forth and so forth.’” She glanced hurriedly down the page, caught the beginning of another sentence, and read:  “’The news has created an immense sensation all over the country.  It is prophesied that Mr. Page’s unexpected action will throw the coal business into great confusion.  Other operators will find it extremely difficult to go on with the old conditions.  Already it is rumored that the Chilton Coal and Coke Company ...’”

“Well, I should think so indeed!” cried Morrison emphatically, breaking in.  “With modern industrial conditions hung on a hair trigger as they are, it’s as though a boy had exploded a fire-cracker in the works of a watch.  That means his whole fortune gone.  Old Peter put everything into coal.  Austin will not have a cent—­nothing but those Vermont scrub forests of his.  What a mad thing to do!  But it’s been growing on him for a long time.  I’ve seen—­I’ve felt it!”

Sylvia gave a dazed, mechanical look at the letter she held and recognized the handwriting.  She turned very white.

Aunt Victoria said instantly:  “I see you have a letter to read, my dear, and I want Felix to play that D’Indy Interlude for me and explain it—­Bauer is going to play it tonight for the Princess de Chevrille.  We’ll bother you with our chatter.  Don’t you want to take it to your room to read?”

Sylvia stood up, holding the unopened letter in her hand.  She looked about her a little wildly and said:  “Oh no, no!  I think I’d rather be out of doors.  I’ll go out on the balcony.”

“It’s raining,” said Mrs. Marshall-Smith.

“No, not yet,” said Morrison, making a great effort to speak in an ordinary tone.  “It’s only going to.”  He sat down at the piano.  Sylvia passed him and went out to the balcony.  She opened the letter and read it through very carefully.  It was a long one and this took some time.  She did not hear a note of the music which poured its plaintive, eerie cadences around her.  When she had finished the letter she instantly started to read it again, with the sensation that she had not yet begun to understand it.  She was now deeply flushed.  She continually put back a floating strand of hair, which recurrently fell across her forehead and cheek.

After a time, Mrs. Marshall-Smith said from the open door:  “Felix and I are going to Madeleine Perth’s.  Would you rather stay here?” Sylvia nodded without looking up.

She sat motionless, looking at the letter long after she had finished it.  An hour passed thus.  Then she was aware that it was beginning to rain.  The drops falling on the open letter dissolved the ink into blurred smears.  She sprang up hastily and went into the salon, where she stood irresolute for a moment, and then, without calling Helene, went to her room and dressed for the street.  She moved very quickly as though there were some need for extreme haste, and when she stepped into the street she fell at once automatically into the swinging step of the practised walker who sees long miles before him.