e blind."

"I don't know what has got into Sylvia, and that's the truth," Henry
said. "I never saw her act the way she does lately. I can't imagine
what has got into her head about Rose that she thinks she mustn't get
married."

"Maybe Sylvia is in love with the girl," said Meeks, shrewdly.

"I know she is," said Henry. "Poor Sylvia loves her as if she was her
own daughter, but I have always understood that mothers were crazy to
have their daughters married."

"So have I, but these popular ideas are sometimes nonsense. I have
always heard that myself."

"Sylvia and I have been happy enough together," said Henry. "It can't
be that her own life as a married woman makes her think it a better
plan to remain single."

"That's stuff."

"It seems so to me. Well, all the reason I can think of is, Sylvia
has come to set so much by the girl that she's actually jealous of
her."

"Do you suppose they'll tell her to-night?" asked Meeks.

Henry regarded him with an expression of actual terror. "Seems as if
they might wait, and let Sylvia have her night's sleep," he muttered.

"I guess I won't stay to supper," said Meeks.

"Stay, for the Lord's sake."

Meeks laughed. "I believe you are afraid, Henry."

"I hate to see a woman upset over anything."

"So do I, for that matter. Do you think my staying might make it any
better?"

"Yes, it might. Here we are in sight of the house. You ain't going to
back out?"

Meeks laughed again, although rather uneasily. "All right," he said.

When he and Henry entered they found Sylvia moving nervously about
the sitting-room. She was scowling, and her starched apron-strings
were rampant at her slim back.

"Well," she said, with a snap, "I'm glad somebody has come. Supper's
been ready for the last quarter of an hour, and I don't know but the
corn is spoiled. How do you do, Mr. Meeks? I'll be glad to have you
stay to supper, but I don't know as there's a thing fit to eat."

"Oh, I'll risk it," Sidney said. "You can't have anything worse than
I've got at home. I had to go to Alford about that confounded Ames
case. I had a dinner there that wasn't fit for a dog to eat, and I'm
down to baker's bread and cheese."

"Where have _you_ been?" demanded Sylvia of Henry. He cast an
appealing glance at Meeks. The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, as
if confronted by a common foe of nervous and exasperated feminity.

"I'm to blame for that," said Meeks. "I wanted to see if you had any
wi