CHAPTER XXII.
When Fred Lawrence came next day into Sylvie Barry's presence, there was a certain proud humility shining in his handsome face, that was now quite worn and thin; a dignity born of honor in having achieved at least a standing-place in the world. He was not her hero, never had been indeed; and his pale face flushed at the remembrance of his once complacent claim to her regard.
She was sitting in the room with his mother, but she sprang up from the low ottoman.
"I am so glad! your mother has been telling me the news. Why, it is"—
She had held out her hands as she began her sentence, but as he took them she made a sudden pause. His were icy cold.
"More than I could have expected in such a brief while, hardly at all. Both offers have surprised me greatly."
He strove so hard to render his tone calm, that it was absolutely cold.
She turned with a petulant but charming gesture, while her peachy cheek took on a riper tint.