"Of course; could get married now if I wanted to, but that isn't the
question. I don't know what I'm such a d--n fool as to tell you for,
only it's like ancient history, and no harm that I can see for either
the living or the dead. There was a time when, if Abrahama White had
worn a face like that for me--well--Poor girl, she got her heart
turned the way it wasn't meant to go. She had a mean, lonesome life
of it. Sometimes now, when I go into that house where she lived so
many years, I declare, the weight of the burden she had to bear seems
to be on me. It was a cruel life for a woman, and here's your wife
wanting that girl to live the same way."

"Wouldn't she have you after Susy got married?" asked Henry. The
words sounded blunt, but his voice was tender.

"Didn't ask her. I don't think so. She wasn't that kind of woman. It
was what she wanted or nothing with her, always was. Guess that was
why I felt the way I did about her."

"She was a handsome girl."

"Handsome! This girl you've got is pretty enough, but there never was
such a beauty as Abrahama. Sometimes when I call her face back before
my eyes, I declare it sounds like women's nonsense, but I wonder if I
haven't done better losing such a woman as that than marrying any
other."

"She was handsome," Henry said again, in his tone of futile,
wondering sympathy.

When Henry had left Sidney and returned home, he found, to his
horror, that Sylvia was not down-stairs. "She's up there with the
girl, and Rose 'll tell her," he thought, uneasily. "She can't keep
it to herself if she's alone with another woman."

He was right. Sylvia had followed the girl to her room. She was still
angry with Rose, and filled with a vague suspicion, but she adored
her. She was hungry for the pleasure of unfastening her gown, of
seeing the last of her for the day. When she entered she found Rose
seated beside the window. The lamp was not lit.

Sylvia stood in the doorway looking into the shadowy room. "Are you
here?" she asked. She meant her voice to be harsh, but it rang sweet
with tenderness.

"Yes, Aunt Sylvia."

"Where are you?"

"Over here beside the window."

"What on earth are you setting in the dark for?"

"Oh, I just thought I'd sit down here a few minutes. I was going to
light the lamp soon."

Sylvia groped her way to the mantel-shelf, found the china match-box,
and struck a match. Then she lit the lamp on the bureau and looked at
the girl. Rose held her fac