How it had come about, even now Sylvia scarcely realized.  The woman’s intentions had barely begun to dawn upon her before they had become accomplished fact.  Her father’s attitude throughout had amazed her, so astoundingly easy had been his capture.  He was infatuated, possibly for the first time in his life, and no influence of hers could remove the spell.

Sylvia’s feelings for Mrs. Emmott passed very rapidly from dislike to active detestation.  Her iron strength of will, combined with an almost blatant vulgarity, gave the girl a sense of being borne down by an irresistible weight.  Very soon her aversion became such that it was impossible to conceal it.  And Mrs. Emmott laughed in her face.  She hated Sylvia too, but she looked forward to subduing the unbending pride that so coldly withstood her, and for the sake of that she kept her animosity in check.  She knew her turn would come.

Meantime, she concentrated all her energies upon the father, and with such marked success that within two months of their meeting they were married.  Sylvia had gone to that wedding in such bitterness of soul and seething inward revolt as she had never experienced before.  She did not know how she had come through it, so great had been her disgust.  But that was nearly six weeks ago, and she had had time to recover.  She had spent part of that period very peacefully and happily at the seaside with a young married cousin and her babies, and it had rested and refreshed her.  She had come back with a calm resolve to endure what had to be endured in a philosophical spirit, to face the inevitable without futile rebellion.

Girt in an impenetrable armour of reserve, she braced herself to bear her burdens unflinching, so that none might ever guess how it galled her.  And on that golden evening in September she prepared herself with a smiling countenance to meet her enemy in the gate.

They were returning from a prolonged honeymoon among the Italian lakes, and she had made everything ready for their coming.  The great west-facing bedroom, which her father had never occupied since her mother’s death, had been redecorated and prepared as for a bride.  Sylvia had changed it completely, so that it might never again look as it had looked in the old days.  She had hated doing it, but it had been in a measure a relief to her torn heart.  It was thus she rendered inviolate that inner sanctuary of memory which none might enter.

As she passed along the terrace in the golden glow, the slight frown was still upon her brow.  It had been such a difficult time.  Her one ray of comfort had been the thought of Guy, dear, faithful lover working for her far away.  And now old Jeffcott had cast a shade even upon that.  But then he did not really know Guy.  No one knew him as she knew him.  She quickened her steps a little.  Possibly there might be a letter from him that evening.

There was.  She spied it lying on the hall table as she entered.  Eagerly she went forward and picked it up.  But as she did so there came the sound of a car in the drive before the open front door, and quickly she thrust it away in the folds of her dress.  The travellers had returned.