“That ain’t it,” said Henry, quietly.

“Well, if you want to know,” said Sylvia, “she’s been pestering me with wanting to pay board if she stays along here, and I’ve put my foot down; she sha’n’t pay a cent.”

“Of course we can’t let her,” agreed Henry.  Then he added, “This was all her own aunt’s property, anyway, and if there hadn’t been a will it would have come to her.”

“There was a will,” said Sylvia, fastening her cotton night-gown tightly around her skinny throat.

“Of course she’s going to stay as long as she’s contented, and she ain’t going to pay board,” said Henry; “but that ain’t the trouble.  Have you got anything on your mind, Sylvia?”

“I hope so,” replied Sylvia, sharply.  “I hope I’ve got a little something on my mind.  I ain’t a fool.”

Henry said no more.  Neither he nor Sylvia went to sleep at once.  The moon’s pale influence lit their room and seemed disturbing in itself.  Presently they both smelled cigar smoke.

“He’s smoking,” said Sylvia.  “Well, nothing makes much difference to you men, as long as you can smoke.  I’d like to know what you’d do in my place.”

“Have you got anything on your mind, Sylvia?”

“Didn’t I say I hoped I had?  Everybody has something on her mind, unless she’s a tarnation fool, and I ain’t never set up for one.”

Henry did not speak again.

Chapter XIV

The next morning at breakfast Rose announced her intention of going to see if Lucy Ayres would not go to drive with her.

“There’s one very nice little horse at the livery-stable,” said she, “and I can drive.  It is a beautiful morning, and poor Lucy did not look very well yesterday, and I think it will do her good.”

Horace turned white.  Henry noticed it.  Sylvia, who was serving something, did not.  Henry had thought he had arrived at a knowledge of Horace’s suspicions, which in themselves seemed to him perfectly groundless, and now that he had, as he supposed, proved them to be so, he was profoundly puzzled.  Before he had gone to Horace’s assistance.  Now he did not see his way clear towards doing so, and saw no necessity for it.  He ate his breakfast meditatively.  Horace pushed away his plate and rose.

“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Sylvia.  “Don’t you feel well, Mr. Allen?”

“Perfectly well; never felt better.”

“You haven’t eaten enough to keep a sparrow alive.”

“I have eaten fast,” said Horace.  “I have to make an early start this morning.  I have some work to do before school.”

Rose apparently paid no attention.  She went on with her plans for her drive.

“Are you sure you know how to manage a horse?” said Sylvia, anxiously.  “I used to drive, but I can’t go with you because the washerwoman is coming.”

“Of course I can drive,” said Rose.  “I love to drive.  And I don’t believe there’s a horse in the stable that would get out of a walk, anyway.”