“Yes, Mrs. Armistead,” she said, gently.  “But I have the consolation at least of being a martyr to science.”

“In what way?”

“Have you forgotten the new medical term that I have given to the world?”

And Mrs. Armistead looked at her for a moment aghast.  “My God, Sylvia!” she whispered; and then—­an honest tribute:  “You certainly can take care of yourself!”

“Yes,” said Sylvia.  “Tell that to my other friends in town.”  And so, at last, Mrs. Armistead started her machine, and this battle of hell-cats came to an end.

21.  Sylvia rode home in a daze, answering without hearing the prattle of the children.  She was appalled at the emotions that possessed her—­that the sight of Frank Shirley riding down the street could have affected her so!  She forgot Mrs. Armistead, she forgot the whole world, in her dismay over her own state of mind.  Having dismissed Frank from her life and her thoughts forever, it seemed to her preposterous that she should be at the mercy of such an excitement.

She found herself wondering about her family.  Did they know that Frank Shirley had returned?  Would they have failed to mention it to her?  For a moment she told herself it would not have occurred to them she could have any interest in the subject.  But no—­they were not so naive—­the Castleman women—­as their sense of propriety made them pretend to be!  But how stupid of them not to give her warning!  Suppose she had happened to meet Frank face to face, and in the presence of others!  She must certainly have betrayed her excitement; and just at this time, when the world had the Castleman family under the microscope!

She told herself that she would avoid such difficulty in future; she would stay at home until Frank had gone away.  If he had a wife in the West, presumably he had merely come for a visit to his mother and sisters.  And then Sylvia found herself in an argument with herself.  What possible difference could it make that Frank Shirley had a wife?  So long as she, Sylvia, had a husband, what else mattered?  Yet she could not deny it—­it brought her a separate and additional pang that Frank Shirley should have married.  What sort of wife could he have found—­he, a stranger in the far West?  And why had he not brought his wife home to his people?

When she stepped out of the carriage, it was with her mind made up that she would stay at home until all danger was past.  But the next afternoon a neighbour called up to ask Sylvia and Celeste to come and play cards in the evening.  It was not a party, Mrs. Witherspoon explained to “Miss Margaret,” who answered the ’phone; just a few friends and a good time, and she did so hope that Sylvia was not going to refuse.  The mere hint of the fear that Sylvia might refuse was enough to excite Mrs. Castleman.  Why should Sylvia refuse?  So she accepted the invitation, and then came to plead with her daughter—­for Celeste’s sake, and for the sake of all her family, so that the world might see that she was not crushed by misfortune!