGERS 179

"As I said before, it has nothing whatever to
do with personality, it's the automatic effect of
a huge sum of money. Take my own case, for
example — so I can talk brutally and not hurt
anyone. I want to be a lawyer, but meanwhile
I have to earn my living. I love a girl, but I've
no hope of marrying, because I'm poor and she's
poor. If I struggle along in the usual way, it'll
be five years — maybe ten years — before we can
marry. But here I am in college, and here's
Douglas van Tuiver; if by any device of any
sort I can manage to penetrate his consciousness
— if I can make him think me a wit or a scholar,
a boon companion or a great soul, the best half
back in college or an amusing old bull in the
social china shop — why, then right away things
are easier for me. You've heard what Thackeray
said about walking down Piccadilly with a duke
on each arm? If I can walk across the Yard
with Douglas van Tuiver, then a lot of important
men suddenly realize that I exist; the first thing
you know I make a club, and so when I come out
of college I'm the chum of some of the men who
are running the country, and I have a salary of
five thousand a year at the start, and ten thousand
in a year or two, a hundred thousand before I'm
forty, and a go at a rich marriage into the bargain.
Do you think there are many would-be lawyers
to whom all that would be no temptation? Let
me tell you, it's the temptation which has turned
many a man in this college into a boot-licker!"

"But, Mr. Firmin!" cried Sylvia, in dismay.

180 SYLVIA

"What is your idea? Would you forbid rich men
coming to college?"

To which the other replied, "I'd go much farther
back than that, Miss Castleman — I'd forbid rich
men existing."

Sylvia was genuinely shocked. She had never
heard such words even in jest, and she thought
Tom Firmin a terrifying person. "You see,"
laughed Jack, "he really is an Anarchist!" And
Sylvia believed him, and resolved to remonstrate
with Frank about having such friends. But
nevertheless she went out from that breakfast
party with something new to think about in
connection with Douglas van Tuiver — and with
her mind made up that Mr. "Tubby" Bates would
have to die of starvation!

§8

THAT afternoon Sylvia was invited to one of
the club teas. These were very exclusive affairs,
and Jackson, who asked her, mentioned that
among those who poured tea would be Mrs.
Isabel Winthrop; also that Mrs. Winthrop had
expressed a particular desire to meet her.

This would mark a new stage in Sylvia's cam
paign for her cousin; but quite apart from that,
she was curious to meet this belle ideal of Auburn
Street. Sylvia had listened attentively to what
the denizens of the "Gold Coast" had to say about

SYLVIA LINGERS 181

" Queen Isabella," and had found herself rather
awe-stricken. When one spoke of a favorite
hostess in the South, one gave her credit for
tact, for charm, perhaps even for brilliance. But
apparently Mrs. Winthrop was the possessor of
a much more difficult and perplexing attribute —
a rare and lofty soul. She was a woman of real
intellect, they said — she had written a book upon
theories of aesthetics, and had taken a degree in
philosophy at the older Cambridge across the
seas. Such things were quite unknown in South
ern society, where a girl was rather taught to hide
her superfluous education, for fear of scaring the
men away.

So Sylvia found herself in a state of consider
able apprehension. If it had been a man, she
would have taken her chances; when she had
attended Commencement at her State University,
there were professors who would call and talk
about Assyrian bricks, and the relation between
ions and corpuscles — yet by listening closely, and
putting in a deft touch now and then to make
them talk about themselves, Sylvia had managed
to impress them as an intellectual young lady.
But now she had to deal with that natural enemy
of a woman — another woman. How was the
ordeal to be faced?

' Lady Dee had handed down the formula:
"When in difficulty, look the person in the eyes,
and remember who you are." This was the
counsel which came to Sylvia's rescue at the
moment of the dread encounter. She knew Mrs.

182 SYLVIA

Winthrop as soon as she caught sight of her;
she looked a woman of thirty-five — instead of
forty-five, which she really was — tall and
slender, undoubtedly beautiful, undoubtedly
proud, and yet with a kind of naive sincerity.
They met in the dressing-room by accident, and
the lady, recognizing Sylvia, took her hand and
gazed into her face; and Sylvia gazed back, with
those wide, clear eyes of hers, steadily, unflinch
ing, without a motion or a sound. At last Mrs.
Winthrop, putting her other hand upon the girl's,
clasped it and whispered intensely, "We met a
thousand years ago!"

Sylvia had no information as to any such
event, and she had not expected at all that kind
of welcome. So she continued to gaze — steadily,
steadily. And the spell communicated itself to
Mrs. Winthrop. "I heard that you were lovely,"
she murmured, hi a strange, low voice, "but I
really had no idea! Sylvia Castleman, you are
like a snow-storm of pear blossoms! You are a
Corot symphony of spring time!"

Now Sylvia had seen some of Corot's paintings,
but she had not learned to mix the metaphors of
the arts, and so she had no idea what Mrs. Win
throp meant. She contented herself with saying
something about the pleasure she felt at this
meeting.

But the other was not to be brought down to
mundane speech. "Dryad!" she murmured.
She had a manner and voice all her own, sybil-
line, oracular; you felt that she 'was speaking,

SYLVIA LINGERS 183

not to you, but to some disembodied spirit. It
was very disconcerting at first.

"You bring back lost youth to the world," she
said. "I want to talk to you, Sylvia — to find
out more about you. You aren't vain, I know.
You are proud!"

"Why — I'm not sure," said Sylvia, at a loss
for a moment.

"Oh, don't be vain!" said the lady. "Remem
ber — I was like you once."

Which gave Sylvia an opportunity of the sort
she understood. "I will look forward," she
said, "to the prospect of being like you."

The radiant lady pressed her hand. "Very
pretty, my child," she said. "Quite Southern,
too! But I must take you in and give the others
some of this joy."

Such was the beginning of the acquaintance
so utterly different from all possible beginnings,
as Sylvia had imagined them. She found in Edith
Winthrop, whom she met a few minutes later, a
person much nearer to what she had expected in
the mother. Miss Edith had her mother's beauty
and her mother's pride, but no trace of her
mother's sybilline qualities. A badly spoiled
young lady, was Sylvia's first verdict upon this
New England belle; a verdict which she delivered
promptly to her infatuated cousin, and which
she never found occasion to revise.

The friendship thus begun progressed rapidly.
Mrs. Winthrop asked if she might call, and com
ing the next day, discovered in Aunt Varina the

184 SYLVIA

perfect type of the Southern gentlewoman. So
the three were soon absorbed in talking genealogy.
At Miss Abercrombie's Sylvia had been surprised
to learn that it was bad form to talk about one's
ancestors; but apparently it was still permissible
in Boston — as it assuredly was in the South.

Mrs. Winthrop invited Sylvia to a party she
was giving; and when Sylvia spoke of having to
leave Boston, "Oh, stay," said the great lady.
"Come and stay with me — always!" Finally
Sylvia said that she would come to the party.

"I'll invite your cousin for the extra man,"
said the other. "It is to be a new kind of party
— you know how desperately one has to struggle
to keep one's guests from being bored. I got
this idea from a Southern man, so perhaps it's
an old story to you — a 'Progressive Love' party?"

"Oh, yes, we often have them," replied Sylvia.
She had not supposed that these intellectual
people would condescend to such play — having
pictured Boston society as occupied in translating
Meredith and Henry James.

"People have to be amused the world over,"
said Mrs. Winthrop. And when Sylvia looked
surprised to have her thought read, the other
gave her a long look, and smiled a deep smile.
"Sylvia," she propounded, "you and I under
stand each other. We are made of exactly the
same material."

SYLVIA LINGERS 185

§9

THERE followed after this meeting a trying time
for the girl. She went to a theatre in the evening,
and when she came back to the hotel she found
her aunt suffering acutely, with symptoms of
appendicitis. Although there was a doctor and
a nurse, she spent the entire night and half the
next day by her aunt's bedside. Sylvia's love
for her family appeared at a time like this a sort
of frenzy; she would have died a thousand deaths
to save them from suffering, and there was no
getting her to spare herself hi any way.

Her sympathy for Aunt Varina was the greater,
because this poor little lady was so patient and
unselfish. Whenever there was anything the
matter with her, she would make no trouble for
anyone, but crawl away and endure by herself.
She was one of those devoted souls, of which
there is one to be found in every big family,
who do not have a life of their own, but are
ground up daily, as it were, to make oil to keep
the great machine running smoothly. Sylvia,
who had in herself the making of such a family
lubricant, was irresistibly drawn to this gentle
soul in distress.

All night she helped the nurse with hot
"stoupes;" and even when the danger was passed
she could not be persuaded to rest, but sat by
the bedside, applying various kinds of smelling
salts and lavender water, trying to be so cheerful
that the patient would forget her pain. She

186 SYLVIA

smoothed the white forehead, noticing as she
did so how thin the gray hairs were getting.
She could look back to childhood days, when
Aunt Varina had been bright and young-looking
—there were even pictures of her as a girlish
beauty; but now her neck was scrawny and her
cheeks were wan, and most of her hair lay upon
her dressing-table.

The day passed, and then Sylvia was reminded
that she had promised to go to a college enter
tainment with Harley. She ought to have gone
to bed, but she did not like to disappoint her
cousin, so she drank a cup or two of strong coffee,
and was ready for anything that might come
along.

I used to say that I never knew a person who
could disappear so rapidly as Sylvia; who could
literally eat up the flesh off her bones by nervous
excitement. After a night and a day like this
she was another woman — that strange arresting
creature who made men start when they saw her,
and set poets to dreaming about angels and stars.
She wore a soft white muslin dress and a hat
with -a white plume in it — not intending to be
ethereal, but because an instinct always guided
her hand towards the color that was right.

The entertainment being not very interesting,
and the hall being close, after ah hour or so she
asked her cousin to take her out. It was a per
fect night, and she drank in the soft breeze and
strolled along, happy to watch the lights through
the trees and to hear singing in the distance.

SYLVIA LINGERS 187

But suddenly she discovered that she had lost
a medallion which she had worn about her neck.
"We must find it!" she exclaimed. "It's the one
with the picture of Aunt Lady!"

"Are you sure you had it?"

"I remember perfectly having it in the hall.
We'll find it if we're quick. Hurry! I can't,
with these heels on my shoes." So Harley started
back, and Sylvia began to walk slowly, looking
on the sidewalk.

Five or ten minutes passed thus; when, hearing
steps behind her, she glanced up, and saw a man
attired in evening dress. There was a light near
by, shining into her face, and she saw that he
looked at her; also, with her woman's intuition,
she realized that he had been startled.

He stopped. "Have you lost something?" he
asked, hesitatingly.

"Yes," she said.

"Could I be of any help?"

"Thank you," said Sylvia. "My cousin has
gone back to look. He will be here soon."

That was all. Sylvia resumed her search.
But the man's way was the same as hers, and
he did not go as fast as before. She was really
worried about her loss, and barely thought of
him. His voice was that of a gentleman, so his
nearness did not disturb her.

"Was it something valuable?" he asked, at
last.

"It was a medallion with a picture that I
prize."

188 SYLVIA

She stopped at. a corner, uncertain of the street
by which she and Harley had come. He stopped
also. "I would be very glad to help," he said,
"if you would permit me."

"Thank you," she said, "but I really think
that my cousin will find it. We had not come
far."

Again there was a pause. As she went on,
he was near her, looking diligently. After a
while she began to find the silence awkward, but
she did not like to send him away, and she did
not like to speak again. So it was with real
relief that, looking down the street, she saw
Harley coming. "There's my cousin!" she said.
"Oh, I do hope he's found it."

"He doesn't act as if he had," remarked the
other; and Sylvia's heart sank, for she saw that
Harley walked slowly, and with his eyes on the
ground.

When he was near enough she asked, "You
haven't found it?"

"No," he answered. "It's gone, I fear."

"Oh, too bad! too bad! What can we do?"

Harley had come near. Sylvia saw that he
looked at the man she was with, but there was
no recognition between them. Evidently they
did not know each other. Then, without offering
to stop, Harley passed them, saying. "I'll look
back this way."

"I don't think that's worth while," said the
girl. "I've searched carefully there."

"I'd better look," replied the other, who had

SYLVIA LINGERS 189

quickened his pace and was already some dis
tance off.

"But wait, Harley!" she called. She wanted
to explain to him how thoroughly she had searched ;
and, more important yet, she wanted to get
decently rid of the stranger.

But Harley went on, paying no attention to
her. She called him again, with some annoyance,
but he did not stop, and in a moment more had
turned a corner. She was perplexed and angered
by his conduct — more and more so as she thought
of it. How preposterous for him to brush past
in that fashion, and leave her with a man she
did not know! "What in the world can he
mean?" she exclaimed. "There's no need to
search back there any more!"

She stood, staring into the half-darkness.
When after a moment he did not reappear, she
repeated, helplessly, "What did he mean?
What did he mean?"

She looked at her companion, and saw an amused
smile upon his face. Her eyes questioned him,
and he said, "I suspect he saw you were with
me:'

For a moment Sylvia continued to stare at
him. Then, realizing that here was a serious
matter, she looked down at the ground — some
thing which the search for the medallion gave
her the pretext for doing.

"He saw you were with me" The more she
pondered the words, the more incredible they
seemed to her. Taken as they had come, with

190 SYLVIA

the tone and the accent and the smile, there was
only one thing they could mean. A week ago
Sylvia would have been incapable of compre
hending that meaning; but now she had seen so
much of social climbing that she had developed
a new sensitiveness. She understood — and yet she
could not believe that she understood. This man
did not know Harley, but Harley knew him, and
knew him to be somebody of importance — of such
importance that he had deliberately gone on and
left her standing there, so that she might pick
up an acquaintance with him on the street! And
the man had watched the little comedy, and
knowing his own importance, was chuckling with
amusement.

As the realization of this forced itself upon
Sylvia, the blood mounted to the very roots of
her hair. She was seized by a perfect fury of
shame and indignation; it was all that she could
do to keep from turning upon the man and tell
ing him what a cad and a puppy she thought him.
But then came a second thought — wasn't it true,
what he believed? What other explanation could
there be of Harley's conduct? It was her cousin
who was the puppy and the cad; she wanted to
run after him and tell him in the man's hearing.
But then again her anger turned upon the
stranger. If he had been a gentleman, would
he ever have let her know, what he thought?
Would he have stood there now, grinning like a
pot-boy?

Sylvia finished her meditations, and lifted her

SYLVIA LINGERS 191

eyes from the ground. She was clear as to what
she would do — she would punish this man, as
never in her life had she punished a man before.
She would punish him, even though to do it she
had to walk on the proprieties with the sharp
heels of her white suede slippers.

"I beg your pardon," she said, gently. "I
hope I don't presume "

"What is it?" he asked, and she looked him
over. He was a tall man, with a pale, lean face,
prominent features, and a large mouth which
drooped at the corners with heavy lines. He was
evidently a serious person, mature looking for a
student.

"Are you by any chance an instructor in the
University?" she asked.

"No, no," he said, surprised.

"But then — are you a public official of some
sort?"

"No," he said, still more surprised. "Why
should you think that?"

"Well, my cousin seemed to know you, and
yet not to know you. He seemed willing to
leave me with you, so I thought you might be
—possibly a city detective '

She saw him wince, and she feigned quick
embarrassment. "I hope you'll excuse me!" she
said. "You see, my position is difficult." Then,
with one of her shining smiles, "Or have I per
chance met Sir Galahad — or some other com
forter of distressed damsels — St. George, or Don
Quixote?"

192 SYLVIA

When an outrage is offered to you by one of
the loveliest beings that you have ever beheld,
with the face of a higher order of angels, and a
look straight into your eyes, so eloquent of
simplicity and trustfulness — what more can you
do than to look uncomfortable?

And Sylvia, of course, did not help him. She
just continued to gaze and smile. He got his
breath and stammered, "Really — I think — if you

will permit me " He paused, and then drew

himself up. "I think that I had best introduce
myself."

"I am willing to accept the rebuke," said
Sylvia, "without putting you to that trouble."

She saw that he did not even understand. He
went on — his manner that of a man laboring
with a very serious purpose. "I really think that
I should introduce myself."

"Are we not having a pleasant time without
it?" she countered.

This, of course, was a complete blockade. He
stood at a loss; and meantime Sylvia waited, with
every weapon ready and every sense alert. "I
beg pardon," he said, at last, "but may I ask
you something? I've a feeling as if I had met
you before."

"I am sure that you have not," she said,
promptly.

"You are from the South, are you not? I
have been in the South several times."

But still she would not give an inch; and
he became desperate. "Pardon me," he said,

SYLVIA LINGERS 193

"if I tell you my name. I am Douglas van
Tuiver."

Now if there was ever a moment in her life
when Sylvia needed her social training, it was
then. He was looking into her face, watching for
the effect of his announcement. But he never saw
so much as the flicker of an eyelid. Sylvia said,
quietly, " Thank you/' and waited to load her
batteries. She had meant harm to him before.
Imagine what she meant now!

"It is an unusual name," she observed, casually.
"German, I presume?"

"Dutch," said he.

"Ah, Dutch. But then — you speak English
perfectly."

"My ancestors," he said, "came to this country
in sixteen hundred and forty."

" Ah !" exclaimed Sylvia. ' ' How curious ! Mine
came the same year. Perhaps that was where
we met — in a previous incarnation." Then,
after a pause, "Van Tuivel, did you say?"

She could feel his start, and she waited breath
lessly to see what he would do. But there were
the soft, red-brown eyes and the look of utter
innocence — how could he gaze into them and
doubt? ' ' Van Tuiver, ' ' he said, gravely. ' ' Doug
las van Tuiver."

"Oh, I beg your pardon," Sylvia responded.
"Van Tuiver. I have it now."

She waited, feeling sure that he could not bear
to leave it there. And so it proved. "The name
is well known in New York," he remarked.

13

194 SYLVIA

"Ah," she said, "but then — there are so many
people in New York!"

Again there was a pause, while he took thought.
Sylvia remarked, helpfully, "In the South, you
see, everybody knows everybody else."

"I am not at all sure," said he, stiffly, "that
I should find that a desirable state of affairs."

"Neither should I," said she— "in New York."

Now perhaps you think that this kind of thing
is no particular strain upon the nerves of a young
girl; but Sylvia was seeking a way of escape.
Where was the villain Harley, and how^much
longer did he mean to keep her on the rack?
At this moment she saw a taxicab coming down
the street, and she recognized her chance.

"Please call it!" she exclaimed.

Instinctively her companion raised his hand.
Equally instinctive was his exclamation: "Are
you going?"

Her answer was her action; as the vehicle
drew up by the curb, she opened the door herself,
and stepped in. "To Boston," she said; and
the cab moved on. "Good-bye, Mr. van Tuiver,"
she called to her surprised companion. "Good
bye, until the next incarnation!"

§ 10

NEWS spread rapidly in Cambridge, Sylvia
found. The next afternoon she received a call
from Mr. "Tubby" Bates, and one glimpse of

SYLVIA LINGERS 195

his features told her that he was moved by some
compelling impulse.

"May I sit down, Miss Castleman?" he asked.
"I've something to ask you about. But I'm not
sure, Miss Castleman — that is — whether I've a
right to talk about it. You may think that I'm
gossiping "

"Oh, but I adore gossiping," put in the girl;
whereat the other stopped stammering and beamed
with relief. He was more like a Southern man
than anyone Sylvia had met here; she knew just
how to deal with him.

"Thank you ever so much!" he exclaimed.
"It's really very good of you." He drew his
chair an inch or two nearer, and in a confidential
voice began, "It's about Douglas van Tuiver."

"Yes, I supposed so," said Sylvia, with a smile.

"Oh, then something did happen!"

"Now, Mr. Bates," she laughed, "tell your
story."

"This noon," he said, "van Tuiver called me
on the 'phone — or at least his secretary did — and
asked me if I'd lunch at the club. When we sat
down, there were two other chaps, both wonder
ing what was up. Pretty soon he got to a sub
ject — " Bates stopped uneasily. "I'm afraid that
perhaps I won't express myself in the right way,
Miss Castleman — that I may say something you
don't like "

"Go on/' smiled Sylvia. "I'm possessed by
curiosity.

"Well, it came out that he'd had an adventure.

196 SYLVIA

He was walking last evening, and he met a lady.
She was tall and rather pale, he said — a Southern
girl. She was dressed in white and had golden
hair. 'Have any of you met such a girl?' he
asked. I kept silent and let the rest do the answer
ing. They hadn't. 'It was a lady in distress,'
van Tuiver went on, ' and I offered my assistance
and she accepted' "

"Oh, I did not!" cried Sylvia.

"Oho!" exclaimed Bates, "I knew it! Tell
me, what did you do?"

"This is your story," she laughed.

"Well, he said it was a novel r61e for him —
that of Sir Galahad, or St. George, or Don Quixote.
He found it embarrassing. I said, 'Was it the
novelty of the r61e — or perhaps the novelty of
the lady?' 'Well,' said van Tuiver, 'that's just
it. She was one of the most bewildering people
I ever met. She talked' — you won't mind my
telling this, Miss Castleman?"

"Not a bit— go on."

"Some of it isn't very complimentary "

"I'm wild with suspense, Mr. Bates!"

" 'Well,' he said, 'she looked like a lady, but
she talked like an actress in a comedy. I never
heard anybody rattle so — I never knew a girl
so pert. She talked just — amazingly.' That
was his word. I asked him just what he meant,
but that was all I could get him to say. Finally
he asked, 'Do you know the lady?' and of course
I had to answer that I thought I did; I could
be sure if he'd give me a sample of her conversa-

SYLVIA LINGERS 197

tion. 'She has a cousin named Harley,' he said,
and I said, 'Yes — he's Chilton, a Freshman. Her
name is Miss Castleman.' Then he wanted to
know all about you. I said, 'I met her at a tea
at Thurlow's, and about all I know of her is that
she talks amazingly.' I thought that was paying
him back."

"And then?" laughed Sylvia.

"Well, he wanted to know what I thought of
you; and I said I thought you were the loveliest,
and the cleverest, and the sweetest person that
I'd ever met in my life. I really think that, you
know. And then van Tuiver said — " But here
Bates stopped himself suddenly. "That's all,"
he said.

"No, surely not, Mr. Bates!"

"But really it is. You see, we were inter
rupted "

"But not until Mr. van Tuiver had said that
he thought I was horrid, and he thought I was
shallow, and he thought I was vain."

The other flushed slightly. Sylvia went on,
"I don't mind it, because the truth is, I'd been
thinking it myself. You see, I really was mean
to him, Mr. Bates. I said things to hurt him,
without his knowing I meant them; but after
he went off, he must have understood. Why
should we want to hurt people?"

"I don't know," said Tubby, bewildered by
this unexpected new turn. He wanted Sylvia
to tell him the story of what had happened that
evening; but she refused. Then he went on to

198 SYLVIA

a new proposition — he wished to bring van Tuiver
to call. But she refused again and begged him
not to think about the matter any further. He
pleaded with her, in semi-comic distress; he was
so anxious to see what would happen — everyone
was anxious to see what would happen! He
implored her, hi the name of good society; it
was cruel, wicked of her to refuse! But Sylvia
was obdurate, and in the end he took his departure
lamenting, but vowing that he would not give up.

Just as he was leaving, Harley arrived. He
came to get his scolding for his conduct of the
previous night. But the scolding was more
serious than he had expected. To his dismay
Sylvia declared that she was sincere hi her refusal
to meet van Tuiver again.

"The truth is," she said, "I've changed my
mind about the whole matter. I don't care to
have anything to do with the man."

"But why not?" asked Harley, in amazement.

"Because — I don't think that poor people like
us have any right to. We can't meet him and
keep our self-respect."

"Great God, girl! Aren't we van Tuiver's
social equals."

"We think we are, but he doesn't; and his view
prevails. When you came up here and fell in
love with a girl in his set, you found that his
view prevailed. And look what you did last
night! Don't you see the degradation — simply
to be near such a man?"

"That's aU very well," objected Harley, "but
can I keep van Tuiver from coming to Harvard?"

SYLVIA LINGERS 199

"No, you can't; but you can help to keep him
from having his way after he has got here. You
can stand out against him and all that he repre
sents."

There was a pause. Harley had nothing to
say to that. Sylvia stood with her brows knitted
in thought. "I've made up my mind/' she said,
"there's something very wrong about it all. The
man has too much money. He has no right to
have so much — certainly not unless he's earned
it."

Whereat her cousin exclaimed, "For God's
sake, Sylvia, you talk like an Anarchist!"

§11

A COUPLE of days later came Mrs. Winthrop's
"Progressive Love" party. At this party there
were twenty-four guests, twelve men and twelve
women, appearing in purple silk dominoes and
golden silk masks supplied by the hostess. Twelve
short dances were followed by intermissions,
during which the guests retired to cosy corners,
and the men made ardent love to their unknown
partners. "Tubby" Bates, of whom there was
too much to be concealed by any domino, was
appointed door-keeper, and it was his business
to select the couples, so that each would have
a new partner for every dance. At the end,
every person voted for the most successful "lover"

200 SYLVIA

and also the worst, and there were prizes and
"booby" prizes.

Love-making, more or less disguised, being the
principal occupation of men and women in the
South, Sylvia counted herself an expert at this
game. She had learned to assume a different
personality, disguising her voice, and doing it
quite naturally — not by the crude method of
putting a button under her tongue. She took
her seat after the first dance, perfectly mistress
of herself and pleasantly thrilled with curiosity.
All of the "younger set" at home had made love
to her in earnest, and their methods were an oft-
told tale. But how would these strange men of
Harvard play the game?

The tall domino at her side was in no hurry
to begin. He sat very stiff and straight upon the
velvet cushions; and finally it came to Sylvia
that he was suffering from embarrassment. She
leaned towards him, so as to display "a more
coming-on disposition." "Sir," she whispered,
"faint heart ne'er won fair lady."

The tall domino considered this in silence.
"You'll have to excuse me," he said, "I never
played this game before."

"It is the most wonderful game in the world!"
said Sylvia, fervently.

"Perhaps," was the reply. "To me it seems
a very foolish game, and I think it was poor
taste on Mrs. Winthrop's part."

"Dear me!" thought the girl, "what kind of
a fish have I caught here?" There was some-

SYLVIA LINGERS 201

thing strangely familiar about the voice, but she
could not place it. She had met so many men
in the last week or two.

"Sir," she said, "I fear me that you lack a
little of that holiday glee which is necessary to
such occasion as this. I would that I could sing
a song to cheer your moping spirit —

'Nymphs and shepherds come away,
For this is Flora's holiday!'

Then, leaning a little nearer yet, "Come, sir, you
must make an effort."

"What shall I do?"

"You must manage to throw yourself into a
state of rapture. You must tell me that you
adore me. You must say that my blue eyes
make dim the vault of heaven "

"But I can hardly see your eyes."

"You should not expect to see them. Have
you not been told that Love is blind?"

So she tried to drive this tall domino to play;
but it was sorry frisking that he did. "You
must fall down upon your knees before me," she
said; but he protested that he could really not
do that. And when she insisted, "You must!"
he got down, with such deliberation that the girl
was half convulsed with laughter.

"Sir," she chided, "that will not do. When
you stop to ease each trouser-knee, how can I
believe that you are overcome with the ardor
of your feelings? You must get up and try

202 SYLVIA

again." And actually she made him get up and
plump down suddenly upon his knees; and was
so mischievous and so merry about it that she
got even him to laughing in the end.

She was sure by this time that she had met
the man before, and she found herself running
over the list of her acquaintances, trying to
imagine which one could be capable of making
love in such a fashion. But she could not think
of one. She fell to studying the domino and
the mask before her, wondering what feelings
could be behind them. Was it timidity and
lack of imagination? Or could it be that the
man was sulky and uncivil as he seemed? When
the bell rang and she rose, she breathed to herself
the prayer that she might be spared running into
another "stick" like that.

The next partner was Harmon, as she recog
nized before he had said a dozen sentences.
Harmon did not know her, but being in love, he
knew how to behave. He poured out to Sylvia
all the things which she had known for the past
week he was longing to say to her; and Sylvia
said in reply everything which she had no inten
tion of saying hi reality. So the episode passed
pleasantly, and the girl thought somewhat better
of Mrs. Winthrop's talents as a hostess.

Number Three was again a tall domino. He
seated himself, and there was a long pause.
"Well, sir," said Sylvia, inquiringly.

The domino delayed again. "You'll have to
excuse me," he said, at last; "I never played
this game before."

SYLVIA LINGERS 203

And Sylvia realized in a flash of dismay that
it was the first man again! The same voice —
even the same words! "Sir," she said, coldly,
"you are mistaken. You played the same game
with me not twenty minutes ago."

The tall domino expressed bewilderment. "I beg
your pardon — there has been some mistake."

"There has indeed," said Sylvia. "The door
keeper has evidently got our numbers mixed."
She pondered for a moment. Should she go and
tell Mr. Bates?

But she realized that it was too late. The
couples were all settled and the game proceeding.
It was the kind of blunder that was always being
made 'at these parties — either because the door
keeper was stupid, or was bribed by some man
who wanted to make love in earnest. It spoiled
the game — but then, as Sylvia had just said, Love
is blind.

"What shall we do — wait?" she asked; to which
the man replied, "I don't mind."

"Thank you," she said, graciously. "We'll
have to make the best of it. Don't you think
you can manage to do a little better than the last
time?"

"I'll try," he replied. "It's beastly stupid, I
think."

Sylvia considered. "No," she declared, "I
believe it's the game of all games for you."

"How so?"

"Go down into the deeps of you. Haven't
you something there that is real — something

204 SYLVIA

primitive and untamed, that chafes against
propriety, and wishes it had not been born in
Boston?"

"I was not born in Boston," said he.

"Perhaps not hi your body," said Sylvia, "but
your soul is a Boston soul. And now think of
this opportunity to fling loose, to be just as bad
as you want to be — and quite without danger
of detection, of having your reputation damaged!
Surely, sir, there could be no game more adapted
to the New England conscience!"

"By Jove!" exclaimed the man; and actually
there was warmth in his tone. Sylvia's heart
leaped, and she caught him by the hand. "Quick!
Quick!" she cried. "Gather ye rosebuds while
ye may — old time is still a-flying!"

"By Jove!" exclaimed the man again; and
Sylvia, kindling with mischief, pressed his hand
more tightly and brought him upon his knees
before her. "Make haste! You have but one
life — one chance to be yourself — to vent your
emotions! I've no idea who you are, I can't
possibly tell on you — and so you may utter those
things which you keep hidden even from your
self!"

"By Jove!" he exclaimed for the third time.
"Really, if I had you to make love to "

"But you have me! You have me! For
several precious minutes — alone and undisturbed!
You are not a Boston Brahmin in a domino —
you are a faun hi the forests of Arcady. Come,
Mr. Faun!" And Sylvia began to sing in a low,
caressing manner:

SYLVIA LINGERS 205

"Oh, come, my love, to Arcady!
A dream path leads us, dear.
One hour of love in Arcady
Is worth a lifetime here!"

There was a pause. She could feel the man's
hand trembling. "I am waiting!" she whispered;
to which he answered, "I wish you would talk!
You make love so much better than I!"

Sylvia broke into one of her merry laughs.
"A leap-year party!" she cried.

But the other was in earnest. "I like to listen
to you," he said. " Please go on!"

Sylvia was laughing so that she felt tears hi
her eyes, and she wanted to wipe them away
under her mask. Her handkerchief was gone,
and she looked for it — in her lap, beside her on
the seat, and then on the floor. This led to a
curious and unexpected turn in the adventure —
her recognition of this New England faun. See
ing what she was doing, he said, "I beg parddn.
Have you lost something?"

It was like an explosion in Sylvia's mind. Not
merely the same words — but the same manner,
the same accent, the same personality!

The search for the handkerchief gave her the
chance to recover her breath. The Lord had
delivered him into her hands again!

"Sir," she said. "I resume. You have over
whelmed me with the torrent of your ardor. I
feel myself swept away in a flood which my feeble
will cannot resist. You come to me like a royal

206 SYLVIA

wooer — like some god out of the skies, stunning
the senses of a mere mortal maiden! Who can
this be — I ask myself. From what source can
such superhuman eloquence and fervor spring?
Can I endure it? I cry — or shall I be burned up
and destroyed, like Danai in the legend? It is
just so that he descends upon me — like Jupiter,
in a shower of gold!"

Sylvia could feel the tall domino stiffen and
rear himself. She had meant to go on, but she
stopped, so great was her curiosity. How would
he take it?

At last came the voice from under the mask.
"I see," it said, "that you have the advantage
of me. You do know who I am."

Sylvia was almost transported — by a combina
tion of amazement and amusement. "Know who
you are?" she cried. "How could I fail to
know who you are? You, my divinity! You,
to whom all the world bends the knee! Sire,
receive my homage — I bow in adoration before
the Golden Calf!"

And she sunk down upon one knee before the
tall domino!

It was putting herself into his hands. She was
fully prepared to see him rise and stalk away —
but so possessed was she that she would have
enjoyed even that! Fortunately, however, at
this moment the bell rang, saving her. She
sprang to her feet, and caught the hand of her
divinity hi one quick clasp of parting. "Good
bye, Mr. van Tuiver!" she exclaimed. "Good
bye — until the next incarnation!"

SYLVIA LINGERS 207

§ 12

FOR the next dance Sylvia's partner was a youth
whom she could not identify. He had evidently
been reading the poets, for his declarations of
devotion were lacking in naught but rhyme.
Sylvia accepted him politely, hardly hearing his
words — so busy was she with the thought of van
Tuiver. Had it been accident, or a trick? She
would soon know.

There came another dance — and again a tall
domino. Sylvia suspected, but was not sure,
until they were in their seats, when the domino
sat stiff and straight, and she was certain. "Is
that you?" she asked; and the answer came,
"It is.5'

"It is evident that some one is amusing himself
at our expense," said Sylvia, coldly. "I really
think we shall have to stop it."

"Miss Castleman," broke hi the other. "I
hope you will believe me that I have had abso
lutely nothing to do with this."

She answered, consolingly, "I assure you, Mr.
van Tuiver, your unpreparedness has been quite
evident."

There was a pause, while he considered that.
"What shall we do?" he asked.

"I think that you had best see Mr. Bates, and
make clear to him that we have had enough."

He hesitated. "Is — is that really necessary?"

"What else can we do — spend the evening
together?"

"I really wish we could, Miss Castleman!"

208 SYLVIA

"What — and you making love as you have
been?"

"I can do better now. I really am quite
charmed with the game. I'd like to make love
to you — for a long tune."

"Most flattering, Mr. van Tuiver — but how
about me? We've conversed a lot already, and
you haven't said one interesting thing."

"Miss Castleman!"

"Not one — excepting one or two that have
been insolent."

There was a pause. "Really," he pleaded,
"that is a hard thing to say!"

"Do you mean," she inquired, coldly, "that
you have not realized the meaning of what you
said to me when we met on the street?"

"I don't know just what you refer to," he
replied, "but you must admit that you had me
at a great disadvantage that evening."

"What disadvantage, Mr. van Tuiver? The
fact that I did not know who you were?"

She could feel him wince. She was prepared
for a retort — but not so severe as the one which
came. "The disadvantage," he said, "that you
pretended not to know who I was."

"Why," she exclaimed, "what do you mean?"

He answered. "If we are going to fight, it
ought to be upon a fair field. You pretended
that evening that you had never heard my name.
But I learned since that only a day or two before
you had had a quite elaborate conversation about
me."

Sylvia's first impulse was to inquire sarcastic-

SYLVIA LINGERS 209

ally what right he had to assume that his illus
trious name would stay in her memory. But she
realized that that was a poor retort; and then her
sense of fair play came in. After all, he was
right — the joke was on her, and she rather admired
his nerve.

So she began to laugh. "Mr. van Tuiver,"
she said, "you have annoyed me so that I won't
even take the trouble to think up new lies to tell
you. Realize, if you can, the impression you
managed to make upon a young girl — you and
your reputation together — that she should be
moved to use such weapons against you!"

He forgot his anger at this. "That's just it,
Miss Castleman! I don't understand it at all!
What have I done that you should take such an
attitude towards me?"

Sylvia pondered. "I fear," she said, "that
you would not thank me for telling you."

"You are mistaken!" he exclaimed. "I really
would like to know."

"I could not bring myself to do it."

"But why not?"

"I know it could not do any good."

"But how can you say that — when I assure
you I am in earnest? I have a very sincere
admiration for you — truly. You are one of the
most — one of the most amazing young women
I ever met. I don't say that in a bad sense, you
understand ' '

"I understand," said Sylvia, smiling. "I have
tried my best to be amazing."

u

210 SYLVIA

"It is evident that you dislike me intensely,"
he went on. "I ask you to tell me why. What
have I done?"

"It isn't so much what you have done — it is
what you are"

"And what am I, Miss Castleman?"

"I don't know just how to put it into words.
You are some sort of monstrosity; something
that when I see it, fills me with a blind rage, so
that I want to fly at its throat. And then I
realize that even in attacking it I am putting
myself upon a level with it — and so I want to
turn and flee for my life — or rather for my self-
respect. I want to flee from it, Mr. van Tuiver,
and never see it, never hear its voice, never even
know of its existence! Do you see?"

"I see/' said the man, in a voice so faint as
to be hardly audible; and then suddenly came
the sound of the bell, and Sylvia sprang up.

"I flee!" she said.

§ 13

THEKE came a new dance, the sixth, and a new
partner, who was short, and was speedily dis
covered to be Jackson. Then came the seventh
dance, and Sylvia expected that it would be her
Faun again, but was disappointed. It was a man
unknown, and she wondered if Bates had lost his
nerve. But with Number Eight came the inevi
table return.

SYLVIA LINGERS

Van Tuiver was so anxious this time that he
asked before he began to dance, "Is that you?"
And when Sylvia answered "Yes," she could
hear his sigh of relief. All through the dance
she could feel his excitement. Once or twice he
tried to talk, but she whispered to him, to keep
the rules.

The moment they were seated he said, "Miss
Castleman, you must explain to me what you
mean."

"I knew I'd have to explain," she responded.
"I've been thinking how I could make you
understand. You see, I'm a comparative stranger
to this world of yours, and things might shock
me which would seem to you quite a matter of
course. I suppose I'm what you'd call a country
girl, and have a provincial outlook."

"Please go on," he said.

"Well, Mr. van Tuiver, you have an enormous
amount of money. Twenty or thirty million
dollars — forty or fifty million dollars — the authori
ties don't seem to agree about it. As well as I
can put the matter, you have so much that it has
displaced you; it isn't you who think, it isn't
you who speak — it's your money. You seem to
be a sort of quivering, uneasy consciousness of
uncounted millions of dollars; and the only thing
that comes back to you from your surroundings
is an echo of that quivering consciousness."

"Do I really seem like that to you?"

"It's the impression you've made upon every
one who knows you."

212 SYLVIA

"Oh, surely not!" he cried.

" Quite literally that," said Sylvia. "I hated
you before I ever laid eyes on you — because of
the way you'd impressed your friends."

There was a pause; when van Tuiver spoke
again it was in a low and uncertain voice. "Miss
Castleman," he said, "has it ever occurred to
you to think what might be the difficulties of my
situation?"

"No, I haven't had time for that."

"Well, take this one fact. You say that I
have made a certain impression upon everyone
who knows me. But you are the first person hi
my whole lifetime who's ever told me."

Sylvia gave an exclamation of incredulity.

"Don't you see?" pressed on the other, eagerly.
"What is a man to do? I have a great deal of
money. I can't help that. And I can't help the
fact that it gives me a great deal of power. I
can't help having a sense of responsibility."

"The sense of responsibility has been too much
for you," said Sylvia.

This was too subtle for him. He hurried on:
"Maybe it's right, maybe it's wrong — but cir
cumstances have given me a certain position, and
I have to maintain it. I have certain duties which
I must fulfill, which I can't possibly get away
from."

There was a pause. He seemed to feel that
the situation was not satisfactory, and started
again. "It's all very well for you, who don't real
ize my position, the responsibilities I have — it's all

SYLVIA LINGERS 213

very well for you to talk about my consciousness
of money. But how can I get away from it?
People know about my money, they think about
it — they expect certain things of me. They put
me hi a certain position, whether I will or not."

He stopped again. He was so greatly agitated
that Sylvia was beginning to feel pity. "Do you
have to be what people expect you to be?" she
said.

"But," he argued, "I have the money, and
I have to make use of it — to invest it — to protect
it "

"Ah, but all that is in the business world.
What I'm talking about is hi a separate sphere —
your social relations."

"But, Miss Castleman, that's just it — is it
separate? It ought to be, you'll say — but is it?
I tell you, you simply don't know, that's all.
People profess friendship for me, but they want
something, and by and by I find out what it is
they want. You say that's monstrous; I know,
I used to think it was, myself. You say, I ought
not to know it; but I can't help knowing it; it's
forced upon me by all the circumstances of my
life. Sometimes I think I've never had a dis
interested friend since I was born!"

Sylvia perceived the intensity behind his words,
and was silent for a minute. "But surely," she
said, "here — hi the democracy of college life "

"It's exactly the same here as anywhere else.
Here are clubs, social cabals, everybody pushing
and intriguing, exactly as hi New York society.

SYLVIA

Take that fact you spoke of — that all the fellows
dislike me, and yet not one of them has dared
to tell me so!"

"Dared?" repeated Sylvia.

"Oh, well, perhaps they dared — the point is,
they didn't. The ones who had to make their
own way were busy making it; and the others,
who had got in of right — well, they believe in
money. They'd all shrug their shoulders and
say, 'What's the use of antagonizing such a
man?' "

"I see," said Sylvia, fascinated.

"Whatever the reason is, they never call me
down — not a man of them. And then, as for the
women "

Sylvia had not made any sound, but somehow
he felt her sudden interest. He said, with signs
of agitation, "Please, Miss Castleman, don't be
offended. You asked me to talk about it."

"Go on," she said. "I'm really most curious.
I suppose all the women want to marry you?"

"It isn't only that. They want anything.
They just want to be seen with me. Of course,
when they start to make love to me — " He
paused.

"You stop them, I hope," said Sylvia, modestly.

"I do when I know it. But, you see "

He paused again; it was evidently a difficult
topic. "Pray don't mind," said Sylvia, laughing.
"They're subtle creatures, I know. Do many
of them make love to you?"

"I know you're laughing at me, Miss Castle-

SYLVIA LINGERS 215

man. But believe me, it's no joke. If you'd
see some of the letters I get!"

"Oh, they write you love letters?"

"Not only love letters. I don't mind them —
but the letters from women in distress, the most
terrible stories you can imagine. Once I was
foolish enough — didn't anybody tell you the scrape
I got into?"

"No."

"That's curious — they generally like to tell it.
I was weak enough to let one woman get into
my house in Cambridge. She had a tragedy to
rehearse, and I listened to her, and finally she
wanted ten thousand dollars. I didn't know if
her story was true, and I said No, and then she
began to scream for help. The servants came
running, and she said — well, you can imagine,
how I'd insulted her, and all that. I told my
man to throw her out, but she said she'd scratch
his eyes out, she'd scream from the window,
she'd stand on the street outside and denounce
me till the police came, she'd give the news
papers the whole story of the way I'd abused her.
And so finally I had to give her all the money I
happened to have on me."

"Great Heavens!" exclaimed Sylvia, who had
not thought of anything so serious as that.

"You see how it is. For the most part I've
escaped that kind of thing, because I was taught.
My Great-uncle Douglas, who died recently — he
was my guardian, and he taught me all about
women when I was very young — not more than

216 SYLVIA

ten. He had charge of my upbringing, and he
wouldn't allow a woman in my household."

"Dear me," said Sylvia, "what a cynic he must
have been!"

"He died a bachelor," said the other, "and
left me a great deal of money. So you see —
that is "

"He'd had to be a cynic!" laughed the girl.
And van Tuiver laughed with her — more humanly
than she had ever thought possible.

She considered for a moment, and then suddenly
asked, "Mr. van Tuiver, has it never occurred
to you that 7 might be making love to you?"

She could not see his face, but she knew that
he was staring at her in dismay. "Oh, surely
not, Miss Castleman!" he exclaimed.

"But how can you be sure?" she asked.
"Where is your training?"

"Miss Castleman," he said, "please take me
seriously."

"I'm quite serious. In fact, I think I ought
to tell you, I have been making love to you."

"Surely not!" he said.

"I mean it, quite literally. I've been doing
it from the first moment I met you — doing it in
spite of all my resolutions to the contrary!"

"But why?"

"Well, because I hated you, and also because
I pitied you. I said, I'll get him in my power
and punish him — and at the same time teach
him."

"Oh!" exclaimed van Tuiver; and she thought
that she detected a note of relief in the word.

SYLVIA LINGERS 217

"You are glad I don't mean to marry you,"
she said; and when he started to protest, she cut
him short with, "You're not applying the wis
dom of your great-uncle! I say I don't want to
marry you, but most likely that's a device to dis
arm you, to make you want to marry me.''

In spite of his evident distress, she was incor
rigible. "You ought to be up and away," she
declared — "scared out ef your wits. I tell you
I'm the most dangerous woman you've ever met.
And I mean it literally. I'll wager that if your
great-uncle had ever met my great-aunt, he
would not have died a bachelor! Take my
advice, and fall ill and leave this party at once."

"Why should I be afraid of you?" he demanded.
"Why shouldn't I marry you if I want to?"

"What! a poor girl like me?"

"Well, I don't know. I can afford to marry
a poor girl if I feel like it?"

"But — think of the ignominy of being trapped!"

He considered this. "I'm not afraid of that
either," he said. "If you've had the wit to do
it — and none of the others had "

"Oh!" she laughed. "Then you're willing to
be hunted!"

"Miss Castleman," he protested, "you are
unkind. I've thought seriously. You really are
a most beautiful woman, and at the same tune
a most amazingly clever woman. You would
be an ornament in my life — I'd always be proud
of you — "

He paused. "Mr. van Tuiver," she demanded,

218 SYLVIA

"am I to understand that this is a serious
proposal?"

She could feel his quiver of fear. "Why," he
stammered — ' ' really ' '

"Don't you see how dangerous it is!" she
exclaimed. "You were almost caught! Make
your escape, Mr. van Tuiver!"

And then came the sound of the bell. She
started up. "Go and tell Mr. Bates!" she cried.
"Don't let him do this again — if you do, you are
lost forever!"

§ 14

THE next partner was Harley. It was a nui
sance having to entertain your own cousin, but
Sylvia amused herself by keeping Harley from
recognizing her. And in the meantime she was
wondering what her Victim would do next.

She knew his very style of dancing by now,
and needed to make no inquiries of Number Ten.
"You did not take my advice," she remarked,
when they were seated.

"No," he said. "On the contrary, I told
Bates to put us together the rest of the tune."

"Oh, no!" she protested.

"I want to talk to you," he declared. "I must
talk to you."

"But you had no right! He will tell, and
everybody will be talking about it."

"I don't care if they do."

SYLVIA LINGERS 219

"But I care, Mr. van Tuiver — you should not
have taken such a liberty."

"Please, Miss Castleman," he hurried on,
"please listen to me. I've been thinking about
it, and it interests me keenly. I believe that in
you I might really have a friend — if only you
would. A real friend, I mean — who'd tell me the
truth — who'd be absolutely disinterested "

The fun of it was too much for Sylvia.
"Haven't I explained to you that I mightn't
be disinterested?"

"I'll trust you."

"Of course," she went on, gravely. "I might
give you my word of honor that I wouldn't marry
you."

"Yes," he agreed, "I suppose so "

The girl was convulsed with laughter. "Mr.
van Tuiver," she remarked, "I see you are an
earnest man; I really ought to stop teasing you.
Don't you think I ought?"

"Yes," he replied, dubiously.. "At least — I
never liked to be teased before."

"Well, I will tell you this for your comfort.
There's no remotest possibility of my ever marry
ing you, so you can feel quite safe."

Somehow he did not seem sure whether he was
pleased at this pledge. After a pause he went
on: "What I mean is that I think a man in my
position ought to have somebody to tell him the
truth."

"Something like the court-jesters in old days,"
said Sylvia.

220 SYLVIA

But he was not interested in mediaeval customs.
He was interested in his own need, and she had
to promise that she would admit him to the
arcanum of her friendship, and that she would
always tell him exactly what she thought about
him — his actions, his ideas, even his manners.
In fulfilment of which promise she spent the rest
of that seance, and the two that followed, in
listening to him talk about himself and his Me.

It was really most curious — an inside glimpse
into a kind of life of which one heard, but with
no idea of ever encountering it; just as one read
of train-robbers and safe-blowers, but never
expected to sit and chat with them. Douglas
van Tuiver had achieved notoriety before he had
cut a single tooth; his mother and father having
been killed in a railroad accident when he was
two months old, the courts had appointed trustees
and guardians, and the newspapers had under
taken a kind of unofficial supervision. The
precious infant had been brought up by a staff
of tutors, with majordomos and lackeys in the
background, and two private detectives and a
great-uncle and Mrs. Harold Cliveden to oversee
the whole. It did not need much questioning
to get the details of this life — the lonely palace
on Fifth Avenue, the monumental "cottage" at
Newport, the "camp" hi the Adirondacks, the
yacht in the West Indies; the costly toys, the
"blooded" pets, the gold plate, the tedious, suf
focating solemnity. If Sylvia had been furious
with van Tuiver before, she was ready now to

SYLVIA LINGERS

go to the opposite extreme and weep over him.
A child brought up wholly by employees, with no
brothers and sisters to kick and scratch him into
decency, no cousins, no playmates even — unless
he was first togged out in an Eton suit and escorted
by a tutor to the birthday party of some other
little togged-out aristocrat!

Yes, assuredly this unhappy man needed some
one to tell him the truth! Sylvia resolved that
she would fill the r61e. She would be quite un
moved by his Royalty (the word by which she
had come to sum up to herself the whole phenom
enon of van Tuiverness). She would persist in
regarding him as any other human being, saying
to him what she felt like, pretending to him, and
even to herself, that he really was not Royalty at
aU!

But alas, she soon found what a task she had
undertaken! The last dance had been danced,
and amid much merriment the guests unmasked
— and still van Tuiver wanted to stay and talk
to his one friend. He escorted her to supper,
in spite of the fact that Mrs. Winthrop had other
arrangements for him. And even if he had
behaved himself, there was the tale which
"Tubby" Bates had been diligently spreading.
The girl realized all at once that she had achieved
a new and startling kind of prominence; all the
guests, men and women, were watching her,
whispering about her, envying her. She felt a
wicked thrill of triumph and pleasure. She,
a stranger, an obscure girl from the provinces,

222 SYLVIA

who would ordinarily have been an object of
suspicion and investigation — she had leaped at
one moment into supremacy! She had become
the favorite of the King!

Pretty soon came Harley, a-tremble with
delight. "Gee whiz, old girl, you sure have
scored to-night! For God's sake, how did you
manage it?" Sylvia felt herself hot with sudden
shame.

And then came Bates. She tried to scold him,
but he would simply not have it. "Now, Miss
Castleman! Now, Miss Castleman!" — that was
all he would say. What it meant was: "It is
all right for you to pretend, of course; but you
can't persuade me that you are really angry!"

"Please go away," she said at last; but he
wanted to tell her what different people said, and
would not be shaken off. While he was still
teasing, there swept past them a girl to whom
Sylvia had not been introduced — a solid-looking
young Amazon with a freckled snub nose. She
gave Sylvia what appeared to be a haughty look,
and Bates whispered, "Do you know who that
is? That's Dorothy Cortlandt! — the girl van
Tuiver is to marry."

"Really!" exclaimed Sylvia, who was cross
with all the world. "How did her nose get
broken?"

And the other answered with a grin, "You
ought to know — you did it!" And so, as
Sylvia could not help laughing, Bates counted
himself forgiven.

SYLVIA LINGERS 223

A little later came the encounter with Edith
Winthrop. It was after supper, and the two
found themselves face to face. "What a charm
ing party it has been!" said Sylvia, and the other
gave her what was meant to be a freezing stare.
It was so rude that Sylvia thought she must
have been misunderstood. "The party's been a
success," she ventured. "Don't you think so?"

"Ideas of success differ," remarked the other,
coldly, and turned her back and began an animated
conversation with someone else.

"Dear me," thought Sylvia, as she moved on,
"What have I done?" She saw in another part
of the room her hostess talking to van Tuiver,
and made up her mind at once that she would
find out if the beautiful soul-friendship was shat
tered also. She moved over towards the two,
resisting an effort on the part of Harmon to draw
her into a tete-a-tete.

"Mrs. Winthrop," she said, "I'm so glad I
stayed over."

" Queen Isabella" turned the mystical eyes upon
her, one of the deep, inscrutable gazes. Sylvia
waited, knowing that it might mean anything
from reverie to murder. "My dear Sylvia," she
said at last, "you are pale to-night."

This, in the presence of van Tuiver, probably
meant war. "Am I?" asked the girl.

"Yes, my dear, don't dissipate too much!
Women of your type fade quickly."

"What?" laughed the other, gaily. "With
my red eyes and red hair? A century could not
extinguish me!"

224 SYLVIA

She passed on, and discovered that van Tuiver
was following her. "You aren't going, are you,
Miss Castleman?" he asked; and while he was
begging her to stay, Sylvia saw her hostess move
across the room to Dorothy Cortlandt. These
two stood conversing earnestly, and one glance
was enough to tell Sylvia what they were con
versing about.

All this was a sore temptation, but Sylvia was
in a virtuous mood. "Mr. van Tuiver," she said,
"there is something I want to say to you. I've
thought it over, and made up my mind that it
is impossible for me to be the friend you want."

"Why, Miss Castleman!" he exclaimed, in
distress. "What is the matter?"

"I can't explain "

"But what have I done?"

"It's nothing that you've done. It's simply
that I couldn't stand the world you live in. Oh,
I'd be a dreadful woman if I stayed very long!"

"Please, listen — " he implored.

But she cut him short. "I am sorry to give
you pain, but I have made up my mind abso
lutely. There is no possible way I can help you.
I am not willing to see you again, and you must
positively not ask it." After which speech she
went to look for her cousin, leaving van Tuiver
such a picture of agitation that everyone in the
room observed it. Could the King's nose be
broken too?

SYLVIA LINGERS

§ 15

THE next morning came a note from van Tuiver.
He was sure that Miss Castleman must have
reconsidered her cruel decision, and he begged
her to grant him one brief interview. Might
he take her riding in his car that morning? The
bearer would wait for an answer. Sylvia replied
that her decision was unchanged and unchange
able — she was sorry to hurt his feelings, but she
must ask him to give up all thought of her.

A couple of hours later came van Tuiver him
self, and sent up his card and with a line scribbled
on it, "What have I done to anger you?" She
wrote back, "I am not angry, but I cannot see
you." After which an hour more elapsed and
there came a telephone-call from "Tubby" Bates,
who begged the honor of a few minutes talk.

"I ought to refuse to speak to you again,"
said Sylvia. But in the end she gave way and
told him he might call.

He had come as an emissary, of course. The
young millionaire was in a dreadful state, he
explained, being convinced that he had committed
some unmentionable offence.

"I don't care to talk about the matter," said
Sylvia.

"But," persisted Bates, "he declares that I
got him into the predicament, and now I'm
honor-bound to get him out."

So she had to set to work to explain her point
of view. Mr. Bates, who himself owed no par-

15

226 SYLVIA

ticular allegiance to Royalty, should be able to
understand; he must realize that her annoyance
was not personal, but was, so to speak, an affair
of State. This had been her first experience at
Court, she said; and the atmosphere had proven
bad for her — had made her pale, and would soon
turn her into a faded old woman.

Evidently "Tubby" had heard that part of
the story also; first he grinned, and then in his
r61e of diplomat set to work to smooth away
her objections. "You surely don't mind a little
thing like that," he pleaded. "Haven't you any
jealous ladies down South?"

"If we are going to discuss this question, Mr.
Bates, I must speak frankly. Our hostesses are
polite to their guests."

The other began suddenly to laugh. "Even
when the guests steal?"

"When they steal?"

"Jewels!" exclaimed the other. "Bright, par
ticular, conspicuous jewels — crown-jewels, pre
cious beyond replacing! Think, Miss Castleman,
you trust a guest, you admit him to your castle
— and suddenly you find that the great ruby of
your diadem is gone!"

"Is it that Mrs. Winthrop hopes to marry van
Tuiver to her daughter?" asked Sylvia, crossly.

' ' Oh, no, ' ' said Bates. " He is to marry Dorothy
Cortlandt — that was arranged when they were
babies, and Mrs. Winthrop wouldn't dream of
cutting in on it."

"But then, if I haven't robbed Edith "

SYLVIA LINGERS 227

"My dear Miss Castleman," said the other,
"you've robbed Mrs. Winthrop herself."

"But I don't understand," said the girl.

"Please don't misunderstand," said Bates.
"It's all perfectly proper and noble, you know —
and all that. I've nothing to say against Mrs.
Winthrop — she's a charming woman, and has a
right to be admired by everybody. But being
a queen, you see, she has to have a court, with
a lot of distinguished courtiers. She reads poetry
to them, and they write it to her, and they sit
at her feet and dream wonderful dreams, and she
gazes at them. I know a dozen fellows who've
been that way all through college; and I suppose
it does them good — they tell me I haven't any
soul and can't understand these things. What
I've always said is, 'Maybe you're right, and
maybe I'm a brute, but it looks to me like the
same old game.' '

"The same old game," repeated Sylvia, won-
deringly. She found herself thinking suddenly
of one of the maxims of Lady Dee — one which
she had been too young to understand, but had
been made to learn nevertheless: "The young
girl's deadliest enemy is the married flirt!"
Could it be that Mrs. Winthrop was anything
so desperate as that?

"Mr. van Tuiver is one of these poets?" she
asked, finally.

"I don't think van Tuiver goes in for poetry;
but he's strong on manners and things like that,
and he says that Mrs. Winthrop is the only hostess

228 SYLVIA

in America who has the old-world charm. Of
course that ravished her, and they've been great
chums."

"And I came and spoiled it all!" exclaimed the
girl.

"You came and spoiled it all!" said Bates.

Sylvia sat for a while hi thought. "You know,
Mr. Bates," she remarked, "it rather puzzles
me that people consider Mr. van Tuiver as having
distinguished manners. I really haven't been
impressed that way."

The other laughed. "My dear Miss Castle-
man, don't you know that van Tuiver's in love
with you!"

"No! Surely not!"

"Perfectly head over heels hi love with you.
He's been that way since the first moment he
laid eyes on you. And the way you've treated
him — you know you are rather high-handed.
Anyhow, it's rattled him so, he simply doesn't
know whether he's on his head or his feet."

"Did he tell you that, Mr. Bates?"

"Not hi words — but by everything about him.
I never saw a man so changed. Honestly, you
don't know him at all, as we've known him.
You'd not believe it if I described him."

"Tell me what you mean?"

"Well, hi the first place, he's always dignified —
stately, even. When he speaks, it's he speaking,
and his Yea is Yea and his Nay is Nay. Then
he's very precise — he never does anything upon
impulse, but always considers whether it's the

SYLVIA LINGERS

right thing for Douglas van Tuiver to do. You
see, he has an acute consciousness of his social
task — I mean, being a model to all the little
people in the world. You wouldn't understand
his manners unless you realized that they're
imported from England. In England — have you
ever been there?"

"No," said Sylvia.

"Well, you're walking along a country road,
and you're lost, and you see a gentleman coming
the other way. You stop and begin, 'I beg par
don' — and he goes by you with his eyes to the
front, military fashion. You see, you're not
supposed to exist."

"How perfectly dreadful!"

"I remember once I was walking in the country,
and there came a carriage with two ladies in it.
It stopped as I passed, and so I stopped. 'Can
you tell me where such and such a house is?' she
asked, and I replied that it was in such and such
a direction. And then, without even a look,
she sank back in her cushions, and the coachman
drove on. She was a lady, and she thought it
was a grand carelessness."

"Oh, but surely she must have belonged to
the 'nouveaux riches7!" exclaimed Sylvia.

"On the contrary, she may have had the best
blood in England. You see, that's their system.
They have a ruling caste, whose rudeness is their
religion."

"We have our family pride in the South,"
said Sylvia, "but it's supposed to show itself in

230 SYLVIA

a superior courtesy. In fact, if a person's rude
to his inferiors, we're sure there must be plebeian
blood somewhere."

"Exactly, Miss Castleman — that's what I've
always been taught." There was a pause; then
suddenly Bates began to laugh. "They tell
such a funny story about van Tuiver," he went
on. "It was a club-tea, and there were two
ladies whom everybody knew to be social rivals.
Van Tuiver was talking to Mrs. A. and suddenly,
without any warning, he walked over and began
to talk to Mrs. B. Afterwards somebody said to
him, 'Why did you leave Mrs. A. and go directly
to Mrs. B.? You know they hate each other —
did you want to make it worse?' 'No, I never
thought of it,' he said. 'The point was, there
was a fireplace at my back, and I don't like a
fireplace at my back/ 'But did you tell that to
Mrs. A?' asked the friend. 'No,' said van Tuiver
—'I told it to Mrs. B.' "

"Oh, dear me!" cried Sylvia.

"And you must understand that he saw nothing
funny in it. And the significant thing is that he
gets away with that pose!"

"In other words, he has introduced the English
system into America," said Sylvia.

"That's what it comes to, Miss Castleman."

"You have a king at Harvard!"

The man hesitated, and then a smile spread
over his face. "Of course you realize," he said,
"that it's a game we're playing."

"A game?" she repeated.

SYLVIA LINGERS 231

"Do you know they had a queen in New
York, Miss Castleman — until she died, just re
cently? You came to the city, you intrigued and
pulled wires, and perhaps she condescended to
receive you — seated upon a regular throne of
state, painted and covered with jewels like a
Hindoo idol. Everybody agreed she was the
queen, and nobody could go anywhere or do
anything unless she said so. Only, of course,
ninety-nine people out of a hundred paid no
attention to her, and went ahead and lived their
lives just as if she weren't queen. And it's the
same way here."

"Tubby" paused for encouragement; this was
unusual eloquence for him.

"As to our king," he continued, "one-eighth
of the college pays him homage, and another
eighth rebels against him — and the other three-
quarters don't know that he's here. They're
busy cramming for exams, or training for the
boat-race, or having a good time spending papa's
money. In other words, Miss Castleman, van
Tuiver is our king when we are snobs; and some
of us are snobs all the tune, and others of us only
when we go calling on the ladies. Do you under
stand?"

"I understand," said Sylvia, intensely amused.
"I suspect that you are one of the rebellious sub
jects. You are certainly a frank ambassador,
Mr. Bates!"

It was his turn to laugh. "The truth is,
van Tuiver's been three years posing in a certain

232 SYLVIA

role, and he can't turn round now and play a
different one for you. I thought it over as I was
coming here, and I said to myself, 'I'll ask her
to see him, but I'll be damned' — pardon me, but
that's what I said — 'I'll be damned if 111 help
him to deceive her.' You see, Miss Castleman —
I hope I don't presume — but I know van Tuiver's
hi love with you, and I thought — well — I "

The genial "Tubby" had turned several shades
redder, and now he fell silent. "You may feel
quite at tase, Mr. Bates," smiled Sylvia. "The
danger you fear does not exist at all."

"Not by any possibility, Miss Castleman?"

"Not by any possibility, Mr. Bates.

"He — he has an enormous lot of money!"

"After all our conversation! There are surely
a few things hi America which are not for sale."

"Tubby" drew a deep breath of relief. "I
was scared," he said — "honest."

"How lovely of you!" said Sylvia. She sud
denly felt like a mother to this big fat boy who
was said to have no soul.

"I said to myself," he continued, "'I'll tell her
the truth about van Tuiver, even if she never
forgives me for it.' You see, Miss Castleman,
I see the real man — as you'd never be allowed
to, not in a thousand years. And you must take
my word and be careful, for van Tuiver's a man
who has never had to do without anything hi
his whole lifetime. No matter what it's been
that he's wanted, he's had it — always, always!
I've seen one or two times when it looked as if

SYLVIA LINGERS 233

he mightn't get it — and I can tell you that he's
cunning, and that he persists and persists — he's
a perfect demon when he's got his mind fixed on
something he wants and hasn't got."

"Dear me!" said Sylvia. "That is a new view
of him!"

"Well, I said I'd warn you. I hope you don't
mind."

Sylvia smiled. "I thought you had set out
to persuade me to see him again!"

Bates watched her. "I don't know," he said,
"maybe mine was the best way to persuade you."

"Why, how charming!" she exclaimed, with a
laugh. "You are really subtle."

"We want to fight the introduction of the
English system, Miss Castleman! I don't mind
an aristocracy, because I'm one of 'em; but
I don't want any kings in America! It's a
patriotic duty to pull them off their thrones and
keep them off."

Sylvia pondered. It was a most entertaining
view. "And the queens too?" she laughed.

"Yes, and the queens too!"

There was a pause, while she thought. Then
she said, "Yes, I think you're right, Mr. Bates.
You may tell His Majesty that I'll see him—
once more!"

§ 16

SYLVIA had said that she would go motoring
with van Tuiver the following afternoon. He

234 SYLVIA

came in a cab, explaining that he had been to
dinner in Cambridge, and that his car had run
out of fuel. "I've a chauffeur who is troubled
with absent-mindedness," he remarked, with what
Sylvia soon realized was enforced good-nature.
For the car was longer hi coming than he expected,
and when at last it arrived, she was given an
exhibition of his system of manners as applied to
servants.

The chauffeur tried to make some explanation.
There had been an accident, which he wanted
to tell of; but the other would not give him a
chance. "I've not the least desire to listen to
you," he said. "I do not employ you to make
excuses. I told you when you came to me that
I required promptness from my servants. You
have had your opportunity, and you are not equal
to it. You may consider yourself under notice."

"Very good, sir," said the man; and Sylvia
stepped into the car and sat thinking, not hearing
what van Tuiver said to her.

It was not the words he had used; he had a
right to give his chauffeur notice, she told herself.
It was his tone which had struck her like a knife
—a tone of insolence, of deliberate provocative-
ness. Yet he, apparently, had no idea that she
would notice it; doubtless he would think it
meant a lack of breeding in her to notice it.

She wished to do justice to him; and she knew
that it was partly her Southern shrinking from
the idea of white servants. She was used to
negroes, about whose feelings one did not bother.

SYLVIA LINGERS 235

If Aunt Nannie discovered one of the chamber
maids trying on her mistress' ball gown, it would
be, "Get out of here, you bob-tailed monkey!"
Or if Uncle Mandeville's boy forgot to feed a
favorite horse, the rascal would be dragged out
by one ear and soundly caned — and would expect
it, knowing that if it was never done the horse
would never be fed. But to talk so to a white
man — and not in a blaze of anger, but with cold
and concentrated malevolence!

The purpose of this ride was a definite one —
that van Tuiver might find out the meaning of
Sylvia's change of mind at the dance. He pro
pounded the question very soon; and the girl
had to try to explain the state of mind in which
she found herself. She would begin, she said, with
the situation she had found at Harvard. Here
were two groups of men, working for different
ends, one desiring democracy in college life, and
the other wishing to preserve the old spirit of
caste. The conflict between them had become
intense, and Sylvia's sympathies were with van
Tuiver's opponents.

"Tell me," she said, "what has Harvard meant
to you? What has it given you that you couldn't
have got elsewhere? Here are men from all over
America, but you've only met one little set.
All the others — whom you're probably too refined
to call 'rough-necks' — could none of them have
taught you anything?"

"Perhaps they could," he answered, "but it's
not easy to know them. If I met people promis-

236 SYLVIA

cuously, they'd presume upon the acquaintance.
I'd have no time to myself, no privacy "

He saw the scorn in Sylvia's face. "That's all
very well," he cried, "but you simply don't realize!
Take your own case — do you meet anybody who
comes along?"

"I am a girl," said Sylvia. "People seem to
think it's necessary to protect girls. But even
so, I remember experiences that you might profit
by. I went last year to our State University,
where one of my cousins was graduating. At
one of the dances I was accidentally introduced to
a man, a decent fellow, whom I liked. 'I won't
ask you to dance with me, Miss Castleman,' he
said. I asked, 'Why not?' and he said, 'I'm a
"goat"/ I said, Til dance with a goat, if he's
a good dancer,' and so we danced. And then
came my cousin. 'Sylvia, don't you know who
the man is you were dancing with? He's a
"goat"!' 'I like him,' I said, 'and he dances as
well as any of you. I shall dance with him.'
'But, Miss Castleman/ they all said, 'you'll
break up the fraternity system in the college.'
'What strange fraternity!' I answered. 'I think
it needs breaking up. I'll dance with him, and
if anybody doesn't like it, I won't dance with
him.1 So I had my way."

"That's all right," said the other. "If a pretty
girl chooses to have her whim, everybody can
allow for it. But if you set to work to run a
college on that basis, you'd abolish social life
there. Men of a certain class would simply not

SYLVIA LINGERS 237

go where they had undesirable companionship
forced upon them. Is that what you want to
bring about?"

Sylvia thought for a moment, and then coun
tered, "Is the only way you can think of to
avoid undesirable companionship to have a private
house?"

"A house?" replied van Tuiver. "Lots of
people live in houses. Doesn't your father?"

"My father has a family," said Sylvia. "You
have no one but yourself — and you don't have
the house because you need it, but simply for
ostentation."

He was very patient. "My dear Miss Castle-
man," he said, "it happens that I was raised in
a house, and I'm used to it. And I happen to
have the money — why shouldn't I spend it?"

"You might spend it for the good of others."

"You mean in charity? Haven't you learned
that charity never does any good?"

"Sometimes I wish that I were a man, so that
I could understand these things," exclaimed Sylvia.
"But surely you might find some way of doing
good with your money, instead of only harm, as
at present."

"Only harm, Miss Castleman?"

"You are spending your money setting up
false ideals in your college. You are doing all
in your power to make everyone who meets you,
or sees you, or even knows of you, a toady or
else an Anarchist. And at the same tune you
are killing the best things in the college."

238 SYLVIA

"What, for instance?"

"There is Memorial Hall — a building that
stands for something. I can see that, even if all
my people were on the other side in the war.
There you find the democracy of the college, the
spirit of real comradeship. But did you ever
eat a meal in Memorial Hall?"

"No," said he, "I never did."

Sylvia thought for a moment. "Do ladies
eat there?" she asked; and when he answered
in the negative, she laughed. "Of course, that
was only a 'pretty girl's whim' — as you call it.
But if you, Douglas van Tuiver, would go there,
as a matter of course — right along, I mean "

"Eat at Memorial Hall!" he exclaimed. "My
dear Miss Castleman, I wouldn't eat — I'd be
eaten!"

"In other words," said she, coldly, "you admit
that you can't take care of yourself as a man
among men."

It was amusing to perceive his dismay over
her idea. He came back to it, after a minute.
He wanted to know if that was the sort of thing
he'd have to do to win her regard; and he repeated
the phrase with a sort of fascinated horror. "Eat
at Memorial Hall!"

Until at last Sylvia declared with asperity,
"Mr. van Tuiver, I don't care whether you eat
at all, until you've found something better to do
with your life."

SYLVIA LINGERS 239

§ 17

HE took these rages of hers very humbly. He
was becoming extraordinarily tame. "I suppose
you find me exasperating," he said, "but you
must realize that I'm trying my best to under
stand you. You want me to make my life all
over, and it isn't easy for me to see the necessity
of it. What harm do I do here, just by keeping
to myself?"

Sylvia was touched by his tone, and she tried
again to explain. "It isn't that you keep to
yourself," she said. "You cultivate a contempt
for your classmates, and they reply with hatred
and envy, and so you break up college life. It's
true, isn't it, that there's a struggle going on now?"

"The class elections, you mean?"

"Yes, that's what I mean. So much bitter
ness and intriguing, because you keep to yourself!
Why do you come to college at all? Surely you
won't say it's the professors and the studies!"

"No," said he, smiling in spite of himself.

"You come, and you make yourself into a kind
of idol. Excuse me, if it isn't polite, but what
I said the other night is the truth — the Golden
Calf! And what I say is, try the other plan a
while. Stop thinking about yourself, and what
they are thinking about you — above all, what
they are thinking about your money. They
won't all be thinking about your money."

He did not answer promptly. "Apparently,"
she said, "you don't feel quite sure. If you

240 SYLVIA

can't, I know several real men that I could
introduce you to — men right in your own
class."

"Who are they?"

She hesitated. She was about to say Frank
Shirley, but concluded not to. "I met one the
other day — he doesn't belong to a club, yet he's
the most interesting person I've encountered
here. He talked about you, and he wasn't com
plimentary; but if you sought him out in the
right way, and made it clear you weren't trying
to patronize him, I'm sure he'd be a friend."

"What's his name?"

"Mr. Firmin."

"Oh!" said van Tuiver, and looked annoyed.

"You know him?"

"By sight. He has a bitter tongue."

"No more bitter than you need, Mr. van Tuiver
— it you are going to hear the truth about your
self."

The other hesitated. "I really do want to
win your regard — " he began.

"I don't want you to do anything to win my
regard ! If you do these things, it must be because
you want to do them. At present you're just
your money, your position — your Royalty, as I've
come to call it. But I'm not the least bit con
cerned about your Royalty; your houses and your
servants and your automobiles are a bore to me
— worse than that, they're wicked, for no man
has a right to spend so much money on himself,
to have a whole house to himself ."

SYLVIA LINGERS £41

"Please," he pleaded, "stop scolding about my
house. I couldn't change now, for it's only a
couple of weeks to Commencement."

"It would have all the more effect," she de
clared, "if you moved into a dormitory now.
Here are the class elections, and your class split
up "

"You don't realize my position," he inter
rupted. "It's not merely a question of what
I want. There's Ridgely Shackleford, our candi
date for class president; if I deserted him and
went over to the 'Yard,' they'd say I was a
traitor, a coward — worse than that, they'd say
I was a fool! I wouldn't have a friend left in
the college."

"You really think it would be so bad?"

"It would be worse. I haven't told you half.
When the story got about, I'd become a booby
in society; I'd have to give up my clubs, I'd be
a complete outcast. I tell you, you simply can't
break down the barriers of your class."

Sylvia sat in silence, pondering his words.
Suddenly she became aware that he was gazing
at her eagerly. "Miss Castleman," he began,
his voice trembling slightly, "what I want above
all else is your friendship. I'd do anything to
win it — I'd give up anything in the world. I
have a regard for you — a most intense admiration.
If I knew it would make me mean something to
you — why then, I'd be willing to go to any
extreme, to defy everybody else. But suppose
I do this, and I'm left all alone "

16

242 SYLVIA

"If you did this you'd have new friends — real
friends."

"But the friend I want is you!"

Sylvia answered, "If you did what was right
because it was right, if you showed yourself
willing to dare something for the sake of prin
ciple — why then, right away you'd become worth
while. You'd not have to ask for my friendship."

He hesitated. "Suppose — suppose that I

should find that I wanted more than friend
ship »

She had been prepared for that — and she stopped
him instantly. "Friendship comes first," she
said.

"But," he pleaded, "give me some idea. Could
I not expect "

"You asked me to be a friend to you, to help
you by telling you the truth. That is what we
have been discussing. Pray let there be no
mistake about it. Friendship comes first."

Why did Sylvia take such a course with him?
You would have a false idea of her character if
you did not realize that it was the first tune she
had ever done such a thing — and that it was a
hard thing for her to do. To refuse to let a man
propose to her! To forbear to draw him on, to
investigate him, to see what he would reply to
various baffling remarks!

It was not because she was engaged to Frank
Shirley. Under the code which Lady Dee had
taught her that made simply no difference what
ever. Under that code it was her duty to secure

SYLVIA LINGERS 243

every man who came into her reach; she might
remain uncertain in her own mind, she might
continue to explore and experiment up to the
very moment when the wedding ring was slipped
upon her finger. Sylvia had never forgotten
Aunt Lady's vivid image: "Stand them up in
a line, my child, and when you get ready, walk
down the line and pick the one you want!"

She had set up a barrier before van Tuiver,
and he pushed against it. The more firm she
made it, the more he was moved to push. But
suppose she gave way the least little bit, suppose
he felt the barrier breaking — then would he not
stop pushing, would he not shrink away? What
fun to try him, to watch him hesitating, advanc
ing and retreating, trembling with desire and
with terror! To analyze the mixture of his long
ing and his caution, to add a little to the one or
the other, and then see the result. Sylvia with
a new man was like a chemist's assistant, mixing
strange liquids in a test-tube, possessed with a
craze to know whether the precipitate would be
red or green or yellow — and quite undeterred by
the possibility of being blown through the sky
light.

But tempting as was the game, she could not
play it with Douglas van Tuiver. It was as if
an angel stood between them with a flaming
sword. Douglas van Tuiver was no subject for
joke, he was not a man as other men — he was
Royalty. With Royalty one must be stern and
unfaltering. "Friendship comes first," she had

244 SYLVIA

said; and though before that ride was over he
had come again and again to the barrier, he never
broke past it, nor felt any sign of its yielding to
his touch.

§ 18

SYLVIA was making her plans to leave in a couple
of days. It was close to Commencement, and she
would have liked to stay, but there had come a
disturbing letter from home — the Major was not
well, and there had been an overflow, entailing
serious damage to the crops and still more serious
cares. At such a time the family reached out
blindly to Sylvia — no matter what was going
wrong, they were sure it would go right if she
were present.

And besides, her work at Harvard was done.
This was duly certified to by Harley, who came
to see her the next morning, in such a state of
bliss as is not often vouchsafed to Freshmen.
"It's all right, old girl," he said, "you can go
whenever you get ready. You surely are a witch,
Sylvia!"

"What has happened?" she asked.

"I had a call from Douglas van Ttdver last
night."

"You don't mean it, Harley!"

"Yes. Did you ask him to do it?"

"I should think I did not!"

"Well, whatever the reason was, he was as

SYLVIA LINGERS 245

nice as could be. Said he was interested in me,
and that he'd back me for one of the earlier tens."

"How perfectly contemptible of him !" exclaimed
Sylvia.

Needless to say, this was a turn not expected
by Harley. "See here," he protested, "it seems
to me you're taking a little too high a line with
van Tuiver. There's really no need to go so
far "

"Now please," said Sylvia, "don't concern
yourself with that. I came up here to help you,
and I've done it, and that's all you can ask."

"Oh, very well," he said, and there was a sulky
pause. Finally, however, the sun of his delight
broke through the clouds again. "Say, Sylvia!"
he exclaimed. "Do you know, the whole college
is talking about what happened at that dance.
Tell me, honestly — did you know anything about
what they meant to do?"

"I think that's a question you'd know better
than to ask, Harley."

"I was ready to knock a fellow down because
he hinted it. But Bates is square — he takes it
all on himself. They say Mrs. Winthrop will
never forgive him."

Sylvia pondered. "Won't it make Edith angry
with you?" she asked.

"I'll keep away from her for a few days,"
laughed Harley. "If I get my social position
established, she'll get over her anger, never fear.
By the way, would you like to know what Edith
thinks about you?"

246 SYLVIA

"Why— did she tell you?"

"No, but there's a chap in my class who knows
her. He told me what she said — only of course
one can't be sure."

"Tell me what it was," said Sylvia, "and I'll
know if she said it."

"That you were shallow; that with the arts
you used any woman could snare a man. But
she would scorn to use them."

"Yes," laughed the other, "she said it."

"Are you really as bad as that?" asked Harley.
"What arts does she mean?"

"This is a woman's affair, Harley. What else
did she say?"

"She said her mother was disappointed in you.
She thought you had a beautiful soul, but you'd
let it be spoiled by flattery. She said you had
no real understanding of a character like van
Tuiver, or the responsibilities of his position."

Sylvia said nothing, but sat considering the
matter. She had no philosophy about these
affairs; she was following her instincts, and some
times she was assailed by doubts and troubled by
new points of view. She was surprised to realize
how very revolutionary a standpoint she had
come to take in the matter of Mrs. Winthrop's
favorite. Why should she, Sylvia Castleman, a
descendant of Lady Lysle, be trying to pull down
the pillars of the social temple?

That was still her mood when, after Harley's
departure, the telephone rang and she found her
self voice to voice with "Queen Isabella." "Won't

SYLVIA LINGERS 247

you come and have luncheon with me, Sylvia?"
asked the latter. "I've sent Edith away, so that
we can be to ourselves. I want to have a long
talk with you." And Sylvia, in a penitent state,
answered that she would come.

§ 19

SHE chose for this visit one of her simplest
costumes — a white muslin, with pale green sprigs
in it, and a pale green toque of a most alluringly
Quakerish effect. A poet had designed it for her
— one of her victims at the State University —
and had specified that she must never wear it
without a prayer-book in her hand. In this cos
tume she sat in Mrs. Winthrop's sombre paneled
dining-room, with generations of sombre Puritan
governors staring down from the walls at her;
while the strange white servants stole noiselessly
about on the velvet carpets, she gazed with wide,
innocent eyes, and listened to her hostess' deli
cately-worded sermon.

Mrs. Winthrop appreciated the symbolism of
the costume, and used it in making a cautious
approach to her subject. She said that Sylvia
had wonderful gifts of beauty — not merely of
the person, but of taste and understanding.
Women so favored owed a great debt to life,
and must needs feel keenly the desire to make
recompense for their privileges. That, said Mrs.

248 SYLVIA

Winthrop, was something always present in her
own thoughts. How could she pay for her
existence? It was fatally easy to fall into the
point of view of those who rebelled against social
conditions, and justified the discontent of the
poor. "You know, we have such people even in
Boston," she explained, "and they win a good
deal of sympathy. But there is a deeper and
saner view, it seems to me. Life must have its
graces, its embellishments; there must be those
who embody a higher ideal than mere animal
comfort. I think we should take our stand there
— we should justify ourselves, having the con
sciousness of a mission in preserving the allure
ments and amenities of life. People talk about
the poor shop-girls, and how hard they have to
work; they seem to desire that one should give
up one's ease, one's culture, and go and join the
shop-girls. But I say, No, I am not to be seduced
by such arguments. I am something in the lives
of those shop-girls, something definite, something
vital; I am to them an uplifting vision, an ideal
of grace and dignity. When one goes among
the lower classes and sees the brutality, the sordid
animalism of their lives — oh, it is terrifying!
One flies back to the world of refinement and
serenity as to a city of refuge."

Mrs. Winthrop paused. Her beautiful eyes had
talked with her; they had gazed terrified into
social abysses, and now they came back to regions
of brooding calm. Sylvia was under their spell,
and was not conscious of any extravagance in

SYLVIA LINGERS 249

the lady's next utterance: "Speaking with a deep
conviction, I say that I am something necessary
to life, that the world could not get on without
me. I say, I am Beauty, I am Art! Have you
ever felt that, Sylvia?"

"I have thought a good deal about such things,
Mrs. Winthrop. But as a rule, I only manage to
bewilder myself and make myself unhappy.
There is so much terrible suffering in the world!"

"Yes," said the other. "How many times I
find myself asking, with tears in my eyes, 'How
can you be happy, while all around you the world
is dying? Go, bow your head with shame, because
you have been happy!' ' And sure enough,
Mrs. Winthrop bowed her head, and two glisten
ing, pearly tears trickled slowly from her eyes.
"It is a faith I have had to fight for," she con
tinued, "something I feel most earnestly about.
For we live in times when, as it seems to me,
civilization is threatened by the terrible forces
of materialism — by the blind greed of the masses
especially. And I think that we who have the
task of keeping alive the flame of beauty ought
to be aware of our mission, and to support one
another."

Sylvia thought that this was the point of ap
proach to the real subject; but she said nothing,
and Mrs. Winthrop veered off again. "I have
always been especially interested hi University
life," she said. "My father was a University
professor, and I was brought up in a University
town. After I was married and found that I had

250 SYLVIA

leisure and opportunity, I said to myself that it
would be my task in life to do what I could to
influence young men during their student years,
by teaching them generous ideals, and above
all by giving them a model of a dignified and
gracious social life. It is in these years, you see,
that the tastes of young men are formed; after
wards they go out to set an example to the rest
of the world. More than any university, I think,
Harvard is our source of culture and idealism;
our crude Western colleges look to its graduates
for teachers, and to its standards for their models.
So you see it is really no little thing to feel that
you are helping to guide and shape the social life
of Harvard."

"I can understand that," said Sylvia, much
impressed.

"You come from another part of our country,"
continued Mrs. Winthrop — "a part which has
its own lovely culture. Whether you have ever
realized it consciously or not, I am sure that
ideas such as these must have been often impressed
upon you by your family."

"Yes," said Sylvia, "my mother often talks of
such things."

"I felt that, Sylvia, when I saw you. I said,
'Here is an ally.' You see, I must have help
from the young people — especially from the girls,
if I am to do anything with the men."

There was a solemn pause. "I hope I haven't
disappointed you too much," said Sylvia at last.

Mrs. Winthrop fixed upon her one of those

SYLVIA LINGERS

intense gazes. "I've been perplexed," she said.
"You must understand, I can't help hearing
what's going on. People come to ask me for
advice, and I must give it. And I've felt that
what I've learned made it really necessary for
me to talk to you. I hope that you won't mind,
or think that I'm presuming."

"My dear Mrs. Winthrop," said Sylvia, "please
don't apologize. I am glad to have your advice."

"I will speak frankly, then. As well as I can
read the situation, you seem to have taken offense
at the social system we have at Harvard. Is
that true?"

Sylvia thought. "Yes," she said — "some parts
of it have offended me."

"Can you explain, Sylvia?"

"I don't know that I can. It's a thing that one
feels. I have had a sense of something cruel
about it."

"Something cruel? But can't one feel that
about any social system? Haven't you classes
at home? Don't your people hold themselves
above some others?"

"Yes, but I don't think they are so hard about
it — so deliberate, so matter of fact."

"Ah," said Mrs. Winthrop, "that is something
I have often talked about with Southern people.
The reason is that in the South you have a social
class which is definitely separated by color, and
which never thinks of crossing the line. But in
the North, my dear, our servants look like us,
and it's not quite so simple drawing the line."

252 SYLVIA

"Oh, but I'm not talking of servants, Mrs.
Winthrop. I mean here, within the boundaries
of a college class. Your servants do not go to
college."

The other laughed. "But they do," she said.

"Oh, surely not!"

"It costs a hundred and fifty dollars a year
to go to Harvard. Any man can come, black or
white, who can borrow the money. He may
come, and earn his living while he's here by tend
ing furnaces. As a matter of fact, there's a man
in the class with Douglas van Tuiver whose
father is a butler."

"You don't mean it!" exclaimed Sylvia.

"A man," said Mrs. Winthrop, "named
Firmin."

Sylvia was aghast. "Tom Firmin!"

"Yes. Have you heard of him before?"

She answered in a faint voice, "Yes," and
then was silent.

"You see, my dear," said the other, gently,
"why we are conscious of our class lines in the
Northl"

§ 20

SYLVIA judged that it was about time for the
cat to come out of the bag. And now she ob
served him emerging — with a grave and stately
tread, as became a feline of New England tradi
tions. Said Mrs. Winthrop: "I have just had

SYLVIA LINGERS 253

a talk with Douglas van Tuiver. Of course, you
must know, Sylvia, that he has conceived an
intense admiration for you. And you must know
that when a man so intensely admires a woman,
she has a great influence upon him — an influence
which she can use either for good or for evil."

"Yes, Mrs. Winthrop," said Sylvia.

"I gather that his admiration for you is — is
not entirely reciprocated, Sylvia."

"Er — no," said the girl, "not entirely."

"He has come to me in great distress. You
have criticized him, and he has felt your dis
approval keenly. I won't need to repeat what
he said — no doubt you understand. The point
is that you have brought Douglas to a state of
distraction; he wants to please you, and he
doesn't know how to do it. You have put ideas
into his head — really, Sylvia, you will ruin the
man — you will utterly destroy him. I cannot
but feel that you have acted without fully realiz
ing the gravity of the situation — the full import
of the demands you have made upon him."

"Really," protested Sylvia, "I have made no
demands upon him."

"Not formally, perhaps. But you must under
stand, the man is beside himself, and he takes
them as demands."

There was an awkward silence. "I have tried
earnestly to avoid Mr. van Tuiver," said Sylvia.
"I would prefer never to see him again."

"But that is not what I want. You can't
help seeing him — he is determined to see you.

254 SYLVIA

My point is that your advice to him should take
another form — you should realize the peculiar
position of a man like Douglas, the immense
responsibilities he carries, and which he cannot lay
aside. If you could sympathize with him "

There was again a pause. "I hope you won't
think it obstinate of me," said the girl, "but I
know that I could never change my attitude —
that unless Mr. van Tuiver changed his way of
life, he could never be a friend of mine."

"But, Sylvia dear," remonstrated the other,
gently, "he has been a friend of mine."

And so the real battle was on. There have
been defences of the Divine Right of Kings,
composed by eminent and learned men; there
have been treatises composed upon the upbring
ing of statesmen and princes — from Machiavelli
and Castiglione on; Sylvia was ignorant of their
very existence, and so she was in no way a match
for a scholarly person like Mrs. Winthrop. But
one thing she knew, and knew it with overwhelm
ing certainty, and repeated it with immovable
obstinacy — she did not like van Tuiver as he was,
she could not tolerate him as he was. Mrs.
Winthrop argued and pleaded, apologized and
philosophized, interpreting most eloquently the
privileges and immunities incidental to the pos
session of fifty millions of dollars. But Sylvia
did not like van Tuiver, she could not tolerate
van Tuiver.

At last Mrs. Winthrop stopped, the edges of
her temper somewhat frayed. She gazed at

SYLVIA LINGERS 255

Sylvia intently. "May I ask you one thing?"
she said.

"What is it?" inquired the girl.

"Has Douglas asked you to many him?"

"No, he has not."

"Do you think that he will ask you?"

"I really don't know; but I can assure you
that he will not if I can prevent it."

There was a long pause, while the other weighed
this utterance. "Sylvia," she said, at last, "he
has a great deal of money."

"I have heard that fact mentioned," responded
the girl.

"But have you realized, my dear, how much
money he has?"

To which Sylvia answered, "We are not taught
to think so deliberately about money in the
South."

Again there was a silence. She divined that
Mrs. Winthrop was struggling desperately to be
noble. "Do I understand you to mean, Sylvia,
that you would really refuse to marry him if he
asked you?"

"I most certainly mean it," was her reply —
and it was given convincingly.

The other [drew a breath of relief. She had
found the struggle exhausting. "My dear child,"
she said, "I appreciate your fineness of character."
She paused. "But tell me this — if you do not
intend to marry Douglas, ought you to permit
him to compromise himself for you?"

"Compromise himself, Mrs. Winthrop? I
don't understand you."

256 SYLVIA

"I mean, Sylvia, that he is exposing himself
to the ridicule of his friends — he is making a
spectacle of himself to the whole University.
And then, after he has done this, you propose
to cap the climax of his humiliation by refusing
to marry him!"

Sylvia had so far been most decorous; but at
this point her sense of fun was too much for her,
and merriment broke out upon her countenance.
"Mrs. Winthrop," she declared, "there is but one
way out — you must keep Mr. van Tuiver from
proposing to me!"

The other's pose became haughty and full of
rebuke; but Sylvia was not to be frightened.
"See the dilemma I am in!" she exclaimed. "If
I refuse him, I humiliate him and compromise
him. But if I marry him — what becomes of my
fineness of character?" She paused for a moment,
then added, "You must do this, Mrs. Winthrop;
you must take the responsibility of forbidding
me to see him again. You must make it so
emphatic that I'll simply have to obey you."
, "Queen Isabella's" feelings were approaching
a state of turmoil; but the girl urged her proposi
tion seriously, finding a quite devilish amusement
in plaguing her hostess with it. The other pro
tested that she would not, she could not, she
dared not take the responsibility of interfering
with Mr. van Tuiver's love affairs; and all with
out having the least idea of the abysses of malice
which were hidden within the circumference of
the pale green Quaker bonnet hi front of her!

SYLVIA LINGERS 257

§ 21

FRANK SHIRLEY came to call that afternoon, and
revealed the fact that the gossip had reached
even him. "Sylvia, you witch," he exclaimed,
and pinched her ear — "what in the world have
you been doing to Douglas van Tuiver?"

She caught his hand and held it in both hers.
"What has happened, Frank?"

"A miracle, my dear — simply a miracle! Van
Tuiver has been to call on Tom Firmin!"

"Oh, how interesting!" cried Sylvia. "How
was he received?"

"Tell me first — did you suggest it to him?"

"I'm a woman — my curiosity is much less
endurable than yours. Tell me instantly."

"Oh, he came — very much subdued and ill at
ease. Said he'd realized the split in the class,
and how very unfortunate it was, and he wanted
to help mend matters."

"What did Mr. Firmin say?"

"He asked why van Tuiver had begun with
him. 'Because I'd heard you didn't like me/
said van Tuiver, 'and I wanted to try to put
matters on a better footing. I'd like to be a
friend of yours if I might.' Tom — you know
him — said that friendship wasn't to be had for
the asking — he'd have to look van Tuiver over
and see how he panned out. First of all, they
must understand each other on one point — that
he, Tom, wouldn't be patronized, and that any
body who tried it would be ordered out." Frank

17

258 SYLVIA

paused, and laughed his slow, gooa-natured laugh.
"Poor van Tuiver!" he said. "I feel sorry for
him. Imagine him having to say he'd be willing
to take the risk! It's about the funniest thing
I ever heard of. What I want to know is, is it
true that you did it?"

"Would you be very angry if I said 'Yes'?"

"Why, no," he answered — "only I suppose
you know you're getting a lot of publicity?"

Sylvia paused for a while. "I suppose it was
a mistake all through," she said, "but I was
ignorant when I started, and since then I've
been dragged along. Mr. van Tuiver has kept
at me to tell him why I didn't like him — and I've
told him, that's about all. I thought that your
friend Mr. Firmin was one who'd do the same."

"He's that, all right," laughed Frank.

There was a pause, then suddenly Sylvia ex
claimed, "By the way, there's something I meant
to ask you. Is it true that Mr. Firmin's father
is a butler?"

"It is, Sylvia."

"And did you know that when you introduced
him to me?"

It was Frank's turn to counter. "Would you
be very angry if I said I did?"

"Why — not angry, Frank. But you must
realize that it was a new experience."

"Did you find him ill-bred?"

"Why, no — not that; but

"I thought you might as well see all sides of
college life. I knew you'd meet the club-men.

SYLVIA LINGERS 259

And there's a particular reason why you'll have
to be nice to Tom — he wants to make me presi
dent of the class just now."

"President of the class!"

"Yes. Politics, you see!"

"But," she exclaimed, "why haven't you told
me about it?"

"I didn't know until yesterday. Things have
been shaping themselves. You see, the feeling
in the 'Yard' has grown more bitter, and yester
day a committee came to me and asked if I'd
stand against Shackleford, who's been picked by
the Auburn Street crowd, and was expected to go
in without opposition. I said I'd have to think
it over. I might accept the position if I was
elected, but of course, I wouldn't do any wire
pulling — wouldn't seek any man's vote. They
said that was all they wanted. But I don't
know; it's a difficult question for me."

"But why?"

"Well, you see, they'll rake up the story of
my father."

Sylvia gave a cry of horror. "Frank!"

"If there's a contest, it'll be war and no
quarter."

"But would they do such a thing as that?"

"They would do it," said Frank, grimly. "So
my first impulse was to refuse. But I rather
thought you'd want me to run. For you see,
I'll have that old scandal all my life, whatever
I try to do; and I suppose you won't let me
keep out of everything."

260 SYLVIA

''But, Frank, how will they know about your
father?"

"Lord, Sylvia, don't you suppose with all the
social climbing there is in this place, they've had
that morsel long ago? There are fellows here
from the South — your cousin, for one. It doesn't
matter, as long as I'm a nobody; but if I set out
to beat the 'Gold Coast crowd' — then you'd
see!"

It was amusing to Frank to see how her eyes
blazed. "Oh, I ought to stay to help you!"
she exclaimed. "If it only weren't for father!"

"Don't worry, Sylvia. I wouldn't let you stay
for anything. I don't want you mixed up in
such affairs."

"But, Frank, think what it would mean!
What a blow to the system you hate! And I
could pull you through — you needn't laugh, I
really could! There are so many men I could
manage!"

But Frank went on laughing. "Honey," he
said, "you've done quite enough — too much —
already. How are you going to pay van Tuiver
for what he's done?"

"Pay him, Frank?"

"Of course. Do you imagine, dear, that van
Tuiver's a man to do anything without being
paid? He'll hand in his bill for services ren
dered, and he'll put a high value on his services!
And what will you do?"

She sat, deep hi thought. "Frank," she ex
claimed, "you've been so good — not to worry
about me and that man!"

SYLVIA LINGERS

He smiled. "Don't I know what a proud lady
you are?"

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Honey, if I had been afraid about van Tuiver,
do you suppose I'd have dared let you know it?"

She looked at him, her eyes shining. "How
nicely you put it!" she said. "You're the dearest
fellow in the world, a regular haven of refuge to
fly to!" Then suddenly her mood became grave,
and she said, "Let me tell you the truth; I'm
glad I'm going away from the man and his money!
It isn't that it's a temptation — I don't know how
to say it, but it's a nightmare, a load on my
mind. I think, 'Oh, how much good I could
do with that money!' I think, 'So much power,
and he hasn't an idea how to use it!' It's mon
strous that a man should have so much, and no
ideas to go with it. It's all very well to turn your
back on it, to say that you despise it — but still
it's there, it's working all the time, day and night
— and working for evil! Isn't that true?"

He was watching her with a quizzical smile.
"You're talking just like Tom!" he said.
"They'll call you an Anarchist at home!"

She was interested in the idea of being an
Anarchist, and would have got Frank started
upon a lecture on economics. But there came an
interruption in the form of a knock on the door
and a boy with a card. Sylvia glanced at it, and
then, without a word, passed it to Frank. He
read it and they looked at each other.

"Well?" he asked. "Are you going to see
him?"

262 SYLVIA

"I don't know," she said. "What do you say?"

"I can stand it if you can," laughed Frank;

and so Sylvia ordered Mr. van Tuiver shown up.

§ 22

HE stood in the doorway, clad in his faultless
afternoon attire. Somehow he had recovered
the hard brilliance, the look of the man of the
world, which Sylvia had noticed the first evening.
He gazed at Frank, not hiding very well his
annoyance at finding a third party.

"Mr. van Tuiver, Mr. Shirley," said Sylvia.
"You do not know each other, I believe."

"I know Mr. Shirley by sight," said van
Tuiver, graciously. He seated himself on a
spindle-legged Louis Quinze chair — so stiffly that
Sylvia thought of a purple domino. She beamed
from one to the other, and then remarked, "What
a curious commentary on the Harvard system!
Two men studying side by side for three years,
and not knowing each other!"

She was aware that this remark was not of the
most tactful order. She made it on purpose,
thinking to force the two into a discussion. But
van Tuiver was not minded that way. "Er —
yes," he said, and relapsed into silence.

"Miss Castleman's notions of courtesy are
derived from a pastoral civilization," said Frank,
by way of filling in the breach. "You don't
realize the size of Harvard classes, Sylvia."

SYLVIA LINGERS 263

The girl was watching the other man, and she
saw that he had instantly noted Frank's form of
address. He looked sharply, first at his rival, and
then at her. "Mr. Shirley is also from the
South?" he asked.

"Yes," said Sylvia, "we are near neighbors."

"Oh, I see," said van Tuiver. "Old friends,
then, I presume."

"Quite," said Sylvia, and again there was a
pause. She was willing to let the two men
worry through without help, finding it fascinating
to watch them and study them. What a curious
contrast they made! She found herself wonder
ing how far van Tuiver would have got hi college
life if he had had the handicaps of her lover!

Frank was talking about the prospects of the
baseball team. He was pleasant and friendly,
and of course quite unmoved by the presence of
Royalty. He seemed to be wholly unaware of
the tension in the air, the restlessness and im
patience of the man he was talking to. But
Sylvia knew and was thrilled.

It was a moment full of possibilities of drama.
She asked some question of Frank, and he an
swered, casually, "Of course, honey." He went
on, unconcerned and unperceiving; but Sylvia
saw the other man wince as if he had been touched
by something red hot. He looked at her, but
found that she was looking away. She stole a
glance at him again, and saw that he was watch
ing his rival with strained attention, his counte
nance several shades paler in hue.

264 SYLVIA

That was the end of conversation, so far as
van Tuiver was concerned. He answered in
monosyllables, and his eyes went from Frank to
Sylvia like those of a hunted animal in a corner.
The girl got a new and sharp realization of his
condition. She had gone into this affair as a
joke, but now, for a moment, she was frightened.
The man was terrible; every minute, as he watched
Frank, his brow grew darker, he was like a thunder
cloud in the room. And this the arbiter of Har
vard's best society!

At last, she took pity on him. It was really
preposterous of Frank to go on gossiping about
the prospects of a truce with the Princeton
"tiger," and the resumption of football contests.
So, smiling cheerfully at him, she remarked,
"You'll be missing the lecture, won't you?"
And Frank, realizing that he was a third party,
made his excuses and withdrew.

Van Tuiver barely waited until Frank had
closed the door. Then, with a poor effort at
nonchalance, he remarked, "You know Mr.
Shu-ley quite ultimately."

"Oh, yes," said Sylvia.

"You — you like him very much, Miss Castle-
man?"

"He's a splendid fellow," she replied. "He's
one of the men you ought to have been culti
vating."

But the other would not be diverted for a
moment. "I — I wish — pardon me, Miss Castle-
man, but I want you to tell me — what is your
relation to him?"

SYLVIA LINGERS 265

"Why, really, Mr. van Tuiver-

"I know I've no right — but I'm desperate!"

"But — suppose I don't care to discuss the
matter?" She was decided in her tone, for she
saw that stern measures were necessary if he was
to be checked.

But nothing could stop him — he was beyond
mere convention. "Miss Castleman," he rushed
on, "I must tell you — I've tried my best, but
I can't help it! I love you — as I've never dreamed
that a man could love. I want to marry you!"

He stopped, breathing hard; and Sylvia,
off her guard, exclaimed, "No!"

"I mean it!" he declared. "I'm in earnest —
I want to marry you!"

She caught herself together. She had not
"meant this to happen. She answered, with a tone
of hauteur, "Mr. van Tuiver, you have no right
to say that to me."

"But why not? I am making you an offer of
marriage. You must understand. I mean it."

"I am able to believe that you mean it; but
that is not the point. You have no right to ask
me to marry you, when I have refused you my
friendship."

There was a pause. He sat staring at her in
pitiful bewilderment. "I thought," he said, "this
was more serious." And then he stopped, read
ing in her face that something was wrong. " Isn't
an offer of marriage more serious than one of
friendship?" he inquired.

"More serious?" repeated Sylvia. "More
important, you mean?"

260 SYLVIA

"Exactly."

"More attractive/ that is?" she suggested.

"Why— yes."

"In other words, Mr. van Tuiver, you thought
that a man with so much money might be accepted
as a husband when he'd been rejected as a friend?"

"Why — not exactly that, Miss Castleman "

But Sylvia hardly heard his denial. A wave of
annoyance, of disgust, had swept over her. She
rose to her feet. "You have justified my worst
opinion of you!" she exclaimed.

"What have I done?" he cried, miserably.

"It isn't what you've done, as I've told you
before — it's what you are, Mr. van Tuiver. You
are utterly, utterly impossible, and I'm furious
with myself for having heard what you have just
said to me."

"Miss Castleman! I beseech you "

But she would not hear him further. She
could not endure his presence. "There is no
use saying another word," she declared. "I will
not talk to you. I will not know you!"

The madness of love was upon him; he' held
out his hands imploringly. But she repelled him
with blazing eyes. "You must go!" she said.
"Go at once! I will not see you again — I posi
tively forbid you to come near me."

He tried twice to speak, but each tune she
stopped him, crying, "Go, Mr. van Tuiver!"
And so at last he went, almost crying with humil
iation and distress, in his agitation forgetting his
hat and gloves. So furious was Sylvia that she
shut the door, and fell on the sofa weeping.

SYLVIA LINGERS 267

When she came to look back on it, she was
amazed by her vehemence. It could not have
been the manner of the proposal, for he had been
insufferable many times before, and she had
managed to take a humorous view of it. Had
it perhaps been seeing him in opposition to Frank
which had fired the powder mine of her rage?
Was it that jealousy of his power, of which she
had spoken? Or was it the protective instinct
with which Nature had endowed her maiden
hood — that she could jest with him while he was
seeking her friendship, but was convulsed with
anger when he spoke to her of love?

§ 23

THAT evening there was an entertainment of
the " Hasty Pudding" Club, and the next after
noon Sylvia was to take her departure. All the
morning she held an informal levee of those who
came to bid her good-bye, and to make their
comments on the amazing events which were
transpiring. For one thing, the candidacy of
Frank Shirley for class-president was formally
announced; and for another, Douglas van Tuiver
had declared his intention to move from his
house into one of the cheaper dormitories, and to
take his seat at the common dining-tables in
Memorial Hall.

Earliest of all came Harley, in a terrible state.

268 SYLVIA

"What can have got into you? You've ruined
everything — you've undone all the good you did
for me!"

'''As bad as that, Harley?" she asked. She
was gentle with him, realizing suddenly how
completely she had overlooked him and his
interests in the last few crowded days.

"What does it all mean?" he went on. "What
has made you want to smash things like this?"

She knew, of course, that there was no use
trying to explain to him. She contented herself
with saying that things could not be as bad as
he thought.

"They couldn't be worse!" he exclaimed.
"Van Tuiver's gone over to the 'Yard/ bag and
baggage, and the club-men are simply furious.
They're denouncing you, because you made him
do it, and when they can't get at you, they'll
take it out on me. Sooner or later they are
bound to learn that you're engaged to Frank
Shirley; and then they'll say you did it all to
help him — that you fooled van Tuiver and made
a cat's paw of him for the sake of Frank."

That was a new aspect of the matter, and a
serious one; but Sylvia realized that there was
no remedying it now. She was glad when other
callers arrived, so that she might send her cousin
away.

There came Thurlow, who, as a chum of Shackle-
ford, wished to protest to Sylvia against the harm
she was doing to the latter' s candidacy, and to
all that was best in Harvard's social life. There

SYLVIA LINGERS 269

came Jackson, who, as van Tuiver's best friend,
painted a distressful picture of the collapse of
his prestige. There came Harmon, also pledged
to plead the cause of "Auburn Street, " but proving
a poor ambassador on account of his selfish weak
ness. He spoke of van Tuiver's pitiful state, but
a very little contriving on Sylvia's part sufficed to
bring him to his knees, beseeching her to make
him the happiest man in the world.

Sylvia rather liked Harmon; she was grateful
to him for having been the first man at Harvard
to fall in love with her, thus helping her over a
tune of great self-distrust. He made his offer
with more eloquence than one would have ex
pected from a reserved upper-class club-man;
and Sylvia gently parried his advances, and wiped
away one or two tears of genuine sympathy, and
promised to be a sister to him in the most orthodox
old Southern style.

And then came "Tubby" Bates. "Tubby"
did not ask her to marry him, but he made her
several speeches which were even more pleasant
to hear. She had finished her packing, and had
on .her gray traveling dress when he called. He
stood in the middle of the floor, gazing at her
approvingly, his round face beaming and his eyes
twinkling with fun. "Oh, what a stir hi the frog-
pond we've made!" he exclaimed. "And now
you're running off and leaving me to face the
racket alone!"

"What in the world have you to do with it?"
she asked.

270 SYLVIA

"Me? Doesn't everybody know that it was
I who set you on van Tuiver? Didn't I bring
you together at that fatal dance? And now all
the big guns in the college are aiming murder
at me!"

The other laughed. "Surely, Mr. Bates, your
social position can stand a strain!''

He laughed in return, but suddenly became
serious. He said: "I wouldn't care anyhow.
Honest to God, Miss Castleman! There's some
thing I wanted to say to you — I have to thank
you for teaching me a lesson."

"A lesson?"

"You know, we don't live hi such a lovely
world — and I'm afraid I've got to be cynical.
But you've made me ashamed of myself, and
I want to tell you. It's something I shall never
forget; it may sound melodramatic — but I shall
always think better of women for what you've
done."

She looked at him and grew serious. "Tell
me, just what have I done that seems so extraor
dinary to you? I haven't felt a bit heroic."

"I'll answer you straight. You turned down
van Tuiver and his money!"

"And does that really surprise you so?" she
asked.

"I can only tell you that I didn't believe there
was a woman in America who'd do it. I can tell
you also that van Tuiver didn't believe it!"

Sylvia could not help laughing. "But, really,
Mr. Bates, how could you expect so badly of me
— that I'd sell my soul for luxury?"

SYLVIA LINGERS 271

"It isn't luxury, Miss Castleman. That's
nothing. You can buy a whole lot of luxury
with no more money than I've got. But with
van Tuiver it would be something else — something
that not one woman in a million has offered to
her. It's power, its supremacy — it's really what
you called Royalty."

"And you thought that would buy me?"

He sat watching her intently; he did not answer.

"Tell me truly," she said. "I won't mind."

"No," he said, "there's something beyond
that. I've read you, Miss Castleman, and I
thought he'd get you this way — you'd think of
all that could be done with his money. How
many people you knew that you could help!
How much good you could do in the world!
You'd think of starving children to be fed, of
sick children to be healed. You'd say, 'I could
make him do good with that money, and nobody
else in the world could!' That's the way he'd
get you, Miss Castleman!"

Sylvia was gazing at him, fascinated. He saw
a strange look in her eyes, and he felt, rather
than saw, that she drew a long breath. "You
see!" he said. "You did have to be heroic!"

So, when "Tubby" Bates took his departure,
he held her hand longer than any of her other
callers had been permitted to. "Dear Miss
Castleman," he said, "I'll never forget you;
and if you need a friend, count on me!"

He went away, and Sylvia sat hi her chair,
gazing before her, deep in thought. There came

272 SYLVIA

a knock, and a note was brought in. She frowned
before she looked at it — she had come to know
where these notes came from.

"My dear Miss Castleman," it read, "I have
just learned that you are going away. I implore
you to give me one word. I stand ready to do
all that you have asked me, and I throw myself
on your mercy. I must see you once again."

For a moment Sylvia was frightened, wonder
ing if she had a madman to deal with. Then
she crumpled the paper in her hand, and going
to the desk, seized a pen and wrote, with the
swiftness of one enraged:

"Mr. van Tuiver, I have asked you to do noth
ing. I wish you to do nothing. All you can
accomplish is to inflict disagreeable notoriety
upon me. I demand that you give up all thought
of me. I am engaged to marry another man, and
I will under no circumstances consent to see you
again."

This note she sent down by the boy, and when
Frank came for her with a motor-car, she kept
him in the room and sent Aunt Varina down into
the lobby to make sure that van Tuiver was not
waiting there. Some instinct made her feel that
she must not let the two men meet again.

Also this gave her a little interval with Frank,
She put her hands hi his, exclaiming, "I'm so
glad I've got you, Frank ! Hurry up — get through
with this place and come home!"

"You didn't like it here?" he smiled.

"I'm glad I came," she answered. "It'll be
good for me — I'll be happier at home with you!"

SYLVIA LINGERS 273

He took her gently in his arms, and she let
him kiss her. "You really do love me!" he
whispered. "I can't understand it, but you
really do I"

And she looked at him with her shining eyes.
"I love you," she said — "even more than I did
when I came. The happiest moment of my life
will be when I can walk out of the church with
you, and have nothing more to do with the
world!"

"Good-bye, Lady Sunshine!" he said. "Good
bye, Lady Sunshine!"

BOOK III

Sylvia Loses

§ 1

SYLVIA returned to New York, where she had
some shopping to attend to, and where also
Celeste was waiting for her, expecting to be
taken to theatres, and treated to a new hat and
some false curls and boxes of candy. Celeste
had heard all about van Tuiver, it appeared,
and was " thrilled to death" — her own phrase.
There was no repressing her questions — "Is he
nice, Sylvia?"— "What does he look like?"— and
so on. Nor was there any concealing her surprise
at Sylvia's reticence and lack of interest in this
subject.

The elder sister got a sudden realization of the
extent to which she had changed during this
last couple of weeks. "They will call you an
Anarchist at home," Frank had predicted; and
now how worldly and hard seemed Celeste to
her — how shameful and cruel her absorption in
all the snobbery of Miss Abercrombie's! Could
it be that she, Sylvia, had ever been so "thrilled
to death" over millionaire beaux and millionairess'
millinery? Her sister had grown so in the few
months that Sylvia, hardly knew her; she had
grown, not merely in body but in mind. So
serene she was, so self-possessed, so perfectly
certain about herself and her life! Such energy
she had, such determination — how her sharp,

(277)

278 SYLVIA

black eyes sparkled with delight in the glories
of this world! Sylvia found herself stealing
glances at her during the matinee, and wondering
if this could be " Little Sister"?

Sylvia had dismissed her multi-millionaire from
her mind; but she was not to get rid of him as
easily as that. ("He persists and persists,"
Bates had said.) One afternoon, feeling tired,
she sent her aunt forth to attend to some of the
family commissions; when to her amazement
there was sent up a note, written upon the hotel
stationery, in the familiar square Rngliph hand
writing.

"My dear Miss Castleman," it ran. "I know
that you will be angry when you see I have fol
lowed you to New York. I can only plead with
you to have pity upon me. You have put upon
me a burden of contempt which I can simply
not bear; if I cannot somehow manage to win
your respect, I cannot live. I ask only for your
respect, and will promise never to ask for anything
else, nor to think of anything else. However
bad I may be, surely you cannot deny me the
hope of becoming better!"

You see, it would have been hard for Sylvia
to refuse the request. He struck the right chord
when he asked for her pity, for she pitied all
things that suffered — whether they deserved it
or not.

She pitied him when she saw him, for his face
was drawn and his look haunted. He, the man
of fashion, the exemplar of good taste, stood

SYLVIA LOSES 279

before her like a whipped schoolboy, afraid to
lift his eyes to hers.

He began, in a low voice, "It is kind of you
to see me. There is something I wish to try
to explain to you. I want you to know that I
have thought over what you have said to me.
I have hardly thought of anything else. I have
tried to see things from your point of view, Miss
Castleman. I know I have seemed to you mon
strously egotistical — selfish, and all that. I have
felt your scorn of me, like something burning me.
I can't bear it. I simply must show you that
I am really not as bad as I have seemed. I want
you to realize my side of it — I mean, how much
I've had against me, how hard it was for me to
be anything but what I am."

He paused. He had his hat in his hands, and
Sylvia observed to her dismay that he was twist
ing it, for all the world like a nervous schoolboy.

"I want to be understood," he said, "but I
don't know if you are willing — if I bore you "

"Pray go on, Mr. van Tuiver," she said, in a
gentler tone of voice than she had ever used to
him before.

"This is the point!" he burst out. "You
simply can't know what it's meant to be brought
up as I was! I've come to realize why you hate
me; but you must know that you're the first
who ever showed me any other viewpoint than
that of money. There have been some who
seemed to have other viewpoints, but they were
only pretending, they always came round to the

280 SYLVIA

money viewpoint, they gave the money reaction.
If you try things by a certain measure, and they
fit it, you come to think that's the measure they
were made by. And that's been my experience;
since I was a little child, as far back as I can
remember — men and women and even children,
everybody I met was the same — until I met you."

He stopped, waiting for her to give some sign.
Her eyes caught his and held them. "How was
I able to convince you?" she asked.

" You— " he said— and then hesitated. "You'll
be angry with me."

"No," she said, "go on. Let us talk frankly."

"You refused to marry me, Miss Castleman."

"That was the supreme test?" He shrank,
but she pursued him. "You hadn't thought
that any woman would really refuse to marry
you?"

He replied hi a low voice: "I hadn't."

Sylvia sat, absorbed in thought. "What a
world!" she whispered, half to herself; and then
to him: "Tell me— is Mrs. Winthrop like that?"

Again he hesitated. "I — I don't know," he
replied. "I never thought about her in that
way. She already has her money."

"If she still had to get it, then you don't know
what she'd be?"

She saw a quick look of fear. "You're angry
with me again?" he questioned. By things such
as this she realized how thoroughly she had him
cowed.

"No " she said, gently, "I'm really interested.

SYLVIA LOSES 281

I do see your side better. I have blamed you for
being what you are, but you're really only part
of a world, and it's this world that I hate."

"Yes," he exclaimed, with a sudden light of
hope in his eyes. "Yes, that's it exactly! And
I want you to help me get out of that world —
to be something better, so that you won't have
to despise me. I only ask you to be interested
hi me, to help me and advise me. I won't even
ask you to be my friend — you can decide that for
yourself. I know I'm not worthy of you. Truly,
I blush with shame when I think that I asked you
to marry me!"

"You shouldn't say that," she smiled. "It
was only so that you really came to trust me!"

But he would not jest. He had come there in
one last forlorn effort, and he poured himself out
in self-abasement, so that it hurt Sylvia merely to
listen to him. She made haste to tell him that
his boon was granted — she would think of him
in a kindlier way, and would let him write to
her of his struggles and his hopes. Some day,
perhaps, she might even see him again and be
his friend.

While they were still talking there came an
interruption — a bell-boy with a telegram addressed
to Sylvia. She glanced at it, tore it open and
read it; and then van Tuiver saw her go white.
"Oh!" she cried, as if in sudden pain. "Oh!"

She started to her feet, and the man did the
same. "What is it?" he asked; but she did not
seem to hear him. She stood with her hands

282 SYLVIA

clenched, staring before her, whispering, "Papa!
Papa!"

She looked about her, distracted. "Aunt
Varina's gone!" she cried. "And I don't know
where she is! We'll be delayed for hours!" She
began to wring her hands with grief and distress.

Van Tuiver asked again, more urgently, "What
is it?"

She put the telegram into his hands, and he
read the message: "Come home at once. Take
first train. Let nothing delay. Father."

"He's ill!" she cried. "I know he's ill — maybe
dead, and I'll never see him again! Oh, Papa!"
So she went on, quite oblivious to the presence
of the man.

"But listen!" he protested. "I don't under
stand. This telegram is signed by your father."

"I know!" she cried. "But they'd do that—
they'd sign his name, even if he were dead, so
that I wouldn't know. They'd want me home
to break the news to me!"

"But," he asked, "have you reason to
think "

"He was ill. I didn't know just how ill, but
that's why I was going home. He must be dying,
or they'd never telegraph me like that." She
gazed about her, wildly. "And don't you see?
Aunt Varina's out. I'm helpless!"

"We'll have to find her, Miss Castleman."

"But I've no idea where she's gone — she just
said she would be shopping. So we'll miss the
four o'clock train, and then there's none till eight,

SYLVIA LOSES 283

and that delays us nearly a whole day, because
we have to lie over. Oh, God — I must do some
thing. I can't wait all that time!"

She sank on a chair by the table and buried
her face in her hands, sobbing like one distracted.
The man by her side was frightened, never having
seen such grief.

"Miss Castleman," he pleaded, "pray control
yourself — surely it can't be so bad. There are
so many reasons why they might have telegraphed
you."

"No!" she exclaimed, "no, you don't under
stand them. They'd never send me such a message
unless something terrible had happened! And
now I'll miss the train."

"Listen," he said, quickly, "don't think any
thing more about that — let me solve that problem
for you. You can have a special, that will start
the moment you are ready and will take you
home directly."

"A special?" she repeated.

"A private car. I'd put my own at your dis
posal, but it would have to be sent around by
ferry, and that would take too long. I can order
another in a few minutes, though."

"But Mr. van Tuiver, I can't let you "

"Pray, don't say that! Surely hi an emergency
like this one need not stand on ceremony. The
cost will be nothing to speak of, and it will give
me the greatest pleasure."

He took her bewildered silence for consent, and
stepped to the 'phone. While he was communi-

284 SYLVIA

eating with the railroad and giving the necessary
orders, she sat, choking back her sobs, and try
ing to think. What could the message mean?
Could it mean anything but death?

She came back to the man; she realized vaguely
that he was a great help, cool, efficient and deci
sive. He phoned for a messenger, and wrote a
check and an order for the tram and sent it off.
He had a couple of maids sent up by the hotel
to do the packing. "Now," he said, "do not
give another thought to these matters — the
moment your aunt comes you can step into a
taxi, and the train will take you."

"Thank you, thank you!" she said. She had
a moment of wonder at his masterfulness; a
special train was a luxury of which she would
never have thought. She realized another of the
practical aspects of Royalty — he would of course
use a private car.

But then she began to pace the room again,
her features working with distress. "Oh, Papa!
Papa!" she kept crying.

"You really ought not to suffer like this, when
it may be only a mistake," he pleaded. "Give
me the address and I will telegraph for further
particulars. You can get the answer on your
train, you know. And meantime I'll try, and
see if we can get your home on the long-distance
'phone."

"Can we talk at this distance?" she asked.

"I don't know, but at least we can relay a
message." So again she let him manage her

SYLVIA LOSES 285

affairs, grateful for his prompt decisiveness, which
set all the machinery of civilization at work in
her behalf.

"Now try to be calm," he said, "until we can
get some more definite information. People are
sometimes ill without dying."

"I've always known that I was going to lose
my father suddenly!" she broke out. "I don't
know why — he has tragedy in his very face. If
you could only see it — his dear, dear face! I
love him so, I can't tell you. I wake up in the
night, sometimes, and the thought comes to me:
'Papa has to die! Some day I'll have to part
from him/ And then the most dreadful terror
seizes me — I don't know how I can bear it!
Papa, oh, Papa!"

She began to sob again; in his sympathy he
came and stood by her. "Please, please," he
murmured.

"I've no right to inflict this upon you," she
exclaimed.

"Don't think of that. If I could only help
you — if I could suggest anything."

"It's one of those cases," she said, "where
nothing can be done. Whatever it is, I'll have
to endure it, somehow. If he'll only live until I
get there, so that I can see him, speak with him
again, hear his voice. I've never really been
able to tell him how much I love him. All that
he's done for me — you see, I've been his favorite
child, we've been like two playmates. I've
tended him when he was ill, I've read to him —

286 SYLVIA

everything. So he always thinks about me. He
wants me to be happy, and so he hides his troubles
from me. He hides them from everybody; and
you know how it is — that makes people lean on
him and take advantage of him. He's a kind of
family drudge — everybody comes to him, his
brothers and sisters, his nephews and nieces-
anybody that needs help or advice or money.
He's so generous — too generous, and so he gets
into difficulties. I've seen his light burning till
two or three o'clock in the morning, when he was
working over his accounts; and then he looks
pale and haggard, and still he smiles and won't
let me know. But I always know, because he
stays close to me, like a child. And now there's
been an overflow, and maybe this year's whole
crop is ruined, and that's a terrible misfortune,
and he's been worrying about it "

Suddenly she stopped. This was Douglas van
Tuiver she was talking to — telling him her family
affairs! She had a sudden thrill of fear about
it — she ought not to have let him know that her
father was in difficulties as to money!

It was only for a moment, however; she could
not think very long of anything but her father.
What floods of memories came sweeping over her!
"He was always so proud of me," she continued.
"When I came out, two years ago — dear old
Daddy, he wore his wedding-suit, that he'd had
put away in a cedar chest in the attic. He stood
beside mother, under the lilies and the bright
lights, and both of them would look at me and
beam."

SYLVIA LOSES 287

She had risen to her feet, and was pacing the
room, talking brokenly, but eagerly, as if it were
important to make her listener realize how very
lovable her father was. "Just think!" she said.
"He had an old purse in his hand — one that my
mother had given him on their wedding journey.
In it was an orange-blossom from their bridal-
bouquet, and some rose leaves that she had
bitten off and let fall at his feet, once when he
was courting her. He had treasured them for
twenty years; and now some one brushed against
his hand and knocked the dead leaves to the
floor, and they broke and went all to dust, and
he got down on his knees and searched for them
with tears in his eyes. I remember how mother
scolded him for making a spectacle of himself,
and he got up and went off by himself, to grieve
because his bridal-flowers had turned to dust."

Van Tuiver had listened in silence. When he
spoke, his voice held a strange note. "Never
mind," he said, "you will make it up to him.
You will give him flowers from your bridal wreath."

Again Sylvia found herself uncomfortable. But
they were interrupted by the telephone — the
connections with her home had been established.
She flew to the booth downstairs, but she could
hear nothing but a buzzing noise, and so there
were some torturing minutes while her questions
were relayed — she talking with "Washington,"
and "Washington" with "Atlanta," and so on.
What she finally got was this: No one was ill
or dead, but she must come at once — nothing

288 SYLVIA

must delay her. They could not explain until
she arrived. And of course that availed her
simply nothing. She was convinced that they
were hiding the truth until she was home.

When she went back to her room, she found
that Aunt Varina had come. Their trunks were
ready, and so they set off for the station, van
Tuiver with them. He saw them settled in their
car, and the girl perceived that at so much as a
word from her he would have taken the long
journey with her. She shook hands with him
and thanked him — so gratefully that he was
quite transported. As the car started and he
hurried to the door and leaped off, he was a
happier-looking van Tuiver than Sylvia had ever
expected to see.

§2

BY the time that Sylvia's train reached home,
she had gotten herself together. Although still
anxious, she no longer showed it. Whatever
the tragedy might be, she was ready to face it,
not asking for help, but giving help to others.
It was surely for that that they had summoned
her.

She was on the car platform as the train slowed
up; and there before her eyes stood her father.
He was haggard, and gray, and old-looking — but
alive, thank God!

She flew to his arms. "Papa! What's the
matter?"

SYLVIA LOSES 289

"Nothing, my child," he answered.

"But who is ill?"

"Nobody is ill, Sylvia."

"Tell me the truth!"

"No one," he insisted.

"But then, why did you send for me?"

"We wanted you home."

"But, Papa! In this fashion — surely you
wouldn't — " She stopped, and the Major turned
to greet his sister.

Sylvia got into the motor, and they started.
"Is Mamma well?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"And the baby?"

"Everybody is well."

"And you, Papa?"

"I have not been so very fine, but I am better
now." Sylvia suspected he had got up from his
sick-bed to come and meet her, and so her sense
of dread increased. But she put no more ques
tions — she knew she would have to wait. The
Major had begun to talk about the state of the
crops.

The car reached home; and there on the steps
were her mother, and the baby shouting a lusty
welcome, and Peggy and Maria dancing with glee
— to say nothing of troops of servants, inside the
house and out, grinning and waiting to be noticed.
There was noise and excitement, so much that for
several minutes Sylvia forgot her anxiety. Then
everybody wanted to know if she had brought
them presents; she had to stop and think what

19

290 SYLVIA

she had purchased, and what she had delayed
to purchase, and what she had left behind in the
rush of departure. Aunt Varina said something
about the special train, and there were questions
about that, and about Douglas van Tuiver, who
had provided it. And still not a word about the
mystery.

"But, Mamma," cried Sylvia, at last, "why
did you bring me home like this?" .

"Hush, dear," said "Miss Margaret." "Not
now."

And so more delay. Aunt Nannie was expected
shortly — she had said she would run over to greet
the returning voyagers. Sylvia scented trouble
in this, and would no longer be put off, but took
her mother aside. "Mamma," she pleaded,
"please tell me what's the matter!"

The other colored. "It isn't time now, my
child."

"But why not, Mamma?"

"Wait, Sylvia, please. It is nothing "

"But, Mamma, did you send me such a tele
gram for nothing? Don't you realize that I
have been almost beside myself? I was sure
that somebody was dead."

"Sylvia, dear," pleaded "Miss Margaret,"
"please wait — I will tell you by and by. There
are people here now "

"But there'll always be people here. Come
into the library with me."

"I beg you to calm yourself "

"But, Mamma, I want to know! Why should

SYLVIA LOSES 291

I be tormented with delay? Can't I see by the
manner of all of you that something is wrong?
What is it?" She dragged her mother off to
the library, and shut the door. "Now, Mamma,
tell me!"

The other looked towards the door, as if she
wished to make her escape. Something about
her attitude reminded Sylvia of that "talk" she
had had before her departure for school. "My
dear Sylvia," began the mother, "it is something —
it is very difficult "

"For heaven's sake, go on!"

"My child, you are going to be dreadfully
distressed, I fear. I wish that I could help you
— oh, Sylvia, dear, I'd rather die than have to
tell you this!"

Sylvia clutched her hands to her bosom in sud
den fear. Her mother stretched out her arms to
her. "Oh, my child," she exclaimed, "you must
believe that we love you, and you must let our
love help! We tried to save you from this — from
this "

"Tell me!" cried the girl. "Tell me!"

"Oh, my poor child!" wailed "Miss Margaret"
again, "Why did you have to love him? We
were sure he would turn out to be bad ! We "

Sylvia sprang towards her and shook her by
the arm.

"Mamma, answer me! What is it?"

"Miss Margaret" began searching in the bosom
of her dress. She drew out a crumpled piece of
paper — a telegram. Sylvia took it with trembling
fingers, and spreading it out, read these words:

292 SYLVIA

"Frank Shirley arrested in disorderly house in
Boston, held to await result of assault on another
student. Possibly fatal. Get Sylvia home at
once. Harley."

She stood perfectly rigid, staring at her mother.
She could not realize the words, they swam before
her in a maze. The paper fluttered from her
fingers. "It's false!" she cried. "Do you expect
me to believe that? It's a plot! It's some
trick they've played on Frank!"

Her mother, frightened by the pallor of her
face, put her arms around her. "My daughter — "
she began.

"What have you done about this? I mean —
to find out if it is true?"

"We telegraphed Harley to write us full
particulars."

"Oh, why did you send for me?" the girl
exclaimed, passionately. "If Frank is arrested,
I ought to be there!"

"Sylvia!" cried her mother, aghast. "Have
you read the message? Don't you see where he
was arrested?"

Yes, Sylvia had read, but what could she make
of it? In her mind was a medley of emotions:
horror at what Frank had done, disbelief that he
had done it, shame of a subject of which she had
been taught not to think, anxiety for her lover in
trouble — all these contended within her.

"The wretch!" exclaimed "Miss Margaret."
"To drag my child's name in the mire!"

"Hush!" cried Sylvia, between her teeth. "It

SYLVIA LOSES 293

is not true! It's somebody trying to ruin him!
It's a horrible, horrible lie!"

" But, Sylvia! The telegram came from your
cousin!"

"I don't care! It's some tale they've told to
Harley!"

"But — he says Frank is arrested!"

"Oh, I ought to go to him! I ought to find
out the truth! Frank is not that kind of man!"

"My child," ventured "Miss Margaret," "how
much do you know about men?"

Sylvia stared at her mother. Vague questions
trembled on her lips; but she saw there was no
help in that quarter. "I have always kept my
daughter innocent!" the other was saying. "He
ought to be killed for coming into our home and
dragging you into such shame!"

Sylvia stood silent, utterly bewildered. She
knew that there were dreadful things in the world,
of which she had gathered only the vaguest hints.
"A disorderly house! " She had heard the name
— she had heard other such names; she knew
that these were unmentionable places, where
wicked women lived and vile things were done;
also she knew that men went there — but surely
not the men she knew, surely not gentlemen,
not those who ventured to ask for her love!

But why should she torment herself with such
thoughts now? This charge against Frank could
not be true ! ' ' How long will it be, " she demanded,
"before we can have the letter from Harley?"

"At least another day, your father says."

294 SYLVIA

"And there is nothing else we can do?" She
tried to think. "We might telephone to Harley."

"Your Aunt Nannie suggested that, but your
father would not have such a matter talked about
over the 'phone."

Sylvia racked her brains, but there was no
other plan she could suggest. She saw that she
had at least one day of torment and suspense
before her. "Very well, Mamma," she said.
"Let me go to my room now. I'll try to be calm.
But don't let anybody come, please — I want to
be alone."

She could hardly endure to go out into the
hall, because of her shame, and the fear of meet
ing some member of the family. But there was
no need of that — they all knew what was happen
ing, and went about on tiptoe, as in a house of
mourning. Everyone kept out of her way, and
she went up to her room and shut herself in and
locked the door. There passed twenty-four
hours of agony, during which she by turns paced
the floor, or lay upon the bed and wept, or sat
in a chair, staring into space with unseeing eyes.
They brought her food, but she would not touch
it; they tempted her with wine, with coffee, but
for nothing would she open the door. "Bring
me Harley's letter when it comes," was all she
would say.

SYLVIA LOSES 295

§3

ON the morning of the next day her mother
came to her. "Has the letter come?" asked
Sylvia.

The mother hesitated, and so Sylvia knew that
it had come. "Give it to me!" she cried.

"It was addressed to your father, Sylvia "

"Where is Papa?"

She started to the door. But "Miss Margaret"
stood in her way. "Your father, my child, has
asked your Uncle Basil to come over." And
then, as Sylvia persisted, "Sylvia, you can't talk
of such things to your father. He thinks it is a
matter which your Uncle Basil ought to attend
to. Please spare your father, Sylvia — he has been
ill, and this has been such a dreadful blow to
him!"

"But for God's sake, Mamma, what is in the
letter?"

"It justifies our worst fears, my child. But
you must be patient — it is not a thing that a
young girl can deal with. Where is your modesty,
Sylvia? Your father will lose respect for you if
you do not calm yourself. You ought to be
hating the man who has so disgraced you — who
cares no more for you — "

"Hush!" cried Sylvia. "You must not say it!
You don't know that it is true!"

"But it is true! You will see that it is true.
And you ought to be ashamed of yourself, to cling
to a man who has been willing to — to — oh, what

296 SYLVIA

a shameful thing it is! Sylvia, get yourself to
gether, I implore you — do not let your father
and your uncle see you in such a state about a
man — an unworthy man!"

So there was another hour of distracted waiting,
until the Bishop came up, his gentle face a pic
ture of grief. "Miss Margaret" fled, and Sylvia
shut and locked the door, and turned upon her
uncle. "Now, Uncle Basil, let me see the letter."

He put it into her hands without a word. There
was also a newspaper-clipping, and she glanced
first at that, and went sick with horror. There
was Frank's picture, and that of another man,
with the label: "Harvard student who may die
as a result of injuries received in a brawl."
Sylvia's eyes sped over the reading matter which
went with the pictures; it was from one of the
sensational papers, the kind which revel in per
sonal details, and so she had the whole story.
Frank had got into a fight with a man hi a
"resort," and had knocked him down; in falling,
the man had struck his head against a piece of
furniture, and the doctors had not yet deter
mined whether his skull was fractured. In the
meantime, Frank was held in three thousand
dollars bail. The account went on to say that
the arrested man had been prominently mentioned
as candidate for class-president, on behalf of the
"Yard" against the "Gold Coast;" also that he
was the son of Robert Shirley, who had died hi
State's prison under sentence for embezzlement.

It seemed hardly necessary to read any more;

SYLVIA LOSES 297

but Sylvia turned to Harley's letter, which gave
various additional details, and some comments.
There was one point in particular which etched
itself upon her mind: " There need be no doubt
as to the character of the place. It is one of the
two or three high-class houses of prostitution in
Boston which are especially patronized by college
men. This is not mentioned in the newspaper
accounts, of course, but I know a man who was
present and saw the row, so there can be no
question as to that part of the matter."

Sylvia let the letter fall, and sulking down upon
the bed, buried her face in her arms. The Bishop
could see her form racked and shuddering. He
came and sat by her, and put his hand upon her
shoulder, waiting in silence. "My poor child!"
he began in a whisper, at last. "My poor, poor
child!"

He dared not let her suffer too long without
trying to help her. "My dear," he pleaded,
"let me talk to you. Make an effort, hear me.
Sylvia, you have to bear it. My heart bleeds
for you, but there's no help — it has to be borne.
Won't you listen to the advice of an old man,
who's had to endure terrible grief, and shame —
agony almost as great as yours?"

"Well?" she demanded, suddenly. Her voice
sounded strange and hard to him.

"Sylvia, dear, I tried to prove God's words
to you by logic, and I could not. God was
never proved by logic, my child — men don't
believe in Him for that reason. They believe

298 SYLVIA

because at some awful moment they could not
face life alone — because suffering and grief had
broken their hearts, and they were forced to
pray. Sylvia, there is only one way of help for
you — and that is through prayer."

He waited to know what effect his words were
having. Suddenly he heard the strange, hard
voice again. "Uncle Basil."

"Well, my child."

"I want you to tell me one thing. I have to
understand this, but I can't — I can't ask any
body."

"What is it, Sylvia?"

"I want to know — do men do such things?"

The Bishop answered, in a low tone, "Yes,
my child, I am sorry to say — many of them do."

"Oh, I hate them!" she cried, with sudden
fierceness. "I hate them! I hate life! It's a
shameful, hideous world, and I wish that I could
die!"

"Ah, don't say that, my child!" he pleaded.
"I beg you not to take it that way. If we let
affliction harden us, instead of chastening and
hiimbling us, then we miss all the purpose for
which it is sent. Who knows, Sylvia — perhaps
this is a punishment which God in His wisdom
has adjudged you?"

"Punishment, Uncle Basil? What have /
done?"

"You have denied His word, my child. You
have presumed to set your own feeble mind
against His will and doctrine. And now "

SYLVIA LOSES

"Oh, Uncle Basil, stop!" she exclaimed. "Your
words have no meaning to me whatever!" She
buried her face in the pillow, and terrible sobbing
shook her, burst after burst of it, as a tempest
shakes a tree. "Oh, I loved him so! I loved
him so!"

The old man had tried speaking as a Bishop;
now he thought that the time had come for him
to speak as a Castleman. His voice became
suddenly stern. "Sylvia," he said, "the man
was not worthy of your affection, and you must
manage to put him from your thoughts. You
are the child of a proud race, Sylvia — the daughter
of pure women! You must bear this trouble with
character, and with the consciousness of your
purity."

"Uncle Basil," she answered, "please go. I
can't bear to talk to anyone now. I must be
alone for a while."

He rose and stood hesitating. "There's no
way I can help you?" he asked.

"Nobody can help me," she answered
"Thank you, Uncle Basil, but please go."

§4

AND so began the second stage of Sylvia's
ordeal. For days she roamed the house like a
guilt-haunted ghost. She could hardly be got
to speak to any one — she avoided even people's

300 SYLVIA

eyes, so great was her shame. She would not
eat, and she could not sleep — at least, not until
she had managed to bring herself to the point
of utter exhaustion. Knowing this, she would
pace the room until she sank upon the bed almost
fainting. In their terror they sent for the doctors,
but these could do nothing for her. The Major
came several times a day, and made timid efforts
to talk to her about her roses and the new plants
he had got for her. But she could think about
nothing but Frank, and sent him away. Once
after midnight he crept to her room and found
that she was gone, and discovered her in the
rose-garden, pacing back and forth distractedly,
bare-footed and clad only in her nightgown. He
led her in, and found that her feet were cut and
full of gravel and thorns; but she did not mind
this, she said — the pain was good, it was the only
way to distract her mind.

What made the thing so cruel to her was that
element of obscenity in it, which was like an
extinguisher clapped down upon her mind, making
it impossible for her to talk of it, even to think
of it. Sylvia had never discussed such things,
and now she hated Frank for having forced them
upon her. She felt herself degraded — made vile
to the whole world, and to her own soul. She
knew that everybody she met was thinking one
dreadful thing; she felt that she could never
face the world again, could never lift up her
head again. She had given her heart to a man
to keep, and he had taken it to a " high-class
house of prostitution!"

SYLVIA LOSES 301

On the third day the Major came to her room
and knocked. He had a painful duty to perform,
he explained. (He did not add that there had
been a family-council for nearly an hour past,
and that he had been assigned to execute the
collective decision.) There had come a letter —
a letter addressed to Sylvia from Frank Shirley.

The girl sprang to her feet. "Give it to me!"

"My daughter!" exclaimed the Major, with a
shocked face.

She waited, looking at him with wondering
eyes. "What do you mean, Papa?"

He took the missive from his pocket, and held
it in his hand as he spoke. "Do you think," he
asked, "that it would be consistent with my
daughter's dignity to read such a letter? My
child, this man has dragged your name in the
mire; do you think that you ought to continue
in any sort of relationship with him? Is he to be
able to boast that he had you so under his thumb,
that even after such an outrage as he had inflicted
upon you " .

The Major stopped, words failing him.
"Papa," pleaded Sylvia, "might there not be
some explanation?"

"Explanation!" cried the other. "What ex
planation — that my daughter could read?" His
voice fell low. "That is the point — I do not
wish my daughter's mind to be soiled with ex
planations of this subject. Sylvia, you cannot
know about it!"

There was a silence. "What do you want
me to do, Papa?"

302 SYLVIA

"There is but one thing a proud woman can
do, Sylvia. Send back this letter, with a note
saying that you cannot receive communications
from Mr. Shirley."

There was a long silence. Sylvia sank down
upon the bed, and he heard her sobbing softly to
herself. " Sylvia!" he exclaimed, "this man had
your affection — he kissed your pure young lips!"
He saw her wince, and followed up his advantage
— "He kissed you when you were in Boston, did
he not?"

She could hardly bring herself to answer.
"Yes, Papa."

"And do you realize that two or three days
later he had gone to this — this place?" He
paused, while the words sank into her soul.
"My daughter," he cried, "where is your pride?"

There was something commanding in his voice.
She looked up at him; his face was white, his
eyes blazing. "Sylvia," he exclaimed, "you are
a Castleman! You have wept enough! Rise
up, my daughter!"

She rose, like one under a spell. Yes, it was
something to be a Castleman. It meant to be
capable of bearing any torture for the sake of
pride, of facing any danger for the sake of honor.
How many tales she had heard of that Castle
man honor! Had not the man who stood before
her, the captain of a regiment when only a half-
grown youth, marched and fought with a broken
shoulder-blade, and slept in mud and rain with
out shelter or even a blanket, living for weeks
upon an allowance of six grains of corn a day?

SYLVIA LOSES 303

She drew herself up, and her face became cold
and set. "Very well, Papa," she said, "he
deserves my scorn."

"Then write as I say." And he stood by her
desk and dictated:

"Mr. Shirley: I have received the enclosed
letter, but do not care to read it. All relation
ship between us is at an end. Sylvia Castleman."

And to such a height of resolution had she
been lifted by her Castleman pride, that she
addressed an envelope, and took Frank's letter,
and folded it and put it inside, and sealed and
stamped the envelope, and gave it to her father.
Nor did she give a sign of pain or grief until
after she had dismissed him, and closed and
locked the door.

§5

IN the days that followed, Sylvia's longing for
her sweetheart overcame her pride many tunes;
she paced her room, tearing at the neck of her
gown like one suffocating, flinging out her arms
in abandonment of grief, crying under her breath
(for she must not let others know that she was
suffering), "Oh, Frank, Frank! How could you?"
Anger would come; she hated him — she hated
all men! But again the memory of his slow smile,
his straight-forward gaze, his voice of sincerity.
She would find herself whispering, incoherently,
"My love! My love!"

304 SYLVIA

For the sake of her family, she labored to
repress her feelings. But she would have night
mares, and would toss and moan in her sleep,
sometimes screaming aloud. Once she awakened,
bathed in tears, and hearing faint sobbing, put
out her hand, and found her mother, crouching
in the darkness, watching, weeping.

They besought her to let her mind be diverted
by others. For many days there was a regular
watch kept, with family consultations daily, and
some one always deputed to be with her — or at
least to be near her door. Little by little, as she
yielded to their persuasions, Sylvia got the views
of the various members of her family upon what
had occurred.

Aunt Varina put her arms about her and wept
with her. "Oh, it is horrible, Sylvia," she said —
"but think how much better that you should
find it out before it's too late! Oh, dear girl, it
is so awful to find it out when it's too late."
Thus the voice of Aunt Varina's wasted life!

Aunt Nannie came later, as tactful as could
have been expected. She did not say, "I told
you so," but she managed to leave with Sylvia
the idea that the outcome was within the limits
of human understanding. It was a matter of
"bad blood;" and "bad blood" was like mur
der — it would always out. Also Aunt Nannie
ventured to hint that it might be that Sylvia
had allowed Frank Shirley to "take liberties"
with her; and this, of course, made its impres
sion upon the girl, who persuaded herself that she
must be partly to blame for her own disgrace.

SYLVIA LOSES 305

She became bitter against men; she did not
see how she could ever tolerate the presence of
one. Her mother, discussing the subject, re
marked, "The reason I married your father was
that he was the one good man I knew."

"How did you know that he was good?" de
manded the girl.

"Sylvia!" exclaimed her mother, in horror.

"But how? Because he told you so?"

"Miss Margaret" answered hesitatingly, choos
ing her words for a difficult subject. "I had
heard things. Your Aunt Lady told me — how
the young men in your father's set had tried to
get him to — to live the wicked life they lived.
They made fun of him — called him 'Miss
Nancy' — ". She broke off suddenly. "I can
not talk about such things to my daughter!"

Even from "Aunt Mandy," the old "black
mammy" who had been the first person to hold
Sylvia in her arms, the girl now received counsel.
"Aunt Mandy" served the coffee in the early
morning, and stood in the bedrooms and grinned
while the ladies of the family gossiped; she often
took part in the conversation, having gathered
stores of family wisdom in her sixty-odd years.
"Honey, I'se had my cross to bear," she said to
Sylvia, and went on to discuss the depravity of
the male animal. "Fse had to beat my old man
wid a flatiron, when I ketched him lookin' roun'
too much — an' even dat didn't help much, honey.
Now I got dem boys o' mine, what's allus up in
cou't, makin' de Major come to pay jail-fines.

20

306 SYLVIA

But how kin I be cross wid 'em, when I knows
it's my own fault?"

"Your fault, Mammy?" said Sylvia. "Why,
you are as good a mother '

"I know, honey, I'se tried to be good; I'se
prayed to de Lord — yes, I'se took dem boys to
de foot o' de cross. But de Lord done tole me
it's my fault. 'Mandy,' he says, 'Mandy — look
at de daddy you give dem niggers!' Oh, honey,
take dis from yo' ole mammy, ef you'se gwine
ter bring any chillun into de worl' — be careful
what kind of a daddy you gives 'em!"

The family had gathered in a solid phalanx
about Sylvia. Uncle Barry, whose plantation
was a hundred miles away, and who was a most
hard-working and domestic giant, left his over
seers and his family and came to beg her to let
him give her a hunting-party. Uncle Mande-
ville came from New Orleans to urge her to go
to a house-party he would give her. Uncle
Mandeville it was who had assured Sylvia as a
little girl that he would protect her honor with
his life; and now he caused it to be known through
out Castleman County that if ever Frank Shu-ley
returned and attempted to see his niece, he,
Frank Shirley, would be "shot like a dog." And
this was not merely because Uncle Mandeville
was drunk, but was something that he soberly
meant, and that everybody who heard him under
stood and approved.

Just how tight was the cordon around her,
Sylvia learned when Harriet Atkinson arrived,

SYLVIA LOSES 307

fresh from a honeymoon-voyage to the Mediter
ranean and the Nile.

"Why, Sunny, what's this?" she demanded.
"Why wouldn't you see me?"

"See you?" echoed Sylvia. "What do you
mean. I haven't refused to see you." It trans
pired that Harriet had been writing and 'phoning
and calling for a week, being put off in a fashion
which would have discouraged anyone but the
daughter of a self-made Yankee. "I suppose,"
she said, "they thought maybe I'd come from
Frank Shirley."

Sylvia's face clouded, but Harriet went on —
"My dear, you look like a perfect ghost! Really,
this is horrible!" So she set to work to console
her friend and drag her out of her depression.
"You take it too seriously, Sunny. Beauregard
says you make a lot more fuss about the thing
than it deserves. If you knew men better "

"Oh don't, Harriet!" cried the other. "I can't
listen to such things!"

"I know," said Harriet, "there you are — the
thing I've always scolded you for! You'll never
be happy, Sunny, while you persist in demanding
more than life will give. You say what you want
men to be — and paying no attention at all to
what they really are."

"Are you happy?" asked Sylvia, trying to
change the subject.

"About as I expected to be," said the other.
"I knew what I was marrying. The only trouble
is that I haven't been very well. I suppose it's

308 SYLVIA

too much rambling about. I'll be glad to settle
down in my home." She was going to Charleston
to live in the old Dabney Mansion, she explained;
at present she was paying a flying visit to her
people.

''Well, Sunny," she remarked, "you are going
to give him up?"

"How can I do otherwise, Harriet?"

"I suppose you couldn't — with that adamantine
pride of yours. And of course it was awkward
that he had to get into the papers. But Beau
says these things blow over sooner than one
would expect. Nobody thinks it's half as bad
as they all pretend to think it." (Harriet, you
must understand, felt rather sorry for Frank, and
thought that she was pleading his cause. She
did not understand that her few words would do
more to damn him than all that the family had
been able to say.) ,

But she perceived that Sylvia did not want to
talk about the subject. "Well, Sunny," she said,
after a pause, "I see you've got a substitute
ready."

"How do you mean?" asked Sylvia, dully.

"I mean your Dutch friend."

"My Dutch friend? Oh — you are talking about
Mr. van Tuiver?"

uYou are most penetrating, Sylvia!"

"You've heard about him?" said the other,
without heeding her friend's humor.

"Heard about him! For heaven's sake, what
else can one hear about hi Castleman County
just now?"

SYLVIA LOSES 309

Sylvia said nothing for a while. "I suppose,"
she remarked, at last, "it's because I came in a
special train."

"My dear," said the other, "it's because he
came in a special train."

"He came?" repeated Sylvia, puzzled.

And her friend stared at her. "Good Lord,"
she said, "I believe you really don't know that
Mr. van Tuiver's in town!"

Sylvia started as if she had been struck.- "Mr.
van Tuiver in town!" she gasped.

"Why, surely, honey — he's been here three
or four days. How they must be taking care of
you!"

"'Sylvia sprang to her feet. "How perfectly
outrageous!" she cried.

"What, Sunny? That you haven't seen him?"

"Harriet, stop joking with me!"

"But I'm not joking with you," said Harriet,
bewildered. "What in the world is the matter?"

Sylvia's face was pale with anger. "I won't
see him! I won't see him! He has no right to
come here!"

"But Sunny — what's the matter? What's the
man done?"

"He wants to marry me, Harriet, and he's
come here — oh, how shameful! how insulting!
At such a time as this!"

"But I should think this was just the tune for
him to come!" said Harriet, laughing in spite of
herself. "Surely, Sylvia, if you haven't gone
formally into mourning "

310 SYLVIA

"I won't see him!" cried the other, passionately.
"He must be made to understand it at once —
he'll gain nothing by coming here!"

"But, Sunny," suggested her friend, "hadn't
you better wait until he tries to see you?"

"Where is he, Harriet?"

"He's staying with Mrs. Chilton."

"With Aunt Nannie!" Sylvia stood, staring
at Harriet with sudden fear in her face. She
saw now why van Tuiver had made no attempt
to see her, why nothing had been said to her as
yet! She clenched her hands tightly and ex
claimed, "I won't marry him! They sha'n't sell
me to him — they sha'n't, they sha'n't!"

Her friend was gazing at her in wonder, not
unmixed with alarm. "Good God, Sunny," she
exclaimed, "can he be so bad that you'd refuse
to marry him?"

§6

ALL this while, you must understand, there
was Sylvia's "world" outside, looking on at the
drama — pitying, wondering, gossiping, speculat
ing. Frank arrested, Frank out on bail! Frank
let off with a fine, because the man did not die!
Frank leaving college and coming back to his
plantation! Would he try to see Sylvia, and
what would Sylvia do about it? Would Mande-
ville Castleman carry out his threat to shoot him?
How was Sylvia taking it, anyway? Would she

SYLVIA LOSES 311

be seen at the next club-dance? And then —
interest piled upon interest — Douglas van Tuiver
had come! Was it true that the Yankee Croesus
wanted to marry Sylvia? Was it true that he
had already asked her? Could it be that she had
actually refused to see him? And what would
the family do about that? — All this, you under
stand, most decorously, most discreetly — and yet
with such thrills, such sensations!

When the audience is stirred, the actors know
it; and people so sensitive and proud as the
Castlemans could not fail to be aware that the
world's attention was focussed upon them. So
Sylvia was not left for long to indulge her grief.
As soon as her relatives had made sure of her
breach with Frank, they turned then* energies
to persuading her to present a smiling front to
"society." "You must not let people see that
you are eating your heart out over a man!" —
such was their cry. There were few things worse
that could happen to a woman than to have it
known that she was grieving about a man. Just
as a savage laughs at his enemies while they are
torturing him, so must a woman wear a smile
upon her face while her heart was breaking.

From the first moment, of course, her old suitors
rallied to protect her — a kind of outer phalanx,
auxiliary to the family. They wrote to her,
they sent flowers, they called and lingered hi
the hope that she might see them. When the
time for the club-dance came, the siege of the
suitors became a general assault. A dozen times

312 SYLVIA

a day came her mother or Aunt Varina to plead
with her, to scold her. "I don't want to dance —
I couldn't dance!" she wailed; but it would be,
"Here's Charlie Peyton on the 'phone — he begs
you to speak to him just a moment. Go, Sylvia,
please — don't let people think you are so weak!"

At last she told one man that he might call.
Malcolm McCallum it was — the same who had
crawled upon his knees to prove his devotion to
her. She had long ago convinced him that his
suit was hopeless, so now he was able to plead
with her without offense. Her friends wanted
so to help her — would she not give them a chance?
They were indignant because of the way a scoun
drel had treated her; they wanted somehow to
show her their loyalty, their devotion. If only
she would come — such a tribute as she would
receive! And surely she was not going to give
up her whole life, because of one such fellow!
She had so many true friends — would she punish
them all for the act of one? No, they would not
have it! No, not if they had to raid the house
and carry her away! The belle of Castleman
Hall should not wither up and be an old maid!

Sylvia promised to think it over; and then came
Aunt Nannie, to protest in the name of all her
cousins against her inflicting further notoriety
upon the family. For Sylvia to be exhibiting
such unseemly grief over Frank Shirley was almost
as bad as to be engaged to him. She must posi
tively take up her normal life again; she must
go to this dance!

SYLVIA LOSES 313

Sylvia, perceiving that it would be necessary
to have the matter out sooner or later, inquired,
"Is Mr. van Tuiver to be there?"
She was surprised at the answer, "He is not."
"Where is he?" she asked; and learned that
the visitor had gone with two of the boys on a
fishing-trip. Sylvia and her aunt exchanged
looks — as two swordsmen might, while their
weapons are being measured and the ground laid
out for their duel. The girl could imagine what
had happened, almost as well as if she had been
present. Van Tuiver, with his usual crude ego
tism, had come post-haste to Castleman Hall;
it was Aunt Nannie who had persuaded him to
wait, and let her handle the affair with tact.
Sylvia must first be drawn out into social life,
and then it would be less easy for her to avoid
van Tuiver. But although Sylvia felt sure of
this, she could not say so. When she hinted the
charge, her aunt had a shrewd retort ready:
"I have daughters of my own — and may I not
have plans of my own for so eligible a young
man as Douglas van Tuiver?"

§ 7

SYLVIA said that she would go to the dance;
and great was the excitement, both at home and
abroad. All day long, between fits of weeping,
she labored to steel herself to the ordeal. When

314 SYLVIA

night came, she let herself be arrayed in rosy
chiffon, and then went all to pieces, and fell upon
the bed hi a paroxysm, declaring that she could
not, could not go. One by one came "Miss
Margaret," Aunt Varina, and Celeste, scolding her,
beseeching her — but all in vain; until at last
they sent for the Major, who, wiser than all of
them, arrayed himself in his own evening finery,
and put a white rosebud in his button-hole, and
then went with cheerful face and breaking heart
to Sylvia's room.

"Come, little girl," he said. "Daddy's all
ready."

Sylvia sat up and stared at him through her
tears. "You!" she exclaimed.

"Why, of course, honey," he smiled. "Didn't
you know your old Papa was going with you?"

Sylvia had not known it, nor had anybody else
known it up to a few minutes before. Her sur
prise (for the Major almost never went to dances)
was sufficiently great to check her tears; and
then came "Miss Margaret" with a glassful of
steaming "hot toddy." "My child," she said,
"drink this. You've had no nourishment — that's
why you go to pieces."

So they washed her face again, and powdered
it up; they straightened her hair and smoothed
out the wrinkles hi her dress, and got her bows
and ribbons hi order, and took her down stairs
to where Aunt Nannie was waiting, grim and
resolute — a double force of chaperones for this
emergency!

SYLVIA LOSES 315

You can imagine, perhaps, the excitement when
they reached the club-house; how the whisper
went round, and the swains crowded in the door
way to wait for her. The younger ones cheered
when she entered — "Hi, yi! Whoop la! Miss
Sylvia." They came jumping and capering across
the ball-room floor — one of them tearing a great
palmetto-leaf from the decorations on the wall,
and performing a wonderful, sprawling salaam
before her. "I'm the King of the Cannibal
Islands!" he proclaimed. "Will you be my
Queen, Miss Sylvia?" Several others locked
arms and executed a cake-walk, by way of mani
festing their delight. The dance of the country-
club was turned into a reception in her honor.
They worshipped her for having come — it took
nerve, by George, and nerve was the thing they
admired. And then how lovely she was — how
perfectly, unutterably lovely! Just a little more
suffering like this, and she would be ready to be
carried up in a chariot of fire and set among the
seraphim!

Of course, in the face of such a welcome, it
was unthinkable that she should not carry the
thing through triumphantly. In the refreshment-
room were egg-nogg and champagne-punch, and
she drank enough to keep her in a glow, to carry
her along upon wings of excitement. One by one
her old sweethearts came to claim a dance with
her, and one by one they caused her to under
stand that hope was springing eternal hi their
breasts. She found herself so busy keeping them

316 SYLVIA

in order that life seemed quite as it had always
been in Castleman County.

Save for one important circumstance. There
had come a new element into its atmosphere —
something marvellously stimulating, transcending
and overshadowing all that had been before.
Sylvia found out about it little by little; the
first hint coming from old Mrs. Tagliaferro — the
General's wife, you may remember. She had
come to Sylvia's debut party, hobbling with a
gold-headed cane; but now, the General having
died, she had thrown away her cane, and chap
eroned her great-grandchildren at dances, because
otherwise people would think she was getting
old. She shook a sprightly finger at the belle
of the evening, and demanded, " What's this
I hear, my child, about your latest conquest?
I always knew you'd be satisfied with nothing
less than a duke!" Sylvia's face clouded, and the
other went on her way with a knowing cackle.
"Oh, you can't fool me with your haughty looks!"

And then came Mabel Taylor, a girl who had
been a hopeless wallflower in her early days,
and had been saved because Sylvia took pity
upon her, and compelled men to ask her to dance.
Now she was Sylvia's jealous rival; and greeting
her hi the dressing-room she whispered, "Sylvia,
is he really in love with you?"

When Sylvia asked, "Who?" the other replied,
"Oh, it's a secret, is it!"

The girl perceived that she must take some
line at once. "Are you really going to marry

SYLVIA LOSES 317

him?" asked Charlie Peyton, with despair in his
voice. "We can't stand that sort of competi
tion!" protested Harvey Richards. "We shall
have to have a protective tariff, Miss Sylvia!"
(Harvey, as you may recall, was a steel manu
facturer.)

The thing had got upon Sylvia's nerves. "Are
you so completely awed by that man?" she
demanded, in a voice of intense irritation.

"Awed by him?" echoed Harvey.

"Why don't you at least mention his name?
You are the fourth person who's talked to me
about him to-night and hasn't dared to utter
his name. I believe it's not customary for Kings
to use their family names, but they have Christian
names, at least."

"Why, Miss Sylvia!" exclaimed the other.

"Let'us give him a title," she pursued, savagely.
"Kingj, Douglas the First, let us say!" And
imagine the seven pairs of swift wings which
that ^saying took unto itself! She called him a
King! King Douglas the First! She referred to
him as Royalty — she made fun of him as openly
and recklessly as that! "What sublimity!"
exclaimed her admirers. "What a pose!" re
torted her rivals.

But even so, they could not but envy her the
pose, and the consistency with which she adhered
to it. She could not be brought to discuss the
King — whether he was in love with her, whether
he had asked her to marry him, whether he had
come South on her account; nor did she show

318 SYLVIA

any particular signs of being impressed by him —
as if she really did not consider him imposing, or
especially elegant, or hi any way unusual. Oh,
but they were a haughty lot, those Castlemans —
and Sylvia was the haughtiest of them all! The
country-club began to revise its estimates of
Knickerbocker culture, and to remember that,
after all, the only real blood in America was in
the South.

§8

THE next afternoon came Harriet Atkinson, to
bid Sylvia farewell, and incidentally to congratu
late her upon her triumph. After they had
chatted for a while, she put her hand upon her
friend's, and remarked in a serious tone, " Sunny,
I've had a letter from Frank Shirley."

She felt the hand quiver in hers, and she pressed
it more firmly. "He wanted to explain things
to me," she said.

"What did he say?" asked Sylvia, in a faint
voice.

But Harriet did not answer. "I wrote to him,"
she continued, "that I declined to have any
thing to do with the matter." Seeing her friend's
lip beginning to tremble, she added, "Sunny, I
did it for your own good — believe me. I don't
want you to open up things with that man again."

"Why not, Harriet?"

"After what's happened, you ought to know

SYLVIA LOSES 319

that your people would never stand for it —
there'd surely be some kind of a shooting-scrape.
And even supposing that you got away with
him — what sort of an existence would you have?
Frank Shirley is no money-maker, and somehow
I don't seem to feel that you were cut out for
cottage-life."

She stopped and fixed her gaze upon her friend.
" Sunny," she said, "I want you to marry the
other man." Then, as Sylvia started — "Don't
ask me what other man. I'm no Mabel Taylor."

Sylvia perceived that her words were being
cherished these days. "Harriet," she exclaimed
in an agitated voice, "I can't endure Douglas
van Tuiver."

"Now, Sunny, I want you to listen to me.
This may be the last chance I'll have to talk to
you — I'm going off to-morrow, to settle down to
domestic virtue. I want to give it to you straight
— to take the place of your Aunt Lady in this
crisis. You fall in love at first sight, and it
brings you wonderful thrills, and you marry on
the strength of it — and then in a year or two the
thrills are gone, and where are you? Take my
advice, Sunny, therels a whole lot more in life
than this young-love business. Try to look
ahead a little and realize the truth about your
self. If ever there was a creature born to be
a sky-lark, it's you; and here's a man who could
take you out and give you a chance to spread
your wings. For God's sake, Sunny, don't throw
the chance away, and settle down to be a barn
yard fowl here in Castleman County."

320 SYLVIA

"Harriet!" cried Sylvia, frantically, "I tell you
I can't endure the man!"

"I know, Sunny — but that's just nonsense.
You're hi love with one man, and of course it
sets you wild to think of another. But women
can get used to things; and one doesn't have to
be too intimate with one's husband. The man
is dead in love with you, and so you'd always
be able to manage him. I told you that about
Beau — and I can assure you I've found it a con
venient arrangement. From what I can make
out, Mr. van Tuiver isn't a bad sort at all — he
seems to have charmed everybody down here.
He's not bad looking, and he certainly has wonder
ful manners. He can go anywhere in the world,
and if he had you to manage him and do things
with him — really, Sunny, I can't see what more
you could want! Certainly it's what your family
wants — and after all, you'll find it's nice to be
able to please your people when you marry.
I know how you despise money, and all that —
but, Sylvia, there aren't many fortunes made out
of cotton planting these days, and if you could
hear poor Beau tell about what his folks have
been through, you'd understand that family pride
without cash is like mustard without meat!"

So Harriet went on. She was a sprightly young
lady, and generally able to hold her audience;
but after several minutes of this exhortation, she
stopped and asked, "Sunny, what are you think
ing about?"

And Sylvia, her face grown suddenly old with

SYLVIA LOSES 321

grief, caught her by the hand. "Oh, Harriet,"
she whispered, "tell me the truth — do you think
I ought to hear his explanation?"

§9

THEEE were more dances and entertainments;
and each time, of course, it was harder for Sylvia
to escape. She had been to one, and so people
would expect her at the next. There was always
somebody who would be hurt if she refused, and
there was always that dreadful phenomenon
called "people" — it would say that the task had
been too much for her, that she was still under
the spell of the man who had flaunted her. So
evening after evening Sylvia would choke back
her tears, and drink more coffee, and go forth and
pretend to be happy.

It was at the third of these entertainments
that she met Douglas van Tuiver. No one had
told her of his return — she had no warning until
she saw him enter the room. She had to get
herself together and choose her course of action,
with the eyes of the whole company upon her.
For this was the meeting about which Castleman
County had been gossiping and speculating for
weeks — the rising of the curtain upon the second
act of the thrilling drama!

He was his usual precise and formal self;
unimpeachably correct, and yet set apart by a

21

322 SYLVIA

something — a reserve, a dignity. This extended
even to his costume, which tolerated no casual
wrinkle, no presumptuous speck. There was
always just a slight difference between van
Tuiver's attire and that of other men — and some
how you knew that this was the difference between
the best and the average.

It seemed strange to Sylvia to see him here,
in her old environment; strange to compare him
with her own people. She realized that she would
have to treat Him differently now, for he was a
stranger, a guest. She discovered also a differ
ence in him. He may have been touched by the
change he saw in her; at any rate he was very
gentle, and very cautious. He asked for a dance,
and promised that he would not ask for more.
To her great surprise he kept the promise.

"Miss Sylvia," he said, when they strolled out
after the dance, "may I call you Miss Sylvia,
as they all seem to here? I want to explain some
thing, if you will let me. I'm afraid that my
being here will seem to you an impertinence.
I hope you will accept my apology. When I got
back to Cambridge I learned from your cousin
what — what the news would mean to you; and
I came because I thought perhaps I might help.
It was absurd, I suppose — but I didn't know.
Then, when I got here, I did not dare to ask to
see you. I don't know now it you will send me
away "

He stopped. "I am sure, Mr. van Tuiver,"
she said, quietly, "you have a perfect right to
stay here if you wish."

SYLVIA LOSES 323

"No right, Miss Sylvia, but the right you
give me!" he exclaimed. "I won't take refuge
in quibbles. I thought that if I promised not to
bother you, and really kept the promise — if I
never asked to see you unless you desired it

It was not easy to send him away upon those
terms. She did not see what good it would do
him to stay, but she refrained from asking the
question. He paused — perhaps to make sure
that she would not ask. "Miss Sylvia," he
continued, finally, "I am afraid you will laugh
at me — but I want to be near you, I don't want
to be anywhere else. I want to see the world
you belong in; I want to know your relatives and
your friends — your home, the places you go to —
everything. I want to hear people talk about
you. And at the same time I'm uncomfortable,
because I know you dislike me, and I'm afraid
I'll anger you, just by being here. But if you
send me away — you see, I don't know where to

He stopped, and there was a long silence.
"You are missing your examinations," she said,
at last.

"I don't care anything about Harvard," he
replied. "I've lost all interest — I shall never go
back."

"But how about the reforms you were going
to work for? Have you lost interest in them?"

He hesitated. "They've all— don't you see?"
He stopped, embarrassed. "The movement's
gone to pieces."

324 SYLVIA

"Oh!" said Sylvia, and felt a slow fire of shame
mounting in her cheeks. It had not occurred to
her to think of the plight of the would-be revolu
tionists of the "Yard" after their candidate had
landed himself in jail.

They turned to go in, and van Tuiver asked,
timidly, "You won't send me away, Miss Sylvia?"

"I wish," she answered, "that you would not
put the burden of any such decision upon me."
And so the matter rested, van Tuiver apparently
content with what he had gamed. Sylvia's next
partner claimed her, and she did not see "King
Douglas the First" again; a circumstance which,
needless to say, was duly noted by Castleman
County, to its great mystification. Could it be
that rumor was mistaken — that he was not really
after Sylvia at all? Could it be that her flouting
of "Royalty" was a common case of "sour
grapes"?

§ 10

SYLVIA would not be content to drift and suffer
indefinitely. It was not her nature to give up
and acknowledge failure, but to make the best
of things. Her thoughts turned to those in her
own home, and how she could help them.

All through the tragedy she had been aware
of her father, moving about the house like a
ghost, silent, wrung with grief; her heart bled
for the suffering she had caused him. Her chief

SYLVIA LOSES 325

thought was to make it up to him, to be cheerful
and busy for his sake — to put him into the place
in her heart which Frank Shirley had left empty.
After all, he was the one man she could really
trust — the one who was good and true and
generous.

She sought him out one night, while the light
was burning in his office. She drew up a chair
and sat close to him, so that she could look into
his eyes. "Papa," she said, "I've been think
ing hard — and I want to tell you, I'm going to
try to be good."

"You are always good, my child," he declared.

"I have been selfish and heedless. But now
I'm going to think about other people — about
you most of all. I want to do the things I used
to be happy doing with you. Let us begin
to-morrow and take care of our roses, and have
beautiful flowers again. Won't that be nice,
Daddy?"

There were tears in his eyes. "Yes, dear,"
he said.

"And then I must begin and read to you.
I know you are using your eyes too much, and
mine are young. And Papa — this is the prin
cipal thing — I want you to let me help you with
the accounts, to learn to be of some use to you
in business ways. No, you must not put me off,
because I know— truly I know."

"What do you know, dear?" he asked, smiling.

"I know you work too hard, and that you
have things to worry you, and that you try to

326 SYLVIA

hide them from me. I know how many bills
there are, and how everybody wastes money,
and never thinks of you. I've done it myself,
and now it's Celeste's turn — she must have
everything, and be spared every care, and write
checks whenever she pleases. Papa, if it's true
that this year's crop is ruined, you'll have to
borrow money—

"My child!" he began, protestingly.

"I know — you don't want me to ask. But
see, Papa — if I married, I'd have to know about
my husband's affairs, and help him, wouldn't I?
And now that I shall never marry — yes, I mean
that, Papa. I want you not to try to marry
me off any more, but to let me stay at home
and be a help to you and Mamma."

The other was shrewd enough to humor her.
They would get to work at the roses in the
morning, and they would take up Alexander H.
Stephens' Confederate History without delay;
also Sylvia might take the bills as they came
in each month, and find out who had ordered
what, and prevent the tradesmen from charging
for the same thing twice over. But of course,
he did not tell her any of his real worries, nor
let her see his bank-books and accounts; nor
could he quite see his way to promise that Aunt
Nannie should let her alone while she settled into
old-maidenhood.

Aunt Nannie came round the next morning,
as it happened. Sylvia did not see her, being
up to the wrists in black loam in the rose-garden;

SYLVIA LOSES 327

but she learned the purpose of the visit at lunch-
time. "Sylvia," said her mother, "do you think
it's decent for us to go much longer without
inviting Mr. van Tuiver over here?"

"Do you think he wants to come?" asked
Sylvia, with a touch of her old mischief.

"Your Aunt Nannie seems to think so," was
the reply — given quite naively. "I wrote to ask
him to dinner. I hope you won't mind."

Sylvia said that she would find some way to
make the occasion tolerable. And she found
a quite unique way. It was one of her times
for bitterness, when she hated the world, and
especially the male animals upon it, and herself
for a fool for not having known about them.
It chanced to be the same day of the week that
she had prepared for Frank's coming, and had
introduced him to the family with so many
tremblings and agonies of soul. So now, when
she came to dress, she picked out the gown she
had worn that evening, and had them bring her
a bunch of the same kind of roses: which seemed
to her a perfectly diabolical piece of [cynicism —
like to the celebrating of a "black mass"!

She descended, radiant and lovely, in a mood
of somewhat terrible gaiety. She laughed and
all but sang at the dinner-table; she joked with
van Tuiver, and flouted him outrageously — and
in the next breath charmed and delighted him,
to the bewilderment of the family, who knew
nothing about her adventures with Royalty, and
the various strange moods to which its presence
drove her.

328 SYLVIA

In the course of that meal she told him a
story — one of the wildest and most wonderful of
her stories. So at least it seemed to me, who
for years have been longing for a poet to take
it up and make a ballad of it — a real American
ballad! It is curious, but I can hear the very
rhyme and rhythm of that ballad, which I cannot
write. I wonder if I may not awaken in some
grey dawn, and find it all complete, singing itself
in my mind!

The story of the burning of "Rose Briar," it
was. "Rose Briar" was the old home of one of
the Peytons, which had stood for three genera
tions on a high bluff on the river-bank a mile or
so from Sylvia's home. It had the largest and
most beautiful ball-room in the county, and was
a centre of continuous hospitality. One night
had come a telephone-message to the effect that
it was on fire, and the neighbors gathered from
miles around; on a wild night, with a gale blowing
and the whole roof and upper part of the house in
flames, they saw that the place was doomed.

And there was the splendid ball-room, in which
they and their fathers and their grandfathers had
celebrated so many festivities ! ' * One last dance !' '
cried the young folks, and in they trooped. The
servants were trying to get the piano out, but
the master of the house himself stopped them —
what was a piano hi comparison to a romantic
thrill? So one played, and the rest danced —
danced while the fire roared deafeningly in the
stories above them, and creeping veils of smoke

SYLVIA LOSES 329

gathered about their heads. They danced like
mad creatures, laughing, singing in chorus. Eddy
ing gusts of flame poured in at the windows, and
still they sang —

"When you hear dem bells go ting-a-ling-a-ling,
All join hands and sweetly we will sing —

There'll be a hot time in the old town to-night!"

And so on, until there came a crashing of rafters
above them, and showers of cinders and burning
wood through the windows. Then they fled, and
gathered hi a group upon the lawn, and watched
the roof of their pleasure-house fall in, sending a
burst of flame and sparks to the sky.

And here, thought Sylvia, was the roof of her
pleasure-house falling hi! There was something
terrifying in the symbol; the house of civilization
was falling in, and people were dancing, dancing!
"Don't you feel that, Mr. van Tuiver?" she
asked. "It seems to me sometimes that I can
see the world going to destruction before my
eyes, and people don't know about it, they don't
care about it. They are dancing, drunk with
dancing! On with the dance!"

She laughed, a trifle hysterically, for her nerves
were near the breaking point. Then she happened
to look towards her sister Celeste, and caught a
strange look in her eyes. She took hi the mean
ing of it hi an instant — Celeste was conscious of
the presence of Royalty, and shocked by this
display of levity upon a solemn occasion ! ' ' Sister,

330 SYLVIA

how dare you?" the look seemed to say; and the
message gave a new fillip to the mad steeds of
Sylvia's fancy. "Never mind, Chicken!" she
laughed. ("Chicken" was a childhood nickname,
which, needless to say, was infuriating to a young
lady soon to make her dgbut.) "Never mind,
Chicken! The roof will last till you've had your
dance!"

And then, the meal at an end, Sylvia took her
guest into the library. -She put him in the
same chair that Frank haa occupied, and turned
on the same lights upon her loveliness; she took
her seat, and looked at him once, and smiled
alluringly — and then suddenly looked away, and
bit her lip until it bled, and sprang up and fled
from the room, and rushed upstairs and flung
herself upon her bed, sobbing, choking with her
grief.

§ 11

THERE were ups and downs like this. The
next day, of course, Sylvia was ashamed of her
behavior; she had promised to be happy, and
not to distress her people — and this was the
way she kept her promise. She began to make
new resolutions, and to think of ways of atoning.
She took her father out into the garden, and
pretended deep interest in the new cinnamon -
roses. She spent a couple of hours going over
his old check-stubs and receipted bills, and with

SYLVIA LOSES 331

evidence thus discovered went into town and
made a row with a tradesman, and saved her
father a couple of hundred dollars.

Then, after lunch, she took him for a drive
behind the new pony which Uncle Mandeville
had given her. She got him out into the country,
and then opened up on him in unexpected fashion.
"Papa, it isn't possible for people like us to econ
omize, is it?"

"Not very much, my child," he answered
smiling. "Why?"

"I've been thinking," she said. "It's all
wrong — but I don't know what to do about it.
You spent so much money on me; I didn't want
it, but I didn't realize it till it was too late. And
now comes Celeste's turn, and you have to spend
as much on her, or she'll be jealous and angry.
And Peggy and Maria will see what Celeste gets,
and they will demand their turn. And the Baby
— he's smashing his toys now, and in a few years
he'll be smashing windows, and in a few more
he'll be gambling like Clive and Harley. And
you can't do anything about any of it!"

"My child," he said, "I don't want you to
worry about such things "

"No, you want to do all the worrying your
self. But, Papa, I have to make my life of some
use. Since I can't earn money, I've been think
ing that perhaps the most sensible thing would
be for me to marry some rich man, and then
help all my family and friends."

"Sylvia," protested the Major, "I don't like

332 SYLVIA

one of my daughters to have such thoughts in
her mind. I don't want a child of mine to marry
for money — there is no need of it, there never
will be!"

"Not while you can sit up all night and worry
over accounts. But some day you won't be
able to, Papa. I can see that you're under a
strain, and yet I can't get you to let me help
you. If you make sacrifices for me, why shouldn't
I make them for you?"

"Not that kind of a sacrifice, my child. It's
a terrible thing for a woman to marry for
money."

"Do you really think so, Papa? So many
women do it. Are they all bad, and are they all
unhappy?"

Thus Sylvia — trying to do her duty, and keep
her mind occupied. They got back home, and
she found new diversions — Castleman Lysle had
been feeding himself in the kitchen, and had
been picked up black in the face with convulsions.
This, you understand, was one of the features of
life at Castleman Hall; one baby had been lost
that way, since which time "Miss Margaret"
always faulted when it occurred. As poor Aunt
Varina had not the physical strength for such
emergencies, Sylvia had to get a tub of hot
water, and hold the child in it — while some one else
held a spoon in his mouth, in order that he might
not chew his tongue to pieces!

Thus the afternoon passed busily, and in the
evening was the spring dance of the Young

SYLVIA LOSES 333

Matrons' Cotillion Club. Sylvia absolutely had
to go to that, in order to dance with Douglas
van Tuiver and atone for her rudeness. She
had promised it by way of pacifying Aunt Nannie;
and also her father had made plans to accom
pany her again.

So she put on a new "cloth of silver" gown
which she had bought in New York, and drank
a " toddy" of the Major's mixing, and sallied
forth upon his arm. There were lights and music,
happy faces, cheery greetings — so she was up
lifted, dreaming of happiness again. And then
came the most dreadful collapse of all.

She had strolled out upon the veranda with
Stanley Pendleton. Feeling chilly, she sent her
partner hi for a wrap; and then suddenly came
a voice — his voice!

If it had been his ghost, Sylvia could not
have been more startled. She whirled about and
stared, and saw him — standing in the semi-
darkness of the garden, close to the railing of
the veranda. It had rained that day, and the
roads were deep in mire, and he had ridden far.
His clothing was splashed and his hair in dis
array; as for his face — never had Sylvia seen
such grief on a human countenance.

"Sylvia!" he whispered. "Sylvia!" She could
only gaze at him, dumb. "Sylvia, give me one
minute! I have come here to tell you "

He stopped, his voice breaking with intensity
of feeling. "Oh!" she gasped. "You ought
not to be here!"

334 SYLVIA

"I had to see you!" he exclaimed. "There
was no other way "

But he got no farther. There was a step
behind Sylvia, and she turned, and at the same
moment heard the terrible voice of her father —
"What does this mean?"

She sprang to him with a quick cry. "Papa!"
She caught his arm with her hands, trying to
stop what she feared he might do. "No, Papa,
no!" For one moment the Major stood staring
at the apparition in the darkness.

She could feel him trembling with fury. "Sir,
how dare you approach my daughter?"

"Papa, no!" exclaimed Sylvia, again.

"Sir, do you wish to make it necessary for me
to shoot you?"

Then Frank answered, his voice low and vibrant
with pain. "Major Castleman, I would be
grateful to you."

The other glared at him for a moment; then he
said, "If you wish to die, sir, choose some way
that will not drag my daughter to disgrace."

Frank's gaze had turned to the girl. "Sylvia,"
he exclaimed, "I tell you that I went to that
place

"Stop!" almost shouted the Major.

"Major Castleman," said Frank, "Allow me
to speak to your daughter. It has been "

Sylvia was clutching her father in terror. She
knew that he had a weapon, and was on the
point of using it; she knew also that she had
not the physical force to prevent him. She cried
hysterically, "Go! Go away!"

SYLVIA LOSES 335

And Frank looked at her— a last look, that she
never forgot all the days of her life. "You mean
it, Sylvia?" he asked, his voice breaking.

"I mean it!" she answered.

"Forever?"

For the smallest part of a second she hesitated.
"Forever!" commanded her father; and she
echoed, "Forever!" Frank turned, without an
other word, and was gone in the darkness; and
Sylvia fell into her father's arms, convulsed with
an agony that shook her frame.

§ 12

THEY got her home, where her first action, m
spite of her exhaustion, was to insist upon seeing
her Uncle Mandeville. So determined, so vehe
ment she was, that it was necessary to rout the
worthy gentleman out from a poker-game at two
o'clock in the morning. There had been other
witnesses of what Frank had done, and Sylvia
knew that her uncle must hear; so she told him
herself, with her arms about him, clinging to him
in frenzy, and beseeching him to give her his
word of honor that he would not carry out his
threat against Frank Shirley.

It was not an easy word to get; she would
probably have failed, had it not been for the
Major. He could see the force in her argument
that a shooting-affair would only serve to publish

336 SYLVIA

the matter to the world, and make it seem more
serious. After all, from the family's point of
view, the one thing to be desired was to make
certain that there would be no further communi
cation between the two. And Sylvia was willing
to assure them of that, she declared. She rushed
to her desk, and with trembling fingers wrote a
note to "Mr. Frank Shirley," informing him
that the scene which had just occurred had been
intolerable to her, and requesting him to perform
her one last service — to write a note to her
father to the effect that he would make no further
attempt to communicate with her. The Major,
after some discussion, decided that he would
accept this as a settlement; and he being the
elder brother, his word was law with Mandeville
— at least so long as Mandeville was sober.

I remember Sylvia's account of the state of
exhaustion in which she found herself after this
ordeal; how for two days she had the sensation
that her mind was breaking up. Yet — a circum
stance worth noting — at no time did she blame
those who had put her through this ordeal. She
could not blame the men of her family; if any
one were at fault, it was herself, for being at the
mercy of her emotions, and capable of a secret
longing to have parleyings with a man who had
dragged her name in the mire. You see, Sylvia
believed hi her heritage. She was proud of the
Castlemans — and apparently you could not have
rare, aristocratic virtues without also having
terrifying vices. If one's men-folk got drunk and

SYLVIA LOSES 337

shot people, one's consolation was that at least
they did it in a bold and striking and " high-
spirited" way.

You will perhaps find yourself impatient with
the girl at this stage of her story. I recall my
own frantic protests while I listened. What a
cruel, needless tragedy! I cried out for the evi
dence of some gleam of sense on the part of any
one person concerned. Surely Sylvia, knowing
Frank, must have come to doubt that he could
have been unfaithful to her! Surely, with the
hints she got at that meeting, she must have
realized that there was something more to be
said! Surely he, on his part, would have found
some way of getting an interview with her, or
at least of sending an explanation by some friend!
Surely he would never have given up until he
had done that!

I have claimed for Sylvia the possession of clear
sightedness. She displayed it when it was a ques
tion of revising her religion, she displayed it when
it was a question of managing her family, and
obtaining permission to be engaged to a convict's
son. But, if you look to see her display anything
of that sort in the present emergency, you will
look hi vain. Sylvia could be bold in a matter
of theology, she could be bold in a matter of
love, but she could not possibly be bold in a mat
ter of a house of prostitution. If I were to give
you illustrations ofj the completeness of her igno
rance upon the subject of sex, you would simply
not be able to believe what I told; and not only

22

338 SYLVIA

was she ignorant, she could not conceive that it
was possible for her to be other than ignorant.
She could not conceive that it was possible for
a pure-minded girl to talk about such a subject
with any human being, man or woman.

I doubt very much, if it had come to an actual
test, whether Sylvia would have been capable of
marrying against her family's will. She had
opposed them vehemently, but this was because
she knew that she was right, and that they, hi
their inmost hearts, knew it also. The Major
and "Miss Margaret" were good and generous-
hearted people, and they could not sincerely con
demn Frank Shirley for his father's offense. But
how different it was now! In the present matter
she faced the phalanx of the family, not on
an open field where she could manoeuvre and
outwit them — but in a place of darkness and
terror, where she dared not stir a foot alone.

And let me tell you also that you mistake
Frank Shirley if you count upon the mere physical
fact that he could have got an explanation to
Sylvia. It was not easy for him to explain about
such matters to the woman he loved; and if you
think it was easy, you are a modern, matter-of-
fact person, not understanding the notions of an
old-fashioned Southerner. The simple fact was
that when Frank wrote to Harriet Atkinson, to
ask her to hear his plea, he felt that he was
doing something desperate and unprecedented;
and when Harriet wrote, coldly refusing to have
anything to do with the matter, he felt that she

SYLVIA LOSES 339

had rebuked him for his boldness. As for the last
effort he had made to see Sylvia, it was the act
of a man driven frantic by love — a man willing
to sacrifice his life, and even his self-respect.
I have portrayed Frank poorly if I have not made
you realize that from the first hour he approached
Sylvia with a sense of inferiority and of guilt;
that he had remained her lover against the inces
sant protests of his pride. People are making
money rapidly these days in the South, and so
becoming like us " Yankees"; yet it will be a
long tune, I think, before a Southerner without
money will make love to a rich woman without
feeling in his heart that he is acting the knave.

§ 13

THERE came another long struggle for Sylvia,
another climb out of the pit. For the sake
of her father, she could not delay; as soon as
she was able to move about, she was out among
her roses again, and reading Alexander Stephens
in the evenings. Within a week she had been
to a card-party and a picnic, and also had received
a call from Douglas van Tuiver.

Never before had Sylvia worn such an ethereal
aspect; he was gentle, even reverent, hi his
manner to her. He had a particular reason for
calling to see her, he said. He owned a yacht,
considered quite a beautiful vessel; it was now

340 SYLVIA

in commission, but idle, and he had taken the
liberty of ordering it to the Southern coast, and
wished to beg her to use it to bring the color
back into her cheeks. She might take her Aunt
Varina, her sister — a whole party, if she chose —
and cruise up the coast, to Maine and the St.
Lawrence, or ovef hi the North Sea — wherever
her fancy suggested. He would go with her and
take charge, if she would permit — or he would
stay behind, and be happy hi the knowledge that
she was recovering her health.

Of course, Sylvia could not accept such a favor;
she insisted that it was impossible, in spite of all
his arguments and urgings. She thanked him so
cordially, however, that he went away quite
happy.

Then came Mrs. Chilton, and there was a con
clave of the ladies. Why should she not accept
the offer? It was the very thing she needed to
divert her mind, and get her out of this disgraceful
state.

"Aunt Nannie," cried the girl, "how can you
think of wanting me to accept such a gift from
a comparative stranger? It must cost hundreds
of dollars a month to run such a yacht!"

"About five thousand dollars a month, my
dear," said the other, quietly.

Sylvia was aghast; once in a while even a fiery
revolutionist like herself was awestricken by the
actuality of Royalty. "I don't want things like
that," she said, at last. "I want to stav quietly
at home and help Papa."

SYLVIA LOSES 341

"You need a change," declared the other.
"So long as you are here you are never safe from
that evil man; and anyway you are surrounded
by reminders of him. A yachting-trip would
force you to put your mind on other things.
The sea-air would do you good; and if you took
Celeste with you — think what a treat for her!"

"Oh, Sylvia, please do!" cried Celeste.

Sylvia looked at her sister. " You'd like to go?"

"Oh, how can you ask?" she replied. "It
would be heaven!"

Sylvia said that she would think it over. But
in reality she wanted to think about something
else. She waited until they left her alone with
her sister, and then she said, "You like Mr. van
Tuiver, don't you?"

"How could I fail to like him?" asked Celeste.

The other tried to draw her out. Why did
she like him? He had such beautiful manners,
such dignity — there were no loose ends about
him. He had been everywhere, met everybody
of consequence; compared with him the men at
home seemed like country-fellows. It was that
indescribable thing called elegance, said Celeste,
gravely. She could not understand her sister's
attitude at all; she thought Sylvia treated van
Tuiver outrageously, and her eyes flashed a
danger-signal as she said it. It was a woman's
right to reject a man's advances if she chose to;
but she ought not to humiliate him, when his
only offense was admiring her to excess.

"I only wish it was you he admired," said
Sylvia, who was in a gentle mood.

342 SYLVIA

"No chance of that," remarked the other, with
a touch of bitterness in her voice. "He has no
eyes or ears for anybody else when you are
about."

"I'm going to try to lend him eyes and ears,"
responded Sylvia. For that was the idea that
had occurred to her — van Tuiver must be per
suaded to transfer his interest to Celeste! Celeste
would marry him; she would marry him without
the least hesitation or distress; and then the elder
sister might settle down with her family and her
rose-gardens and her Confederate History!

§ 14

SYLVIA became quite excited over this scheme.
When van Tuiver asked permission to call again,
she was glad to say yes; but she kept Celeste
with her, guiding the conversation so as to show
off her best qualities. But alas, "Little Sister"
had no qualities to be shown off when van Tuiver
was about! She was so much impressed by him
that she trembled with stage fright. Usually a
bright and vivacious girl, although somewhat
hard and shallow, she was now dumb, abject,
a booby! Sylvia raged at her inwardly, and
when van Tuiver had taken his departure, she
said, "Celeste, how can you expect to impress
a man if you let him see you are afraid to breathe
in his presence?"

SYLVIA LOSES 343

Tears of humiliation came into her sister's
eyes. "What's the use of talking about my
impressing him? Can't you see that he pays no
more attention to me than if I were a doll?"

"Make him pay attention to you!" cried the
other. "Shock him, hurt him, make him angry
— do anything but put yourself under his feet!"
She went on to give a lecture on that awe-inspiring
phenomenon, the Harvard manner; trying to
prove to her sister that it was an idol with feet
of clay, which would topple if one attacked it
resolutely. She told the story of her own meet
ing with King Douglas the First, and how she
had been able to subdue him with cheap effront
ery, But she soon discovered that her arguments
were thrown away upon Celeste, who was simply
shocked by her story, and had no more the desire
than she had the power to subdue van Tuiver.
At first Sylvia had thought it was mere awe of
his millions, but gradually she realized that it
was something far more serious — something quite
tragic. Celeste had fallen in love with Royalty!

But still Sylvia could not give up the struggle.
It would have been such a marvelous solution of
her problem! She let van Tuiver call as often
as he wanted to; but she became, all at once, a
phenomenon of sisterly affection. She took
Celeste horse-back riding with them — and Celeste
rode well. If van Tuiver asked to go automobiling,
she found shrewd excuses for having Celeste go
also. But in the end she had to give up — because
of the "English system," Van Tuiver did not

344 SYLVIA

want Celeste, and was so brutally unaware of
her existence that Celeste came home with tears
of humiliation in her eyes. Sylvia went off by
herself and shed tears also; she hated van Tuiver
and his damnable manners!

She realized suddenly to what extent he was
boring her. He came the next day, and spent
the better part of an hour talking to her about
his experiences among the elect in various parts
of the world. He had been shooting last fall
upon the estates of the Duke of Something in
Scotland. You went out in an automobile, and
took a seat in an arm-chair, and had several score
"beaters" drive tame pheasants towards you;
you had two men to load your guns, and you shot
the birds as they rose; but you could not shoot
more than so many hundred of a morning, be
cause the recoil of the gun gave you a headache.
The Duke had a couple of guns which were some
thing special — he valued them at a thousand
guineas the pair.

"Mr. van Tuiver," said the girl, suddenly,
"there is something I want to say to you. I
have been meaning to say it for some time.
I think you ought not to stay here any longer."

His face lost suddenly its expression of com
placency. "Why, Miss Sylvia!" he exclaimed.

"I want to deal with you frankly. If you are
here for any reason not connected with me, why
all right; but if you are here on my account,
I ought not to leave you under any misappre
hension."

SYLVIA LOSES 345

He tried hard to recover his poise. "I had
begun to hope" — he began. "You — are you sure
it is true?"

"I am sure. You realize of course — it's been
obvious from the outset that my Aunt Nannie
has entered into a sort of partnership with you,
to help you persuade me to marry you. And
of course there are others of my friends — even
members of my family, perhaps — who would be
glad to have me do it. Also, you must know that
I've been trying to persuade myself." Sylvia
lowered her eyes; she could not look at him as
she said this. "I thought perhaps it was my
duty — the only useful thing I could do with my
life — to marry a rich man, and use his money to
help the people I love. So I tried to persuade
myself. But it's impossible — I could not, could
not do it!"

She paused. "Miss Sylvia," he ventured,
"can you be sure — perhaps if you married me,
you might "

"No!" she cried. "Please don't say any more.
I know you ought not to stay! I could never
marry you, and you are throwing away your tune
here. You ought to go!"

There was a silence. "Miss Sylvia," he began,
finally, "this is like a death-sentence to me."

"I know," she said, "and I'm sorry. But
there's no help for it. Putting off only makes it
worse for you."

"Don't think about me," he said. "I've no
place to go, and nothing better I can be doing.

346 SYLVIA

If you'll let me stay, and try to be of some

service" —

"No," she declared, "you can be of no service.
I want to be alone, with my father and the people
I love; and it is only distressing to me to see you."

He rose, and stood looking at her, crestfallen.
"That is all you have to say to me, Miss Sylvia?"

"That is all. If you wish to show your regard
for me, you will go away and never think of me
again."

§ 15

VAN TTTIVER went away; but within a week he
was back, writing Sylvia notes to say that he must
see her, that he only sought her friendship. And
then came Aunt Nannie, and there was a family
conference — ending not altogether to Sylvia's
advantage. Aunt Nannie took the same view
as Mrs. Winthrop, that one had no right to
humiliate a man who carried such vast responsi
bilities upon his shoulders. Sylvia recurred to
her old phrase "Royalty" — and was taken aback
when her aunt wanted to know just what were
her objections to Royalty. Had she not often
heard her Uncle Mandeville say that there ought
to be a king in America to counteract the influence
of Yankee demagogs? That rather took the wind
out of Sylvia's sails; for she had a great respect
for the political wisdom of her uncles, and really
could give no reason why a king might not be

SYLVIA LOSES 347

a beneficent phenomenon. All she could reply
was that she did not like this particular king, and
would not see him. When Aunt Nannie insisted
that van Tuiver had been a guest under her roof,
and that Sylvia's action had been an unheard of
discourtesy, the girl said that she was willing to
apologize, either to her aunt or to van Tuiver —
but that nothing could induce her to let him call
again.

King Douglas went off to Newport, where the
family of Dorothy Cortlandt had its granite cot
tage; and so for two months Sylvia enjoyed peace.
She read to her father, and played cards with
him, and took him driving, exercising her social
graces to keep him from drinking too many
toddies. I could wish there were space to recite
some of the comical little dramas that were played
round the good Major's efforts to cheat himself
and his daughter, and exceed the number of
toddies which his physician allowed to him!

Aunt Nannie being away at the coast, it was
easier for the girl to avoid social engagements,
especially with the excuse that her father's health
was poor, and his plantation duties engrossing.
There had been an overflow in the early spring,
just at planting-time, and so there was no cotton
that year. Fences had been swept away, cattle
drowned, and negro-cabins borne off to parts
unknown. The Major had three large planta
tions, whose negroes must be kept over the year,
just as if they were working. Also there were
small farms, rented to negro tenants who had

348 SYLVIA

lost everything; they had to be taken care of —
one must "hold on to one's niggers." "Why
don't you let them raise corn?" van Tuiver had
inquired; to which the Major answered, "My
negroes could no more raise corn than they could
raise ostriches."

So there was much money to be borrowed, and
money was "tight." Everybody wanted it from
the local banks, and as this was the second bad
year, the local banks were in an ungenerous mood.
Worse than that, there were troubles vaguely
rumored from "Wall Street." What this meant
to Sylvia was that her father sat up at night and
worried over his books, and could not be got to
talk of his affairs.

But what distressed her most was that there
was no sign of any effort to curtail the family's
expenditure. Aunt Varina and the children were
at the summer-home in the mountains, and so
there were two establishments to be kept going.
Also Celeste was giving house-parties, and order
ing new things from New York, in spite of the
fact that she had come home from school with
several trunkloads of splendor. The Major's
family all signed his name to checks, and all
these checks were like chickens which came home
to roost in the pigeon-holes hi the office-desk.

In the fall the Major's health weakened under
the strain, and the doctor insisted that he must
go away at all hazards. Uncle Mandeville had
taken a place at one of the Gulf Coast resorts,
and Sylvia and her father were urged to come

SYLVIA LOSES 349

there — just in time for the yachting regatta,
wrote the host. They came; and about two
weeks later a great ocean-going yacht steamed
majestically into the harbor, and the dismayed
Sylvia read in the next morning's paper that
Mr. Douglas van Tuiver, who had been cruising
in the Gulf with a party of friends, had come to
attend the races!

"I won't see him!" she declared; and Uncle
Mandeville, who was in command here, backed
her up, and offered to shoot the fellow if he mo
lested her. This, of course, was in fun, but
Uncle Mandeville was serious in his support of
his niece, maintaining that the Castlemans needed
no Yankee princeling to buttress their fortunes.

She fully meant not to see him. But he had
brought allies to make sure of her. That after
noon an automobile drew up at the door, and
Sylvia, who was on the gallery, saw a lady
descending, waving a hand to her. She stared,
dumb-founded. It was Mrs. Winthrop!

Mrs. Winthrop — clad in spotless white from
hat to shoetips, looking sunburned and pictur
esque, and surprisingly festive. No one was in
sight but Sylvia, and so she had a free field for
her wizardry. She came slowly up the gallery-
steps, and took the outstretched hands in hers,
and gazed. How much she read in the pale,
thin face — and what deeps of feeling welled up
in her!

"Oh, let me help you!" she murmured. And
nothing more.

350 SYLVIA

"Thank you!" said Sylvia at last.

"My dryad!" Quick tears of sympathy started
in the great lady's eyes, and came running down
her sunburned cheeks, and had to be brushed
away with a tiny Irish lace handkerchief.

"Believe me, Sylvia, I too have known grief!"
she began, after a minute. Sylvia was deeply
touched; for what grief could be more fascinating
than that which lurked in the dream-laden eyes
before her? She found herself suddenly recalling
an irreverent phrase of "Tubby" Bates': "The
beautiful unhappy wife of a railroad-builder!"

They sat down. "Sylvia," said Mrs. Win-
throp, "you need diversion. Come out on the
yacht!"

"No," she replied, "I don't want to meet Mr.
van Tuiver again."

"I appreciate your motives," said the other.
"But you may surely trust to my discretion,
Sylvia. Mr. van Tuiver has recovered himself,
and there is no longer any need for you to avoid
him."

He was a much changed man, went on "Queen
Isabella"; so chastened that his best friends
hardly knew him. He had become a most fas
cinating figure, a sort of superior Werther; his
melancholy became him. He had been really
admirable in his behavior, and Sylvia owed it to
him to give him a chance to show her that he
could control himself, to show his friends that she
had not dismissed him with contempt. There
was a charming party on board the yacht; it

SYLVIA LOSES 351

included van Tuiver's aunt, Mrs. Harold Cliveden,
of whom Sylvia had surely heard; also her niece,
Miss Vaillant, and Lord Howard Annersley, who
was engaged to her. Sylvia had probably not
seen the accounts of this affair, but it was most
romantic. The girl pleaded that her father was
ill and needed her. But he might come too, said
Mrs. Winthrop; the diversion would benefit him.
So at last Sylvia consented to go to lunch.

§ 16

VAN TUIVER came to fetch them on the follow
ing day. He looked his new r61e of a leisure-
class Werther, and acted up to it quite touchingly.
He was perfect in his attitude toward his guests,
carefully omitting all reference to personal mat
ters, and confining his conversation to the yacht
ing-trip and the party on board — especially to
Lord Howard. Sylvia said that she had never
met a Lord before, and it would seem like a fairy-
story to her. The other was careful to explain
that Lord Howard was not a fortune-hunter, but
a friend of his. So Sylvia furbished up her
weapons — but put most of them away when she
got on board, and found out what a very common
place young man his lordship was.

It was necessary to extend a return invitation,
so Uncle Mandeville took the party automobiling
along the coast, and spread a sumptuous picnic-

352 SYLVIA

luncheon. Then the next day Sylvia let herself
be inveigled on a moonlight sailing-trip; and so
it came about that she was cornered in the bow
of the boat, with van Tuiver at her side, declar
ing hi trembling accents that he had tried to
forget her, that he could not live without her,
that if she did not give him some hope he would
take his We.

She was intensely annoyed, and answered him
in monosyllables, and took refuge with Lord
Howard, who showed signs of forgetting that he
was already hi the midst of a romance. She
vowed that she would accept no more invitations,
and that van Tuiver would never deceive her in
that way again. This last with angry emphasis
to Mrs. Winthrop, who, perceiving that some
thing had gone wrong, took her aside as the party
was breaking up.

"Queen Isabella's" lovely face showed intense
distress. "Oh, these men!" she cried. "Sylvia,
what can we do with them?" And when Sylvia,
taken aback by this appeal, was silent, the other
continued, pleadingly, "You must be loyal to
your sex, and help me! We all have to manage
men!"

"But what do you want me to do?" asked the
girl. "Marry him?"

She meant this for the extreme of sarcasm;
and great was her surprise when Mrs. Winthrop
caught her hand and exclaimed, "My dear,
I want you to do just that!"

"But then — what becomes of my fineness of

SYLVIA LOSES 353

spirit?" cried Sylvia, with still more withering
sarcasm.

Said "Queen Isabella," "The man loves you."

"I know — but I don't love him."

"He loves you deeply, Sylvia. I think you will
really have to marry him."

"In spite of the fact that I don't love him in
the least?"

The other smiled her gentlest smile. "I want
you to let me come and talk to you about these
matters."

"But, Mrs. Winthrop, I don't want to be talked
to about marrying Mr. van Tuiver!"

"I want to explain things to you, Sylvia.
You must grant me that favor — please!" In the
hurry of departure, Sylvia gave no reply, and
the other took silence for consent.

By what device van Tuiver could have recon
ciled Mrs. Winthrop, Sylvia could not imagine;
but when the great lady called, the next after
noon, she was as ardent on the one side as she
had formerly been on the other. She painted
glowing pictures of the splendors which awaited
the future Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver. The
courts of Europe would be open to her, her life
would be one triumphal pageant. Also, taking
a leaf out of "Tubby" Bates' note-book, "Queen
Isabella" discoursed upon the good that Sylvia
would be able to do with her husband's wealth.

This interview with Mrs. Winthrop was im
portant for another reason; it was the means of
setting at rest what doubts were lurking hi

23

354 SYLVIA

Sylvia's mind as to her treatment of Frank
Shirley. The other evidently had the matter
in mind, for Sylvia needed only to allude to it,
whereupon Mrs. Winthrop proceeded, with the
utmost tact and understanding, to give her exactly
the information she was craving. The dread
ful story was surely true — everybody at Harvard
knew it. All that one heard in defense was
that it was a shame the story had been spread
abroad; for there were men, said Mrs. Winthrop,
who did these shameful things in secret, and
had no remorse save when they were found
out. Without saying it in plain words, she
caused Sylvia to have the impression that such
evils were to be found among men of low origin
and ignominious destinies: a suggestion which
started in Sylvia a brand-new train of thought.
Could it be that this was the basis of social dis
crimination — the secret reason why her parents
were so careful what men she met? It threw
quite a new light upon the question of college
snobbery, if one pictured the club-men as selected
and set apart because of their chaste lives. It
made quite a difference in one's attitude towards
the "exclusiveness" of van Tuiver — if one might
think of him, as Mrs. Winthrop apparently did
think of him, as having been guarded from con
tamination, from the kind of commonness to
which Frank Shirley had permitted himself to
stoop.

SYLVIA LOSES 355

§17

VAN TUIVER of course wrote letters of apology;
but Sylvia would not answer them nor see him.
As the yacht still Lingered in the harbor, she
became restless, and was glad when the Major
decided to return home to the rose-gardens and
Alexander Stephens. Soon afterwards she learned
that the yachting-party had returned to New
York; but in a couple of weeks "King Douglas"
was at Aunt Nannie's again, annoying her with
his letters and his importunities.

By this tune everybody in Castleman County
knew the situation; it had become a sort of
State romance — or perhaps it would be better
to say a State scandal. Sylvia became aware of
a new force, vaguer, but more compelling even
than that of the family — the power of public
opinion. It was all very well for a girl to have
whims and to indulge them; to be coquettish
and wayward — naturally. But to keep it up
for so long a time, to carry the joke so far —
well, it was unusual, and hi somewhat question
able taste. It was a fact that every person in
Castleman County shone by the reflected glory
of Sylvia's great opportunity; and everybody felt
himself — or more especially herself — cheated of
this glory by the girl's eccentricity. You may
take this for a joke, but let me tell you that
public opinion is a terrible agent, which has
driven mighty princes to madness, and captains
of predatory finance to suicide.

356 SYLVIA

All this time Sylvia was thinking — thinking.
Wherever she went, whatever she did, she was
debating one problem in her soul. As I don't
want anyone to misunderstand her or despise
her, I must try to tell, briefly and simply, what
were her thoughts.

She had come to hate life. Everything that
had ever been sweet to her seemed to have turned
to ashes in her mouth. The social game, for which
she had been trained with so much care and at
so great expense, upon which she had entered
with such zest three years before — the game had
become a sordid mockery to her. It was a chase
after men, an elaboration of devices to gain and
hold their attention. To be decked out and
sent forth to perform tricks — no, it was an utterly
intolerable thing.

Her whole being was one cry to stay at home
with the people she loved. Here were her true
friends, who would always stand by her, who
would be a bulwark against the ugliness of life.
A wonderful thing it was, after all, the family;
a kind of army of mutual defense against a
hostile, predatory world. "Life is a case of dog
eat dog," had been the words of Uncle Mande-
ville. "You have to eat or be eaten." And
Uncle Mandeville had seen so much of life!

So the one high duty that Sylvia could see
was to stand by and maintain the family. And
there were increasing signs that this family was
in peril. More and more plainly was worry to
be read hi the face of the Major; there were

SYLVIA LOSES 357

even signs that his worry had infected others.
Curious, incredible as it might seem, "Miss Mar
garet" was trying to economize! She wandered
over her exquisite velvet carpets in a faded last
year's gown, and a pair of rusty last year's slip
pers; nor could she be persuaded to purchase
new — until the Major himself sent off an order
to her costumer in New Orleans!

Also Aunt Varina had taken to fretting over
the housekeeping extravagances. So many idle
negroes eating their heads off in the kitchen!
Such grocery and laundry bills, beyond all reason
and sense! The echoes of her protest reached
even to the tradesmen in the town, who heard
with dismay that at Castleman Hall they were
counting the supplies, and going over the bills,
and refusing to pay for goods which had not
been sent, or had been stolen by the negroes
employed to deliver them!

"Aunt Mandy," the black cook, had once
been heard to declare that Castleman Hall was
not a home, but "a free hotel." A hotel with
great airy rooms, huge four-poster beds, and quaint
old "dressers" and "armours" of hand-carved
mahogany ! No wonder the guests came trooping !
"We ought to move into one of the smaller
houses on the plantation!" declared Aunt Varina;
and what a horror to have such an idea mentioned
in the family. Fear assailed "Miss Margaret "-
what if the neighbors were to hear of it? Every
body knew that there had been droughts and
floods, and somebody might suspect that these

358 SYLVIA

had touched the Castlemans! Mrs. Castleman
decided forthwith that it would be necessary to
give a big reception; and the moment this was
announced came a cry from Celeste — why, if her
mother could give a reception, could she not
have the little "electric" for which she had begged
all summer?

Celeste was going back to Miss Abercrombie's
in a week or two. Going back to Fifth Avenue
and its shops — to open accounts at any of them
she chose, and sign her father's name to checks,
just as Sylvia had done. It would have been a
painful matter to curtail this privilege, for Sylvia
was the favorite daughter, and Celeste knew it,
and was bitterly resentful of every sign of
favoritism. And yet the privilege was more
dangerous in the case of Celeste, who was care
less to the point of wickedness. You might see
her step out of an expensive ball-gown at night,
and leave it a crumpled ring upon the floor until
the maid hung it up in the morning; you might
see her kick off her tight, high-heeled slippers,
and walk about the room for hours in her stock
inged feet — thus wearing out a pair of new silk
hose that had cost five dollars, and kicking them
to one side to be carried off by the negroes.
Celeste would permit nothing but silk upon her
exquisite person, and was given to lounging about
in oriental luxuriance, while Peggy and Maria
gazed at her awe-stricken, as at some princess
hi a fairy-story book. Sylvia saw with bewilder
ment that everywhere about her it was the evil
example which seemed to be prevailing.

SYLVIA LOSES 359

§ 18

SYLVIA could not plan to stay at home and
share in this plundering of her father. She must
marry; yet when it came to the question of marry
ing, the one positive fact in her consciousness
was that she could never love any man. No
matter how long she might wait, no matter how
much energy she might expend in hesitating and
agonizing, sooner or later she would give herself
in marriage to some man whom she did not love.
And after all, there was very little choice among
them, so far as she could see. Some were more
entertaining than others; but it was true of
everyone that if he touched her hand in token
of desire, she shrunk from him with repugnance.

The tune came when to her cool reason this
shrinking wore the aspect of a weakness. When
so much happiness for all those she loved de
pended upon the conquering of it, what folly
not to conquer it! Here was the obverse of that
distrust of "blind passion" which they had
taught her. Whether it was an emotion towards
or away from a man, was it a thing which should
dominate a woman's life? Was it not rather a
thing for her to beat into whatever shape her
good sense directed?

Seated one day hi her mother's room, Sylvia
asked, quite casually, "Mamma, how often do
women marry the men they love?"

"Why, what makes you ask that?" inquired
the other,

360 SYLVIA

"I don't know, Mamma. I was just thinking."

"Miss Margaret" considered. "Not often, my
child; certainly not, if you mean their first love."
Then, after a pause, she added, "I think perhaps
it's well they don't. Most all those I know who
married their first love are unhappy now."

"Why is that, Mamma?"

"They don't seem able to judge wisely when
they're young and blinded by passion." "Miss
Margaret" drifted into reminiscences — beginning
with the case of Aunt Varina, who was in the
next room.

"It seems such a terrible thing," said Sylvia.
"Love is — well, it makes you want to trust it."

"Something generally happens," replied the
other. "A woman has to wait, and in the end
she marries for quite other reasons."

"And yet they manage to make out!" said the
girl, half to herself.

"Children come, dear. Children take their
time, and they forget. I remember so well your
Uncle Barry's wife — she visited us in her court
ship days, and she used to wake up in the middle
of the night, and whisper to me in a trembling
voice, 'Margaret, tell me — shall I marry him?'
I think she went to the altar without really having
her mind made up; and yet, you see, she's one
of the happiest women I know — they are per
fectly devoted to each other."

Sylvia went away to ponder these things. The
next day Aunt Varina happened to talk about
her life-tragedy, and told Sylvia of the death of

SYLVIA LOSES 361

her young love; and later on came Uncle Barry's
wife, traveling a hundred miles for the sake of
a casual conversation upon the state of happiness
vouchsafed to those who chose their husbands hi
accordance with reason. All of which was man
aged with such delicacy and tact that no one but
an utterly depraved person like Sylvia would
ever have suspected that it was planned.

There was one person from whom the girl
hoped for an unworldly opinion; that was the
Bishop. She went to see him one day, and
casually brought up the subject of van Tuiver —
a thing which was easy enough to do, since the
man was a guest hi the house.

" Sylvia," said her uncle, at once, "why don't
you marry him?"

The girl was astounded. "Why, Uncle Basil!"
she exclaimed. "Would you advise me to?"

^ Nothing would make me happier than the
news that you had so decided."

Sylvia was at a loss for words. She had
thought that here was one person who would
surely not be influenced by Royalty. "Tell me
why," she said.

"Because, my child," the Bishop answered,
"he's a Christian gentleman."

"Oh! So it's that!"

"Yes, Sylvia. You don't know how often I
have prayed that you might have a religious man
for a husband."

Sylvia said no more. Her thoughts flew back
to Boston, to an incident which had caused her

362 SYLVIA

amusement at the time. She had told "Tubby"
Bates that she would go motoring with van
Tuiver on a. Sunday morning; and the answer
was that on Sunday mornings van Tuiver passed
the collection-plate in a Very High Church.
Bates went on to explain — in his irreverent
fashion — that van Tuiver's great-uncle had been
of the opinion that the only hope for a young
man with so much money was to turn him over
to the Lord; so for his grand-nephew's head-tutor
he had engaged a clergyman recommended by
an English bishop. And now here was another
bishop recommending van Tuiver as an instru
ment for the converting of his wayward niece!

Sylvia went away, and spent more time in
doubting and fearing. But there was a limit
to the time she could take, because the man was
practically in her home, moving heaven and
earth to get a chance to see her, to urge his suit,
to implore her for mercy, if for nothing more.
And truly he was a pitiable object; if a woman
wanted a husband whom she could twist round
her finger, of whom she could be absolute mistress
all her days, here surely was the husband at
hand! The voice of old Lady Dee called out to
her from the land of ghosts that her victory and
her crown were here.

The end came suddenly, being due to a far-
off cause. There was a panic hi "Wall Street";
an event of which Sylvia heard vaguely, but
without paying heed, not dreaming that so remote
an event could concern her. One can consult

SYLVIA LOSES 363

the financial year-books, and learn how many
business-men went into bankruptcy as a result
of that panic, what properties had to be sold as
a result of it; but it has apparently not occurred
to any compiler of statistics to record the number
of daughters — daughters of poor men and
daughters of rich men — who had to be sold as
a result of it.

The Major came home one afternoon and shut
himself in his study, and did not come to dinner.
Sylvia knew, by that subtle sixth sense whereby
things are known in families, that something
serious had happened. But she was not allowed
to see her father that day or night; and when
she finally did see him, she was dumb with horror.
He looked so yellow and ill — his hands trembled
as if palsied, and she knew by the cigar-stumps
scattered about the office, and the decanter of
brandy on top of the desk, that he had been up
the entire night at his books.

He would not tell her what was the matter;
he insisted, as usual, that it was "nothing."
But evidently he had told his wife, for the poor
lady's eyes were red with weeping. Later on in
the day Sylvia, chancing to answer the telephone,
received a message from Uncle Mandeville in
New Orleans, to the effect that he was "short,"
and powerless to help. Then she took her mother
aside and dragged the story from her. The local
bank was in trouble, and had called some of the
Major's loans. The blow had almost killed him,
and they were in terror as to what he might do
to himself.

364 SYLVIA

Mrs. Castieman saw her daughter go white,
and added, "Oh, if only you were not under the
spell of that dreadful man!"

"But what in the world has that to do with
it?" demanded the girl.

"I curse the day that you met him!" wailed
the other; and then, as Sylvia repeated her
question — "What else is it that keeps you from
loving a good man, and being a help to your
father in this dreadful crisis?"

"Mamma!" exclaimed Sylvia. She had never
expected to hear anything like this from the
gentle "Miss Margaret." "Mamma, I couldn't
stop the panic!"

"You could stop it so far as your father is
concerned," was the answer.

Sylvia said no more at this time. But later
on, when Aunt Nannie came over, she heard the
remark that there were a few fortunate persons
who were not affected by panics; it had been
the maxim of van Tuiver's ancestors to invest
in nothing but New York City real estate, and
to live upon their incomes. It was possible to
do this, even in New York, declared Mrs. Chilton,
if one's income was several millions a year.

"Aunt Nannie," said the girl, gravely, "if I
promised to marry Mr. van Tuiver, could I ask
him to lend Papa money?"

Whereat the other laughed. "My dear niece,
I assure you that to be the father of the future
Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver would be an asset in
the money market — an asset quite as good as a
plantation."

SYLVIA LOSES 365

§ 19

SYLVIA made up her mind that day; and as
usual, she was both clear-sighted and honest
about it. She would not deceive herself, and she
would not deceive van Tuiver. She sent for the
young millionaire, and taking him into another
room than the library, shut the door. "Mr.
van Tuiver," she began, in a voice she tried hard
to keep firm, "you have been begging me to
marry you. You must know that I have been
trying to make up my mind."

"Yes, Miss Sylvia?" he said, eagerly.

"I loved Frank Shirley," she continued. "Now
I can never love again. But I know I shall have
to marry. My people would be unhappy if I
didn't — so unhappy that I know I couldn't bear
it. You see, the person I really love is my father."

She hesitated again. "Yes, Miss Sylvia," he
repeated. She saw that his hands were trembling,
and that he was gazing at her with feverish
excitement.

"I would do anything to make my father
happy," she said. "And now — he's in trouble —
money-trouble. Of course I know that if I mar
ried you, I could help him. I've tried to bring
myself to do it. To-day I said, 'I will!' But
then, there is your side to be thought of."

"My side, Miss Sylvia?"

" I have to be honest with you. I can't pretend
to be what I am not, or to feel what I don't feel.
If I were to marry you, I should try to do my duty

366 SYLVIA

as a wife; I should do everything in my power,
honestly and sincerely. But I don't love you,
and I don't see how I ever could love you."

"But — Miss Sylvia — " he exclaimed, hardly
able to speak for his agitation. "You mean that
you would marry me?"

"I didn't know if you would want to marry
me — when I had told you that."

He was leaning forward, clenching and un
clenching his hands nervously. "I wouldn't
mind — really!" he said.

"Even if you knew — " she began.

"Miss Sylvia," he cried, "I love you! Don't
you understand how I love you?"

"Yes, but— if I couldn't— if I didn't love you?"

"I would take what you could give me! I
love you so much, nothing would matter. I believe
that you would come to love me! If you would
only give me a chance, Miss Sylvia "

"But suppose!" she protested. "Suppose you
found that I never did! Suppose "

But he was in no mood for troublesome sup
positions. Any way would do, he said. He
began stammering out his happiness, he fell upon
his knees before her and caught her hand, and
sought to kiss it. At first she made a move to
withdraw it; but then, with an inward effort,
she let him have it, and sat staring before her,
a mantle of scarlet stealing over her throat and
cheeks and forehead.

His hands were hot and moist, and quite hor
rible to her. Once she looked at him, and an

SYLVIA LOSES 367

image of him was stamped upon her mind in
delibly. It was an image quite different from
his ordinary rigid and sober mask; it was the
face of the man who had always got everything
he wanted. Sylvia did not formulate to herself
just what it was that frightened her so — except
for one phrase. She said it seemed to her that he
licked his lips!

He could hardly believe that the long siege
was ended, that the guerdon of victory was his.
She had to tell him several times that she would
marry him — that she was serious about it — that
would give him her word and would not take it
back. And then she had to prove it to him. He
was not content to clasp her hand, but sought to
embrace her; and when she found that she could
not stand it, she had to plead that it was not the
Southern custom. "You must give me a little
tune to get used to the idea. I only made up my
mind to-day."

"But you will change your mind!" he exclaimed.

"No, no, I won't do that. That would be
wicked of me. I've decided what is right, and
I mean to do it. But you must be patient with
me at the beginning."

"When will you marry me?" he asked — evi
dently none too confident in her resolution,

"I don't know. It ought to be soon. I must
talk with my parents about it."

"And where will it be?"

"That's something I meant to speak of. It
can't be here." She hesitated. "I must tell you

368 SYLVIA

the truth. There would be too much to remind
me. I couldn't endure it. This may seem sen
timental to you, but I'm quite determined. But
I'll have a hard time persuading my people — for
you see, they're proud, and they'll say the world
would expect you to marry me here. You must
stand by me in this."

"Very well," he said. "I will urge them to
have the wedding in New York."

There was a pause, then Sylvia added: "An
other thing, you must not breathe a word to
anyone of what I've told you — about the state
of my feelings — my reasons for deciding "

He smiled. "I'd hardly boast about that!"

"No, but I mean you mustn't tell your dearest
friend — not Aunt Nannie, not Mrs. Winthrop.
You see, I have to make my people believe that
I'm quite sure of my own mind. If my father
had any idea that I was thinking of him, then
he'd surely forbid it. If he ever found out after
wards, he'd be wretched — and I'd have failed in
what I tried to do."

"I understand," said van Tuiver, humbly.

"It's not going to be easy for me," she added.
"I shall have to make everybody think I'm happy.
You must sympathize with me and help me — and
not mind if I seem unreasonable and full of
whims."

He said again that he understood, and would
do his best. He took her hand, very gently, and
held it in his; he started to kiss it, but when he
saw that she had no pleasure in the ceremony

SYLVIA LOSES 369

he released it, parting from her with a formal
little speech of thanks. And such was the manner
of Sylvia's second betrothal.

§ 20

THE engagement was announced at once, the
wedding to take place six weeks later in New
York. Just as Sylvia had anticipated, the
family made a great to-do over the place of the
ceremony; but finding that both she and van
Tuiver were immovable, they cast about for
some pretext to make a New York wedding seem
plausible to a suspicious world. They bethought
themselves of an almost forgotten relative of
the family, a step-sister of Lady Dee's, who had
lived in haughty poverty for half a century in
the metropolis, and was now discovered in a
boarding-house in Harlem, and transported to
a suite of apartments in the Palace Hotel, to
become responsible for Sylvia's desertion of
Castleman County. She had nothing to do but
be the hostess of her "dear niece" — since Mrs.
Harold Cliveden had kindly offered to see to the
practical details of the ceremonial.

The thrilling news of the betrothal spread,
quite literally with the speed of lightning; the
next day all America read of the romance. Since
the story of van Tuiver's infatuation, his treason
to the "Gold Coast" and his forsaking of college,

24

370 SYLVIA

has been the gossip of New York and Boston
clubs for months, there was a delightful story for
the " yellows," of which they did not fail to make
use. Of course there was nothing of that kind
in the Southern papers, but they had their own
way of responding to the general excitement, of
gratifying the general curiosity.

Sylvia was really startled by the furore she
had raised; she was as if caught up and whirled
away by a hurricane. Such floods of congratu
lations as poured in! So many letters, from
people whose names she could barely remember!
Was there a single person in the county who
had a right to call, who did not call to wish her
joy? Even Celeste wrote from Miss Abercrom-
bie's — a letter which brought the tears ,to her
sister's eyes.

Through all these events Sylvia played her
r61e; she played it day and night — not even in
the presence of her negro maid did she lay it
aside! The r61e of the blushing bride-to-be,
the ten-times-over happy heroine of a romance in
high-life! She must be smiling, radiant with
animation decorously repressed; she must go
about with the lucky bridegroom-to-be, and
receive the congratulations of those she knew,
and be unaware — yet not ungraciously unaware
— of the interest and the stares of those she did
not know. More difficult yet, she had to look
the Major in the eyes, and say to him that she
had come to realize that she was fond of "Mr.
van Tuiver," and that she honestly believed she

SYLVIA LOSES 371

would be happy with him. Since her mother
and Aunt Varina were dear sentimental Southern
ladies, incapable of taking a cold-blooded look
at a fact, she had to pretend even to them that
she was cradled in bliss.

At first van Tuiver was with her all the tune,
pouring out the torrents of his happiness and
gratitude. But Aunt Nannie soon came to the
rescue here; Sylvia must not have the incon
veniences of matrimony until the knot had
actually been tied. Van Tuiver was ordered off
to New York, until Sylvia should come for the
buying of her wedding-trousseau.

The dear old Major had suspected nothing
when his friend, the president of the bank, had
suddenly discovered that he could "carry" the
troublesome notes. So now he was completely
free from care, and his daughter had a week of
bliss in his company. She read history to him,
and drove with him, and tended his flowers in
the conservatory, and was hardly apart from
him an hour in the day.

Sylvia had set out some months ago at the
task of democratizing van Tuiver; even in
becoming engaged she had kept some lingering
hope of accomplishing this. But alas, how
quickly the idea vanished before the reality of
her situation! She remembered with a smile
how glibly she had advised the young millionaire
to step away from his shadow; and how he had
labored to make plain to her that he could not
help being a King. Now suddenly she found

372 SYLVIA

that she could sympathize with him — she who
was about to be a Queen!

There were a thousand little ways hi which
she felt the difference. Even the manner of her
friends was changed. She could not go anywhere
that she was not conscious of people staring at
her. It was found necessary to appoint a negro
to guard the grounds, because of the number
of strangers who came in the hope of getting a
glimpse of her. Her mail became suddenly a
flood: letters from inventors who wished to make
her another fortune; letters from distressed
women who implored her to save them; letters
from convicts languishing in prison for crimes
of which they were innocent; letters from poets
with immortal, unrecognized blank-verse dramas;
letters from lonely farmers' wives who thrilled
over her romance, and poured out their souls
hi ill-spelled blessings; letters from prophets of
the class-war who frightened her with warnings
of the wrath to come!

On the second day after the engagement was
announced, Sylvia went out, all unsuspecting,
for a horseback-ride, and had hardly mounted
when a man with a black box stepped from be
hind a tree, and proceeded calmly to snap-shot
the fair equestrienne. Sylvia cried out in indig
nation, and springing from the horse, rushed hi
to tell the Major what had happened; where
upon the Major sallied out with a cane, and there
was a cross-country gallop after the intruder,
ending hi a violent collision between the camera

SYLVIA LOSES 373

and the cane. The funniest part of the matter
was that the photographer spent the better part
of a day trying to get a warrant for his assailant
— imagining that it was possible to arrest a Castle-
man in Castleman Comity! By way of revenge
he telegraphed the story to New York, where
it appeared, duly worked up — with the old photo
graph of the "reigning beauty of the New South,"
in place of the one which had died in the camera!

§ 21

SYLVIA came up to New York in due course;
and by the tune that she had been there one
day, she was able to understand the fondness
of the great for traveling "incog." She was
"snapped" when she descended from the tram —
and this time there was no one to assault the
photographer. Coming out of her hotel with
van Tuiver she found a battery of cameras wait
ing; and being ungracious enough to put up her
hand before her face, she beheld her picture the
next morning with the hand held up, and beside
it the "reigning beauty" picture — with the
caption, "What is behind the hand!"

Van Tuiver was of course known in all the
places which were patronized by the people of
his sort; and Sylvia had but to be seen with him
once in order to be equally known. Thereafter
when she passed through a hotel-lobby, or into

374 SYLVIA

a tea-room, she would become aware of a sudden
hush, and would know that every eye was follow
ing her. Needless to say, she could count upon
the attention of all the " buttons" who caught
sight of her; she lived with a vague consciousness
of swarms of blue-uniformed gnomes with con
stantly-changing faces, who flitted about her,
all but falling over one another in their zeal, and
making her least action, such as sitting in a chair
or passing through a doorway, into a ceremonial
observance.

The most curious thing of all was to go shop
ping; she simply dared not order anything sent
home. There would be the clerk, with pad and
poised pencil — "Name, please?" She would say,
"Miss Sylvia Castleman," and the pencil would
begin to write mechanically — and then stop,
struck with a sudden paralysis. She would see
the fingers trembling, she would be aware of a
swift, wonder-stricken glance. Sometimes she
would pretend to be unconscious, and the busi
ness would go on — "Palace Hotel. To be de
livered this afternoon. Yes, certainly, Miss
Castleman." But sometimes human feeling
would break through all routine. A young soul,
hungry for life, for beauty — and confronting sud
denly the greatest moment of its whole existence,
touching the hem of the star-sewn garment of
Romance! A young girl — possibly even a man —
flushing scarlet, trembling, stammering, "Oh —
why — !" Once or twice Sylvia read in the face
before her something so pitiful that she was

SYLVIA LOSES 375

moved to put her hand upon that of her devotee;
and if you are learned in the lore of ancient
tunes, you know what miracles are wrought by
the touch of Royalty!

What attitude was she to take to this new
power of hers? It was impossible to pretend to
be unaware of it — she had too keen a sense of
humor. But was she to spend her whole life in
shrinking, and feeling shame for other people's
folly? Or should she learn somehow to accept
the homage as her due? She saw that the latter
was what van Tuiver expected. He had chosen
her among millions because she was the one
supremely fitted to go through life at his side;
and if she kept her promise and tried to be a
faithful wife to him, she would have to take
her r61e seriously, and learn to enjoy the per
formances.

Meantime, you ask, What of her soul? She
was trying her best to forget it — in excitements
and distractions, in meeting new people, going
to new places, buying thousands of dollars worth
of new costumes. She would stay late at dances
and supper-parties, trying to get weary enough
to sleep; but then she would have nightmares,
and would waken moaning and sobbing. Always
her dream was one thing, in a thousand forms;
she was somewhere in captivity, and some per
son or creature was telling her that she could
not escape, that it was forever, forever, forever.
Her room had been made into a bower of roses,
but she had to send them away, because one

376 SYLVIA

horrible night when she got up and walked about,
they made her think of the gardens at home,
and the pacing back and forth in her nightgown,
and the thorns and gravel in her feet.

As a child Sylvia had read a story of a circus-
clown, who had played his part when ill and
almost dying, because of his wife and child at
home. Always thereafter a circus-clown had
been to her the symbol of the irony of human
life. But now she knew another figure, equally
tragic, equally terrible to be — the heroine of a
State romance. To be photographed and written
about, to see people staring at you, to have to
smile and look like one hearing celestial music —
and all the while to have a breaking heart !

§ 22

SYLVIA fought long battles with herself. "Oh,
I can't do it!" she would cry. "I can't do it!"
And then "You've promised to do it!" she would
say to herself. And every day she spent more
money, and met more of van Tuiver's friends,
and read more articles about her Romance.

Then one morning came a hall-boy with a card.
She looked at it, and had a painful start.
"Tubby" Bates!

He came in, cheerful, jolly, reminding her of
so many things — such happy things! She had
had a bad night, and now she simply could not

SYLVIA LOSES 377

talk; her words choked her, and she sat staring
at him, her eyes suddenly filling with tears.

"Why, Miss Castleman!" he exclaimed — and
saw such a look upon that lovely face that his
voice died away to a whisper — "You aren't
happy!"

Still for a while she could not answer. He
asked her what was the matter; and then, again,
hi greater distress, "Why did you do it?" She
responded, hi a faint voice, "I did it on my father's
account."

There was a long silence. Then with sudden
energy she began, "Mr. Bates, there is something
I want to talk to you about. It's something
difficult — almost impossible for me to speak of.
And yet — I seem to get more and more desperate
about it. I can never be happy in my life until
I've talked to some one about it."

"What is it, Miss Castleman?"

"It's about Frank Shu-ley."

"Oh!" he said, hi surprise.

"You know that I was engaged to him, Mr.
Bates?"

"Yes, I was told that."

"And you can guess, perhaps, how I have
suffered. I know only what the newspapers
printed — nothing more. And now — you are a
man, and you were at Harvard — you must know.
Is it true that Frank — that he did something that
would make it wrong for me ever to see him
again?"

The blood had pressed into Sylvia's face, but

378 SYLVIA

still she did not lower her eyes. She was gazing
intensely at her friend. She must know the
truth! The whole truth!

He considered, and then said, gravely, "No,
Miss Castleman, I don't think he did that."

There was a pause. "But — it was a place — "
she could go no further.

"I know," he said. "But you see, Snirley
had a room-mate — Jack Colton. And he was
always trying to help him — to keep him out of
trouble and get him home sober "

"Oh, then that was it!" The words came in
a tone that frightened Bates by their burden of
anguish.

"Yes, Miss Castleman," he said. "And as
to the row — Shirley saw a woman mistreated,
and he interfered, and knocked a man down.
I know the man, and he's the sort one has to
knock down. The only trouble was that he hit
his head as he fell."

"I see!" whispered Sylvia.

"But even so, there wouldn't have been any
publicity, except that some of the 'Auburn Street
crowd' were there. They saw their chance to
put the candidate of the 'Yard' out of the run
ning; and they did it. It was a rotten shame,
because everybody knew that Frank Shirley was
not that kind of man "

Bates stopped again. He could not bear the
look he saw on Sylvia's face. She bowed her
head hi her arms, and silent sobbing shook her.
Then she got up and began to pace back and forth

SYLVIA LOSES 379

distractedly. He knew very well what was going
on in her thoughts.

Suddenly she turned upon him. "Mr. Bates,"
she exclaimed, "you must help me! You must
stay here and help me!"

"Certainly, Miss Castleman. What can I do?"

"In the first place, you must not breathe a
word of this to anyone. You understand?"

"Of course."

"Have you any idea where Frank Shirley is?"

"I heard that he had gone out to Wyoming
with Jack Colton."

"Then you must telegraph to Mr. Colton;
and also you must telegraph to Frank Shirley's
home. You must say that Frank is to come to
you hi New York at once. He mustn't lose an
hour, you understand; my father will be here
next week. Then, too, Frank will have heard
of my engagement, and you can't tell what, he
might do."

Bates stared at her. "Do you know what you
are doing, Miss Castleman?" he asked.

"I do," she answered.

"Very well, then," he said, "I will do what you
ask."

"Go, do it now," she cried, and he went —
carrying with him for the rest of his life the
memory of her face of agony. He sent the tele
grams, and in due course received replies — which
he did not dare to bring to Sylvia himself, but
sent by messenger. The first, from Frank's
home, was to the effect that his whereabouts

380 SYLVIA

were unknown; and the second, from Jack Col-
ton, was to the effect that Frank had gone away
a couple of weeks before, saying that he would
never return.

§ 23

SYLVIA wrestled this problem out with her own
soul. The only person who ever knew about it
was Aunt Varina, and she knew only because
she happened to awaken in the small hours of
the morning and hear signs of a fit of hysteria
which the girl was trying to repress. She went
into Sylvia's room and found her huddled upon
the bed; when she asked what was the matter,
the other sobbed without lifting her face — "Oh,
I can't marry him! I can't marry him!"

Mrs. Tuis stared at her in consternation.
"Why, Sylvia!" she gasped.

"Oh, Aunt Varina," moaned Sylvia, "I'm so
unhappy! It's so horrible!"

"But, my child! You are out of your senses!
What has happened?"

"I've come to realize the mistake I've made!
I'd rather die than do it!"

Poor Aunt Varina was dumb with dismay.
Sylvia had played her part so well that no one
had had a suspicion. Now, between her bursts
of weeping, she stammered out what she had
learned. Frank was innocent. He had gone
away forever — perhaps he had killed himself.

SYLVIA LOSES 381

At any rate, his life was ruined, and Sylvia had
done it.

"But, my child," protested the other, "you
couldn't help it. How could you know?"

"I should have found out! I should have
trusted Frank; I should have known that he could
not do what they accused him of. I have been
faithless to him — faithless to our love. And
now what will become of him?"

Aunt Varina sat gazing at her, tears of sym
pathy running down her cheeks. "Sylvia," she
whispered, "what will you do?"

"Oh, I love Frank Shirley!" moaned the girl.
"I never loved anybody else — I never will love
anybody else! And I know — what I didn't know
at first — that it's wicked, wicked to marry with
out love!"

"But what will you do?" repeated the other,
who was dazed with horror.

For a long tune there was no sound but Sylvia's
weeping. "Sylvia dear," began Aunt Varina, at
last, "you must control yourself. You must
not let these thoughts get possession of you.
You will destroy yourself if you do."

"I can't marry him!" sobbed the girl.

"I can't let you go on talking that way!"
exclaimed the other, wildly. "Do you realize
what you are saying? Look at me, child, look
at me!"

Sylvia looked at her, wondering a little — for
never had she seen such vehemence exhibited by
this gentle and submissive "poor relation."

382 SYLVIA

"Listen!" Mrs. Tuis rushed on. "How can you
know that what you have heard is true? You
say that Frank was innocent — but your Cousin
Harley investigated, and he declared he was
guilty. Mrs. Winthrop told you the same — she
said everybody knew. And yet you take the
word of one man! And you told me at Harvard
that Mr. Bates was distressed at the idea of your
marrying Mr. van Tuiver. You told me he warned
you against him! Isn't that so, Sylvia?"

"Yes, Aunt Varina, but "

"He does not like Mr. van Tuiver, and he
comes here at a time like this, and puts such ideas
into your thoughts. Don't you see that was not
an honorable thing to do — when you were on
the verge of being married and couldn't get out
of it! When you know that your father would
be utterly ruined — that your whole family would
be wrecked by it!"

"Surely it can't be so bad, Aunt Varina!"

"Think how your father has gone into debt
on your account! All the clothes you have
bought — the bills at this hotel — the expenses of
the wedding! Thousands and thousands of
dollars!"

"Oh, I didn't want all that!" wailed Sylvia.

"But you did! You insisted on coming here
to New York, where a wedding would cost several
times as much as at home! You have come out
before all the world as Mr. van Tuiver's fiance*e —
and think of the scandal and the disgrace, if you
were to break it off! And poor Mr. van Tuiver

SYLVIA LOSES 383

— what a figure he'd cut! And when he loves
you so!"

Sylvia's sobbing had ceased during this out
burst. When she spoke again, her voice was
hard. "He does not love me," she said.

"Why, what in the world do you mean by
that?"

"I mean just what I say. He doesn't love
me — not as Frank loves me. He isn't capable
of it."

"But then — why — for what other reason should
he be marrying you?"

"I'm beautiful, and he wants me. But it's
mainly because I offended his vanity — yes, just
that! I turned him down, I ridiculed him and
insulted him. I was something he couldn't get;
and the more he couldn't get me, the more the
thought of me rankled in his mind."

"Sylvia! How can you be so cynical!"

"I'm not cynical at all. I just won't gild
things over, as other women do. I won't make
pretences, I won't cover myself and my whole
life with a cloak of shams. I know right now
that I'm being sold, just as much as if I were led
out to an auction-block with chains about my
ankles! I'm being sold to a man — and I was
meant to be sold to a man from the very begin
ning of my life!"

There was a silence; for Aunt Varina was
paralyzed by these amazing words. She had
never heard such an utterance in her life before.
"Sylvia!" she cried. "What do you mean?
Who is driving you?"

384 SYLVIA

"I don't know! But something is!"

"How can you say it? Can you imagine that
your good, kind parents — "

"Oh, no!" interrupted Sylvia, passionately.
"At least — they don't know it!"

Mrs. Tuis sat dumfounded. "Sylvia," she
quavered, at last, "let me implore you to get
yourself together before your father arrives hi
New York. If he should hear what you have
said to me to-night, he would never get over
it — truly, it would kill him!"

§ 24

AN event to which Sylvia looked forward with
considerable interest was a meeting with Mrs.
Beauregard Dabney, who was coming to New
York for a visit. Harriet, as her letters showed,
was not unappreciative of the glory which had
descended upon her friend, and would enjoy
having some of it reflected upon herself. Thus
Sylvia might be shown what emotions she ought
to be feeling; possibly she might even be made
to feel some of them. At any rate, she knew
that Harriet would help to keep her courage
screwed up.

But Sylvia's pleasure in the visit was marred
by a peculiar circumstance, which she had failed
to prepare for, in spite of warnings duly given.
"You must not be surprised when you see me,"

SYLVIA LOSES 385

Harriet wrote. "I have been ill, and I'm terribly
changed." Her reason for coming North, it
appeared, was to consult specialists about a
mysterious ailment which had baffled the doctors
at home.

Sylvia was quite horrified when she saw her
friend. Never could she have imagined such a
change in anyone in six months' time. Harriet
lifted her veil, and there was an old woman with
wrinkled, yellow skin. "Why, Harriet!" gasped
Sylvia, unable to control herself.

"I know, Sunny," said the other. "Isn't it
dreadful?"

"But for heaven's sake, what is the matter?"

"That's what I've come to find out. Nobody
knows."

"Why, I never heard of such a thing!" Svlvia
exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm having all sorts of tilings done. The
doctors give me medicine, but nothing seems to
do any good. I'm really in despair about myself."

"How did it begin, Harriet?"

"I don't really know. There were so many
things, and I didn't put them together. I began
having headaches a great deal; and then pains
that the doctors called neuralgia, I had a bad
sore throat over in Europe; I thought the climate
disagreed with me, but I've had it again at
home. And now eruptions break out; the doc
tors treat them with things, and they go away,
but then they come back. All my hair is falling
out, and I've got to wear a wig."

25

386 SYLVIA

"Why, how perfectly horrible!" cried Sylvia.

She started to embrace her friend, but was
repelled. "I mustn't kiss anyone," said Harriet.
"You see, it might be contagious — one can't be
sure."

"But what are you going to do, Harriet?"

"I've almost given up hoping. I haven't
really cared so much, since the doctors told me
I can never have another baby. You know,
Sunny, it's curious — I never cared about chil
dren, I thought they were nuisances. But when
mine came, I cared — oh, so horribly! I wanted
to have a real one."

"A real one?" echoed Sylvia.

"Yes. I didn't write you about it, and per
haps I oughtn't to tell you just at this time.
But you know, Sunny, he didn't seem like a
human being at all; he was a little gray mummy."

"Harriet!"

"Just like that — a regular skeleton, his skin
all lose, so that you could lift it up in folds.
He was a kind of earthy color, and had no hair,
and no finger-nails

Sylvia broke out with a cry of horror, and her
friend stopped. "I haven't talked to anyone
about it," she said — "I guess I oughtn't to,
even to you."

"How long did he live?"

"About six weeks. Nobody knew what he
died of — he just seemed to fade away. You
can't imagine it, perhaps — but, Sunny, I wanted
him to stay — even him! He was all I could ever

SYLVIA LOSES 387

have, and it seemed so cruel!" Suddenly the girl
hid her face in her hands and began to sob —
the first time that Sylvia had ever seen her do
it in all her life.

So it was not the cheering visit that Sylvia
had anticipated. It left her with much to think
about, and to talk about with other people.
Later on, speaking to Aunt Varina, she happened
to mention something that van Tuiver had said
about the matter; whereupon her aunt exclaimed,
"You didn't talk about it with Mr. van Tuiver!"

"But why not, Auntie?"

"You mustn't do that, dear! You can't tell."

"Can't tell what?"

"I mean, dear, that Harriet might have some
disease that you oughtn't to talk to Mr. van
Tuiver about." Aunt Varina hesitated, then
added, in a whisper, "Some 'bad disease'."

Whereat Sylvia started in sudden dismay. So
that was it! A "bad disease"!

You must understand how it happened that
Sylvia had ideas on this subject. There was
a foreign writer of plays, whose name she had
heard. She had never seen his books, and would
not have opened one, upon peril of her soul;
but once, hi a magazine picked up in a train,
she had read a casual reference to an Ibsen
play, which dealt with a nameless and dreadful
malady. From the context it was made clear
that this malady was a price men paid for evil
living — and a price which was often collected
from their innocent wives and children. Now

388 SYLVIA

and then the women of Sylvia's family spoke in
awe-stricken whispers of this mysterious taint,
using the phrase "a bad disease." Now, appar
ently, she was beholding the horror before her
eyes!

§ 25

THE problem occupied Sylvia's mind for several
days, to the exclusion of everything else. It
lent a new dread to the thought of marriage.
How could a woman be safe from such a thing?
Beauregard Dabney was not the most perfect
specimen of manhood that one could have
selected, but there was nothing especial the matter
with him that could be observed. Yet see what
had happened to his wife and child!

Harriet came again, and this time her husband
was with her. He was just as much in love with
her as ever — in fact, Sylvia thought that she
noted a new and pathetic clinging on his part.
They had been to see a great specialist, and still
there was nothing definite to be learned about
the malady; the doctor, hearing that the couple
had journeyed up the Nile, suggested that possibly
it might be an African fever, and promised to
look up the mysterious symptoms in his books.
Wasn't it extraordinary, exclaimed Harriet; but
Sylvia, who could not be deceived for very long,
noticed that Beauregard was not so much excited
about the African theory as his wife. Suddenly

SYLVIA LOSES 389

the thought came to her, Could it be that the
doctors really knew what the disease was, and
would not tell Harriet? Could it be that Beaure-
gard knew, and was helping in the deception?
Then — horror of horrors — could it be that he had
known all along, and had upon his conscience the
crime of having brought the woman he loved
into this state?

Sylvia's relentless mind, once having got hold
of this problem, clung to it like a bull-dog to the
throat of an enemy. Of course such a disease
was a loathsome thing; a woman could not very
well ask questions about it — yet, what was she
to do? Apparently she was dependent upon the
man's honor; and could it be that a man's notion
of honor permitted him, when he was desperately
hi love, to take such chances with a woman's
life? Sylvia remembered suddenly that Beaure-
gard had made love to her. More than once she
had actually permitted him to hold and fondle
her hand. The mere thought made her shrink
with horror.

And then came another idea. (How quickly
she was putting things together!) Men got this
disease by evil living. Then Beauregard must
have done the sort of thing that Frank Shirley
had been accused of doing! Also Jack Colton
had done the same! Also — had not Bates said
that there were some of the "Auburn Street
crowd" in that place? Club-men, gentlemen, the
aristocracy of Harvard! There came back to her
the phrase from Harley's letter: "one of the two

390 SYLVIA

or three high-class houses of prostitution which
are especially frequented by college men!" How
much Sylvia knew about this forbidden subject,
when she came to put her mind to it! More,
apparently, than her own parents — for had they
not shown themselves willing for her to fall hi
love with Beauregard Dabney? More, also,
than Mrs. Winthrop — for had not that lady
implied that it was only low and obscure men
who permitted themselves such baseness?

As you may believe, it was not long before
Sylvia's thoughts came to her own intended
husbandv What had been his life? What
might be the chances of her being brought to
such a fate as Harriet's? Apparently nobody
had any thought about it. They had been quick
to avail themselves of the appearance of evil
on the part of Frank Shirley; but what had they
done to make sure that van Tuiver had been any
better?

For three days Sylvia debated this problem;
and then her mind was made up — she would do
something about it. She would talk to someone.
But to whom?

She began with her faithful chaperone, men
tioning the African fever theory, and so bringing
up the subject of "bad diseases." Just how
much did Aunt Varina know about these dis
eases? Not very much, it appeared. Was
there any way to find out about them? There
was no way that Aunt Varina could conceive —
it was not a subject concerning which a young
girl ought, to inquire.

SYLVIA LOSES 391

"But," protested Sylvia, "a girl has to marry.
And think of taking such chances! Suppose, for
instance, that Mr. van Tuiver "

"Ssh!" Aunt Varina almost leaped at her
niece in her access of horror. "Sylvia! how can
you suggest such a thing?"

"But, Auntie, how can I be sure?"

"You surely know that the man to whom you
have given your heart is a gentleman!"

"Yes, Auntie, but then I knew that Beaure-
gard Dabney was a gentleman — and so did you.
And see what has happened!"

"But, Sylvia dear! You don't know that it's
that!"

'I very nearly know it. And if Beauregard
was willing to marry when he "

"But he may not have known it, Sylvia!"

"Well, don't you see, Aunt Varina? That
makes it all the more serious ! If Mr. van Tuiver
himself can be ignorant, how can I feel safe?"

"But, Sylvia, what could you do?"

"Why, I should think he ought to go to some
one who knows — a doctor — and make sure."

The poor old lady was almost speechless with
horror. What was the world coming to? "How
can you say such a thing?" she exclaimed. "You,
a pure girl! Who could suggest such a thing to
Mr. van Tuiver?"

"Couldn't Papa do it?"

"And pray, who is to suggest it to your father?
Surely you couldn't!"

"Why no," said Sylvia, "perhaps not. But
couldn't Mamma?"

392 SYLVIA

"Your mother would die first!" And Sylvia,
remembering her "talk" with "Miss Margaret,"
had to admit that this was probably true.

But still she could not give up her idea that
something ought to be done. She took a couple
of days more to think, and then made up her
mind to write to her Uncle Basil. The family
had sent him to talk with her about Frank's mis
conduct, thus apparently indicating him as her
proper adviser hi delicate matters.

So she wrote, at some length — using most
carefully veiled language, and tearing up many
pages which contained words she could not
endure seeing on paper. But she made her
meaning clear — that she thought someone should
approach her future husband on the subject.

Sylvia waited the necessary period for the
Bishop's reply, and read it with trembling fingers
and flaming cheeks — although its language was
even more carefully veiled than her own. The
substance of it was that van Tuiver was a
Christian gentleman, and this must be Sylvia's
guarantee that he would not bring any harm to
the woman he so deeply revered. Surely, if
Sylvia respected him enough to marry him, she
could trust him in a matter like this! To ap
proach him upon it would be to offer him a deadly
insult.

Whereupon Sylvia took several days more to
worry and wonder. She was not satisfied at all,
and finally summoned her courage and wrote to
the Bishop again. It was not merely a question

SYLVIA LOSES 393

of honor; if that were true, she would have to
say that Beauregard Dabney was a scoundrel
and she did not believe that. Might it not
possibly be knowledge that was lacking? She
begged her uncle to do her the favor of his life
by writing to van Tuiver; and she intimated
further that if he would not do it, she would have
to put the matter before her father.

So there was another wait, and then came a
letter from the Bishop, saying that he was writ
ing as requested. Then, after a third wait, a
letter with van Tuiver's reply. He had taken
the inquiry very magnanimously; he could under
stand, he said, how Sylvia had been upset by the
sight of her friend's illness. As to her own case,
she might rest assured that there could be no such
possibility. And so at last Sylvia's fears were
allayed, and she was free to be unhappy about
other matters.

§ 26

You must not imagine that Sylvia was spend
ing these days in moping; all her thinking had
to be done in the odd moments of a strenuous
career. Day and night she had to meet new
people, and new people were always an irresistible
stimulus to her curiosity. Not all of them were
hall-boys and shop-clerks, falling instant victims
to her charms; on the contrary, they were Knick
erbocker " society" — people not infrequently as

394 SYLVIA

wealthy as her future husband, and having an
equally great notion of their own importance.
The tidings that Douglas van Tuiver had picked
up a country-girl had not thrilled them with
sympathetic emotions. The details of the news
paper romance inspired them only with contempt.
There had to be many a flash of Sylvia's rapier-
wit, and many a flash of Sylvia's red-brown eyes,
before these patrician plutocrats had been brought
to acknowledge her an equal.

A few of these acquaintances were kmdiy
people, whom she could imagine making into
friends, if only there had been tune. But she
wondered how anybody ever found tune for
friendship in this restless and expensive and
highly ornamental life. Such a whirl of dinner
parties and supper-parties, dances and luncheons
and teas! Such august and imposing splendor,
such dignified and even sombre dissipation!
The Major had provided abundant credit for this
last splurge; and van Tuiver's aunt was also
on hand, conspiring with her nephew to smother
Sylvia under loads of gifts. The girl wondered
sometimes, was it that van Tuiver had suspicions
of her wavering, and sought to bind her by forc
ing these luxuries upon her? Or would she be
expected always to live this kind of Arabian
Nights' existence?

There came old friends, to bask hi the sunlight
of her success. Miss Abercrombie came, effulgent
with delight, assured of a lifetime's prosperity by
this demonstration of her system. With her

SYLVIA LOSES 395

came Celeste, playing her difficult part with
bitter pride. Harley Chilton ran down from
Boston, bringing the tidings that he had made
the "Dickey" and saw his way clear to the top
of the Harvard pyramid. Last of all, two or
three days before the wedding came " Queen
Isabella," distributing her largess of blessings to
all concerned.

First she met "Miss Margaret" and the Major,
and addressed them with such mystical eloquence
that the agitated pair had not a dry eye between
them. After which she sought the prospective
bride and bridegroom; and not even the most
reverend millionaire bishop who was to perform
the ceremony could have been more pontifical
and impressive than our great lady hi this solemn
hour. We live in a cynical world, which affords
but poor soil for the nurture of the finer flowers
of the spirit. But Mrs. Winthrop was one really
capable of experiencing the more exalted emotions,
and of giving them ungrudging utterance. She
was thrilled now by the vistas which she saw
unfolding; not since the day of her espousal of
the celebrated railroad-builder had the wings of
the seraphim rustled so loudly about her head.
She might have been compared to a creative
artist who labors for long in solitude, and who
at last, when he reveals his masterpiece, is startled
by the clamor of the world's applause.

"Sylvia," she said, and put both her hands
upon the girl's — "Sylvia, you have before you a
great career, a career of service. You will be

396 SYLVIA

happy — I know you must be happy, dear, when
once you have come to realize what an inspira
tion you are to others. Such fortune as yours
falls but rarely to a woman, but you will be
worthy of it — I believe you will be worthy of
everything that has come to you."

"I hope so, Mrs. Winthrop," answered Sylvia,
humbly.

And then, as van Tuiver discreetly moved away,
the other went on, in a low and deeply-moved
voice: "Don't imagine, dear girl, that I fail to
realize all your doubts and perplexities. I know
just how you feel, for I had to go through with it
myself. Every woman does — but believe me,
such tremors are as nothing compared to all the
rest of one's life. We learn to subordinate our
personal feelings, our personal preferences. That
is one of the duties of those who have greatness
as their lot — who have to live what one might
call public lives."

Now, Sylvia might have her doubts as to the
soundness of this doctrine, but she had none
as to the genuineness of the speaker's feelings;
so she was a trifle shocked when Mrs. Winthrop
went away, and she discovered that her future
husband was laughing.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, "it's all right — only when
you are Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver, you will receive
Isabella's ecstasies with a trifle more reserve.
You will realize that she has her own axes to
grind."

SYLVIA LOSES 397

"Axes — what do you mean?"

"Social axes. You'll understand my world
bye-and-bye, Sylvia. Isabella's trying to make
an impression beyond her income, and she's
seeking alliances. What you must remember is
that the need is on her side."

There was a pause, while Sylvia sat thinking.
"Tell me," she said, at last, "why did Mrs.
Winthrop change so suddenly, and begin urging
me to marry you?"

"It's the same thing," he answered. "She
couldn't afford to displease me. When she found
that I was determined to have my way, she tried
to make it seem her work. Naturally, she'd
want as much of the prestige of this wedding as
she could get."

Again Sylvia pondered.' "Hasn't Mrs. Win-
throp's husband enough money?" she asked.

"He has enough, but he won't spend it. The
tragedy of Isabella's life is that her husband is
really interested in railroads."

"But I thought he adored her!" Sylvia re
membered a pathetic stout gentleman she had
seen wandering about on the outskirts of a throng
of the great lady's admirers.

"Oh, yes," replied van Tuiver, with laughter.
"I never saw a woman who had a man more
completely bluffed. But the trouble is that he
offers himself, and what she wants is his money."

There followed a long silence. Van Tuiver
had pleasant things to meditate upon; but sud
denly he chanced to look at Sylvia, and exclaimed,
"Why, what's the matter?"

398 SYLVIA

"Nothing," she said, and turned away her
head to conceal the tears she had failed to repress.

"But what is it?" he demanded, not without
a touch of annoyance.

"There's no use talking about it," was Sylvia's
reply. "It's just that you promised you would
try not to think so much about money. Some-
tunes I can't help being frightened, when I realize
that you don't ever believe in people — but only
in money."

She saw the old worried look come back to his
face. "You know that I believe hi you!" he
exclaimed.

"You told me," she answered, "that the only
way I was able to make an impression upon you
was by refusing to marry you. And now I have
given up that prestige — so aren't you afraid that
you may come to feel about me as you do
about Mrs. Winthrop?"

§ 27

MAJOR and Mrs. Castleman arrived next morn
ing, and after that there were busy tunes for
Sylvia. There was the wedding-gown to be
shown, and the trousseau and the presents; there
were plans for the future to be told of, and many
blessings to be received. "Miss Margaret" was
in a "state" most of the time — tears of joy and
tears of sorrow pursuing each other down her

SYLVIA LOSES 399

generous cheeks. " Sylvia," she exclaimed, in one
breath, "I know you will be happy!" And then,
in the next breath, "Sylvia, I hope you will be
happy!" And then, in a third breath, "Sylvia,
how will we ever get on without you? Who
will dare to spank the baby?"

It was with her father that she had the really
trying ordeal; her father took her into a room
alone, and held her hands in his and tried to
read her soul. "Tell me, my child, are you
going to be happy?"

"I think so, Papa," she answered; and had to
make herself look into his eyes.

"I want you to understand me, dear Sylvia —
even now, at this last hour, don't take the step
unless you believe with your best judgment that
you will be happy."

There was a moment of madness, when she
had the impulse to fling herself into his arms and
cry, "I love Frank Shirley!" But instead of that
she hurried on, "I believe he loves me deeply,
Papa."

Said the Major, in a trembling voice, "There
is no more solemn moment in a father's life than
when he sees his dearly loved daughter taking
this irrevocable step. I want you to know, my
darling, that I have prayed earnestly, I have done
my best to judge what is right for you."

"Yes, Papa," she said, "I know that."

"I want you to know that if ever I have seemed
to be stern, it has been because I believed my
daughter's welfare required it."

400 SYLVIA

"Yes, Papa," she said, again.

"I am sure, this man loves you, Sylvia; and
I believe he's a good man — he ought to make
you happy. But I want you to know that if
by any chance my prayers are denied — if you
find that you are not happy — then your father's
home will always be open to you, his arms will
always be stretched wide to clasp you."

"Dear old Daddy!" whispered the girl. She
felt the arms about her now, and she began to
sob softly, with a mixture of emotions. Oh, if
only she might stay for the balance of her life
in the shelter of those arms, that were so strong
and so dependable! If only there were not the
dreadful thing called marriage — which drove her
out into another pair of arms, from which she
shrunk with such unconquerable aversion!

This was the heart of her difficulty — her
inability to conquer her physical shrinking from
the man to whom she was betrothed. Here
she was, upon the very eve of her wedding, and
she had made no progress whatever. Mentally
and spiritually she had probed him, and felt
that she knew him intimately; but physically he
was still an utter stranger to her — as much so
as any man she might have met upon the street.
She would sit talking with him, trying to forget
herself and her fears for a while; and gradually
she would be conscious of his gaze upon her, his
eyes traveling over her form, devouring her in
thought, longing for her. Then she would go
almost beside herself — she would have to spring

SYLVIA LOSES 401

up and break the chain of his thoughts. It
seemed to her that she was like the prey of some
wild beast — or a beast that was just tame
enough to wait patiently, knowing that at a
certain time the prey would be in its grasp.

On the evening before the wedding van Tuiver
was to attend a "stag-dinner" with his friends;
but he called in to see her for a few minutes, and
the family discreetly left them alone. In a sud
den access of longing, he clasped her in his arms,
and she forced herself to submit. Then he began
to kiss her, to press passionate kisses upon her
cheek and throat. His breath was hot, and
utterly horrible to her; she could not endure it,
and cried out to him to stop, and struggled and
pushed him away. Still holding her, and gazing
at her with desire blazing in his eyes, he whis
pered, "Not yet?"

"Oh, how could you?" she cried.

"Is it not time you were beginning to learn?"
he demanded; and then, wholly beside himself,
"Sylvia, how much longer am I to endure this?
Can't you understand what you make me suffer?
I love you — I love you to distraction, and I get
nothing from you — nothing! I dare not even tell
you that I love you!"

The passion in his voice made her shudder;
and yet, too, she pitied him. She was ashamed
of herself for the way she treated him. "What
can I do?" she cried. "I can't help it — as God
is my witness, I can't control my feelings. I ask
myself, ought I to marry you so?"

402 SYLVIA

"It seems to me it's rather late to bring up that
question," he responded.

"I know, I know! I have nothing to say for
myself — except that I didn't know, I couldn't
realize. It's something I must tell you — how
I have come to feel — that I ought not to marry
you, that you ought not to want me to marry
you, while things are like this. You must know
this, so that if I marry you, the responsibility will
be yours!"

"And you think that is fair of you?" he de
manded, his voice grown suddenly hard.

He meant to rebuke her, and she felt that he
had a right to rebuke her; but the wave of emo
tion which swept her along was not to jbe
controlled by her reason. "Oh, you are going to
be angry about it!" she cried. "How horrible
of you!"

He exclaimed, "Sylvia! Can you expect me not
to be hurt?"

"I told you that I couldn't help it! I told
you in the very beginning that you would have
to take me as I was, and be satisfied if I did my
best! I told you that again and again — that
I loved another man, that I love him still "

She stopped. A spasm of pain crossed his
face — followed by a look of fear. He hesitated,
and then, his voice low and trembling, he began,
"Sylvia, forgive me. I know that you are right
— that you are trying to do your best. I will be
patient. You must be patient with me also."

She stood, her head bowed, ashamed of what

she had said. Yet — she felt that he ought to
have heard it. "I hate to seem unfair," she
whispered, her voice almost breaking. "I don't
want to give you pain, but I can't help these
feelings, and I know it's my duty to tell you of
them. I don't see how you can go on — I should
think you would be afraid to marry me!"

For answer he caught her hands, exclaiming,
"I will take my chances! I love you, and I will
never rest until you love me!"

§ 28

So far I have put together this story from the
memories of Sylvia and Frank Shirley. But
now I have come to the point where you may
watch the events through my own eyes. I will
take a paragraph or two to give you an idea of
the quality of these eyes, and then proceed with
out further delay.

Mary Abbott, the teller of this tale, was at the
age of forty a crude farmer's wife upon a lonely
pioneer homestead in Manitoba. In winter hi
that part of the world it begins to grow dark at
three o'clock in the afternoon, and it is not fully
light until nine o'clock in the morning. We were
a mile from the nearest neighbor, and had often
three feet of snow upon the ground, with fifty
degrees below zero and a sweeping wind. I had
a husband whom I feared and despised, and for

404 SYLVIA

whom I cooked and washed and sewed, whether
I was well or ill. Under these circumstances
I had raised three children to maturity. I had
moved to town and seen them through high-
school; and now, the girl being married, and the
two boys in college, I found myself suddenly free
to see the world.

You must not think of me as altogether ignorant.
I had fought desperately for books, and had
grown up with my children. Discovering in the
town the perpetual miracle of a circulating
library, I had read wildly, acquiring a strange
assortment of new ideas. But that, I am ashamed
to say, made very little difference when I reached
the East. It is one thing to read up in the theory
of Socialism, and say that you have freed your
self from bourgeois ideals; it is quite another to
come from a raw pioneer community, and be
suddenly hit between the eyes by all the marvels
of the great New Nineveh!

I forgot my principles; I wandered about,
breathless with excitement. Everything that I
had ever read about, in Sunday supplements and
cheap magazines — here it was before my eyes!
I got myself a hall-room in a "Greenwich Village"
boarding-house, and for days I went, thrusting
my inquisitive country face into everything that
was cheap enough. The huge shops with their
amazing treasures of silks and jewels; the great
hotels with their gold and stucco splendors; the
dizzy, tower-like office-buildings; the newspaper
offices with their whirling presses; the theatres,

SYLVIA LOSES 405

the museums, the parks; the Brooklyn Bridge
and the Statue of Liberty, Grant's Tomb and the
Bowery— I was the very soul of that thing which
the New Yorker derisively calls the " rubber-neck
wagon!" I took my place in one of these mov
ing grand-stands, and listened to all that came out
of the megaphone. Here was the home of the
steel-king, which had cost three millions of dol
lars! Here was the home where a fifty thousand
dollar chef was employed! Here was the old
van Tuiver mansion, where the millionaire-baby
had been brought up! Here was the Palace
Hotel, where Miss Sylvia Castleman was staying!

It was the day before the wedding; and I, like
all the rest of the city, was thrilling over the
Romance, knowing more about the preparations
than the bride herself. I had read all the papers
— morning papers and afternoon papers; I had
read descriptions of the wedding-gown, the trous
seau, the rooms full of gift-treasures with detec
tives on guard. I had stared at the outside of
the church, and imagined the inside. Last of
all, I had wandered up to the Palace Hotel and
peered about in the lobby, amusing myself by
imagining that each gorgeous female creature
who floated by and disappeared into a motor
car might possibly be the Princess herself!

At the boarding-house we discussed the pos
sibility of seeing the wedding-cortege, and every
body said that I could not come within a block
of the church. "I'll fight my way," I declared;
to which the reply was that I would find out some-

406 SYLVIA

thing about New York policemen that would cure
me of my fighting impulses. The result of the
discussion was that I set out immediately after
breakfast, fired with the spirit of the discoverers
of Pike's Peak.

I must get at least a glimpse, I told myself.
What a tale to be able to tell at the Women's
Club receptions at home! To say: "I saw her!
She was the loveliest thing! And oh, her dress!
It was cream-white satin, with four graduated
flounces of exquisite point-lace!" Of course
I could have got all that from the newspapers;
but I wanted to be able to say it truly.

The wedding-hour was noon, but at nine there
was already a respectable crowd. I established
myself upon the steps of a nearby house, with
a newspaper to sit on and a pair of borrowed
opera-glasses in my hand-bag. In the meantime
I entertained myself talking with the other
watchers, who were a new type to me, well-
dressed women, kept in luxury, whether legal or
otherwise, who fed their empty minds upon
fashion sheets and "society notes," and had no
idea ha the world beyond the decking of their
persons and the playing of their little part in
the great game of Splurge. We talked about the
van Tuiver family, its history and its present
status; we talked with awe about the bride;
we talked about the presents, the decorations, the
costumes — there was so much to talk about!

Shortly after ten o'clock a calamity befell us—
the police began to clear the steps, driving the

SYLVIA LOSES 407

crowd far back from the church-entrance. What
agonies, what expostulations! How outrageous
— when we had waited there an hour already!
Sometimes the steps were our own steps, some
times they were the steps of friends; but even
that made no difference. "I'm sorry, lady, the
orders are to clear everything." They were as
gentle about it as they could be, but that was
none too gentle; we had the butt-ends of clubs,
pressing into our stomachs, and back we went,
arguing, scolding, threatening, sometimes weeping
or fainting.

I was tremendously disappointed. To have
to go back to the boarding-house, and admit
defeat to the milliner's assistant who sat next
to me at meals! To hear "I told you so" from
the "floor-walker" who sat across the way!
"I won't do it!" I said to myself.

And then suddenly came my chance. Behind
me there was a commotion, angry protests —
"Officer, let us through here! We have cards!"
Cards — how our souls thrilled as we heard the
word! Here, right close to us, were some of the
chosen ones! Let us see them at least — a bit of
Royalty at second hand!

They pushed their way through — three women
and two men. As they neared me, I saw the
engraved invitations in their hands, and it flashed
over me that in my hand-bag was a milliner's
advertisement of nearly the same size and shape.
I dived in, and fished it out with trembling fingers,
and fell in behind the party, and pushed through

408 SYLVIA

the crowd past the line of police. There before
me was the open space in front of the church!

I had acted on impulse, with no idea what to
do next. I could scarcely hope to get in to the
wedding on a milliner's card. But fortunately
my problem solved itself, for there were always
the guests pushing into the entrance, and every
body was perfectly willing to push ahead of me.
All I had to do was to "mark time," and I was
free to stay, inhaling delicious perfumes and
feasting my ears upon scraps of the conversation
of the Mite. I foresaw that the banner of the
great Northwest would wave triumphantly in
" Greenwich Village" that night!

§ 29

I WILL not stop to detail the separate thrills of
this adventure. Carriage after carriage, motor
after motor drew up, and released new revelations
of grace and elegance. The time for the cere
mony drew near, and from the stir in the throng
about me I knew that the guests from the wedding-
breakfast were passing. How I longed to talk to
someone — to ask who was this and that and the
other one! Then I might have been able to tell
you how "Miss Margaret" wept, and how Aunt
Varina trembled, and what "Queen Isabella" was
wearing! But the only persons I could be sure
of were the five lovely bridesmaids, and the bride,

SYLVIA LOSES 409

leaning upon the arm of a stately old white-
haired gentleman. How we craned our necks,
and what rapture transported us! We heard the
thunder of the organ and the orchestra within,
and it corresponded to the state of our souls.

There was still quite a throng at either side
of the entrance — newspaper reporters, people who
had come out of houses nearby, people who, like
myself, had got by the police-lines upon one
pretext or another. Down the street we could
see a solid line of bluecoats, and behind them
people crowded upon steps, leaning out of win
dows, clinging to railings and lamp-posts. We
were in fear lest at any tune we might be ordered
to join this throng, so we stayed silent and very
decorous, careful not to crowd or to make our
selves conspicuous.

You might have expected, perhaps, that when
all the protagonists of the drama had entered the
church, the crowd would have dispersed; but not
a soul went. We stood, listening to the fault
music, and imagining the glories that were hid
from our eyes. We pictured the procession up
the aisle, with the guests standing on the seats
in order to get a glimpse of it. We pictured the
sacred ceremony. (There were some who had
prayer-books in their hands, the better to aid
their imaginations.) We pictured the bride,
kneeling upon a white silk cushion embroidered
with gold, receiving the blessings of the million
aire bishop. We heard the wild burst of chimes
which told us that the two were made one, and
our pulses leaped with excitement.

410 SYLVIA

All this took perhaps half an hour; and I think
that about half that time had passed when I
first noticed Claire. I never knew how she got
there; but fate, or providence, or what you will,
had set her next to me, and that strange intuition
which sometimes comes to me, and puts me
inside the soul of another person in less tune
than it takes for my eye to look them over, gave
me the warning of danger from her presence.

She was a tall and striking woman, beautifully
gowned, with high color and bold black eyes —
a woman you would have noticed in any gather
ing. You would have thought at once that she
was a foreigner, but you might have been puzzled
as to her country, for she had none of the char
acteristic French traits, and her English was
quite perfect. I glanced at her once, and there
after I forgot everything else — the crowd, the
ceremony, all. What was the matter with this
woman?

What first made me turn was a quick motion,
as of a nervous spasm. Then I saw that her hands
were clenched tightly, and drawn up in front of
her as if she were struggling with someone.
Her lips were moving, yet I heard no sound; she
was staring in front of her fixedly, but at nothing.

I must explain that it did not occur to me
that she had been drinking. My country
imagination was not equal to that flight. To
be sure, since my arrival I had learned that the
women of the New Nineveh did drink; I had
peered into the " orange room," and the "palm

SYLVIA LOSES 411

and several other strange rooms, and had
seen gorgeous peacock-creatures with little glasses
of highly-colored liquids before them. But I had
not got so far as to imagine any consequences;
I had never thought of connecting the high color
in women's cheeks, the sparkle in women's eyes,
the animation of women's chatter with the little
glasses of highly-colored liquids. They had so
many other reasons for being animated, these
fortunate, victorious ones!

No, I only knew that this woman was excited;
and I began forthwith to imagine most desperate
and romantic things. You must remember what
I said when I was first telling about Sylvia — that
my ideas of the grand monde had been derived
from cheap fiction in "Farm" and "Home" and
"Fireside" publications. You all know the old
story of the beautiful heroine who marries the
dissolute duke; how the duke's cast-off mistress
attends the wedding, and does something melo
dramatic and thrilling — perhaps shoots at the
duke, perhaps throws vitriol at the bride, perhaps
hands her a letter which is worse than vitriol to
her innocent young soul. I smile when I think
how instantly I understood this situation, and
with what desperate seriousness I made ready
to play my part — watching the woman like a
cat, ready to spring and seize her at the first
hostile move. And yet, after all, it was no joke,
for Claire was really quite capable of a murderous
impulse when she was in her present condition.

Other people had begun to notice her peculiar

412 SYLVIA

behavior; I saw one or two women edging away
from her, but I stayed all the closer. The time
came when we heard the music of the Mendels
sohn March, and the excitement in the crowd
told us what was coming. Suddenly the doors
of the church swung open — and there, in her
radiant loveliness — the bride!

Her veil was thrown back, but her eyes were
cast down, and she clung to the arm of her hus
band. Oh, what a vision she was, and what a
thrill went about! For myself, however, I
scarcely saw her. My eyes were on the strange
woman.

She looked like a mad creature; quivering in
every nerve, her fingers twisting and untwisting
themselves like writhing snakes. She had
crouched, as if ready to spring; and I had my
hands within a foot of hers, ready to stop her.
The procession moved through the passage kept
clear by the police, and I literally held my
breath while they passed — held it until the bride
had stepped into a limousine, and the bridegroom
had followed, and the door had slammed. Then
suddenly the strange woman drew herself up and
turned upon me, her face glaring into mine.
I saw her wild eyes — and also I got a whiff of her
breath. She laughed, a hysterical, hateful laugh,
and muttered: "She'll pay for what she gets!"

I whispered "Hush!" But the woman cried
again, so that several people heard her: "She'll
pay for everything she gets from him!" She
added a phrase in French, the meaning and im-

SYLVIA LOSES 41S

port of which I learned to understand long after
wards — "Le cadeau de noce que la maitresse
laisse dans la corbeilk de la jeune fille!" Then
suddenly I saw her sway, and I caught her and
steadied her, as I know how to steady people
with my big strong arms.

And that, reader, was the strange way of my
coming into the life of Sylvia Castleman!

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