“Oh, I can’t!” cried Sylvia.  “I don’t want to be there when he sees her!  If I loved him—­” Then, seeing her aunt’s face of horror, she was seized with a sudden impulse of pity, and caught the poor old lady in her arms.  “Aunt Varina,” she said, “I am making you suffer, I know—­I am making everyone suffer!  But if you only knew how I am suffering myself!  How can I know what to do.”

Mrs. Tuis was weeping; but quickly she got herself together, and answered in a firm voice, “Your old auntie can tell you what to do.  You must come to your senses, my child—­you must let your reason prevail.  Get your face washed, make yourself presentable, and come and take your husband to see your baby.  Women have to suffer, dear; we must not shirk our share of life’s burdens.”

“There is no danger of my shirking,” said Sylvia, bitterly.

“Come, dear, come,” pleaded Mrs. Tuis.  She was trying to lead the girl to the mirror.  If only she could be made to see how distraught and disorderly she looked!  “Let me help you to dress, dear—­you know how much better it always makes you feel.”

Sylvia laughed, a trifle wildly—­but Mrs. Tuis had dealt with hysteria before.  “What would you like to wear?” she demanded.  And then, without waiting for an answer, “Let me choose something.  One of your pretty frocks.”

“A pretty frock, and a seething volcano underneath!  That is your idea of a woman’s life!”

The other responded very gravely, “A pretty frock, my dear, and a smile—­instead of a vulgar scene, and ruin and desolation afterwards.”

Sylvia made no reply.  Yes, that was the life of woman—­her old aunt knew!  And her old aunt knew also the psychology of her sex.  She did not go on talking about pretty frocks in the abstract; she turned at once to the clothes-closet, and began laying pretty frocks upon the bed!

3.  Sylvia emerged upon the “gallery,” clad in dainty pink muslin, her beautiful shiny hair arranged under a semi-invalid’s cap of pink maline.  Her face was pale, and the big red-brown eyes were hollow; but she was quiet, and apparently mistress of herself again.  She even humoured Aunt Varina by leaning slightly upon her feeble arm, while the maid hastened to place her chair in a shaded spot.

Her husband came, and the doctors; the tea-things were brought, and Aunt Varina poured tea, a-flutter with excitement.  They talked about the comparative temperatures of New York and the Florida Keys, and about hedges of jasmine to shade the gallery from the evening sun.  And after a while, Aunt Varina arose, explaining that she would prepare Elaine for her father’s visit.  In the doorway she stood for a moment, smiling upon the pretty picture; it was all settled now—­the outward forms had been observed, and the matter would end, as such matters should end between husband and wife—­a few tears, a few reproaches, and then a few kisses.

The baby was made ready, with a new dress, and a fresh silk bandage to cover the pitiful, lifeless eyes.  Aunt Varina had found pleasure in making these bandages; she made them soft and pretty—­less hygienic, perhaps, but avoiding the suggestion of the hospital.