When Sylvia and her husband came into the room, the faces of both of them were white.  Sylvia stopped near the door-way; and poor Aunt Varina fluttered about, in agony of soul.  When van Tuiver went to the cradle, she hurried to his side, and sought to awaken the little one with gentle nudges.  Quite unexpectedly to her, van Tuiver sought to pick up the infant; she helped him, and he stood, holding it awkwardly, as if afraid it might go to pieces in his arms.

So any man might appear, with his first infant; but to Sylvia it seemed the most tragic sight she had ever seen in her life.  She gave a low cry, “Douglas!” and he turned, and she saw his face was working with the feeling he was ashamed for anyone to see.  “Oh, Douglas,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry for you!” At which Aunt Varina decided that it was time for her to make her escape.

4.  But the trouble between these two were not such as could be settled by any burst of emotion.  The next day they were again in a dispute, for he had come to ask her word of honour that she would never see me again, and would give him my letters to be returned unopened.  This last was what she had let her father do in the case of Frank Shirley; and she had become certain in her own mind that she had done wrong.

But he was insistent in his demand; declaring that it should be obvious to her there could be no peace of mind for him so long as my influence continued in her life.

“But surely,” protested Sylvia, “to hear Mary Abbott’s explanation——­”

“There can be no explanation that is not an insult to your husband, and to those who are caring for you.  I am speaking in this matter not merely for myself, but for your physicians, who know this woman, heard her menaces and her vulgarity.  It is their judgment that you should be protected at all hazards from further contact with her.”

“Douglas,” she argued, “you must realize that I am in distress of mind about this matter——­”

“I certainly realize that.”

“And if you are thinking of my welfare, you should choose a course that would set my mind at rest.  But when you come to me and ask me that I should not even read a letter from my friend—­don’t you realize what you suggest to me, that there is something you are afraid for me to know?”

“I do not attempt to deny my fear of this woman.  I have seen how she has been able to poison your mind with suspicions——­”

“Yes, Douglas—­but now that has been done.  What else is there to fear from her?”

“I have no idea what.  She is a bitter, jealous woman, with a mind full of hatred; and you are an innocent girl, who cannot judge about these matters.  What idea have you of the world in which you live, of the slanders to which a man in your husband’s position is exposed?”

“I am not quite such a child as that——­”