Sylvia had been something less than polite to me; and so I had
not been home more than an hour before there came a messenger-boy
with a note. By way of reassuring her, I promised to come to see her
the next morning; and when I did, and saw her lovely face so full of
concern, I forgot entirely her worldly greatness, and did what I had
longed to do from the beginning--put my arms about her and kissed
her.
"My dear girl," I protested, "I don't want to be a burden in your
life--I want to help you!'"
"But," she exclaimed, "what must you have thought--"
"I thought I had made a lucky escape!" I laughed.
She was proud--proud as an Indian; it was hard for her to make
admissions about her husband. But then--we were like two errant
school-girls, who had been caught m an escapade! "I don't know what
I'm going to do about him," she said, with a wry smile. "He really
won't listen--I can't make any impression on him."
"Did he guess that you'd come there on purpose?" I asked.
"I told him," she answered.
"You _told_ him!"
"I'd meant to keep it secret--I wouldn't have minded telling him a
fib about a little thing. But he made it so very serious!"
I could understand that it must have been serious after the telling.
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