"Nor the old lady. Sylvia is fond of Miss Spencer, strange as it may seem."
"Why is it strange, Pam? I can't help using the sweet little name."
He had taken her hand by this time, and they were walking like children down the aisle of golden trees.
"You haven't seen Miss Spencer. She is a little mad and a little grotesque to most people. But she is devoted to Sylvia, and Sylvia to her. She is not mad to Sylvia."
"How does it come that I haven't seen Miss Spencer?"
"She has been abroad. You'll see her one of these days, I expect. She was crossed in love in her youth, and it seems to have made her strange in ways. She's immensely wealthy, and gives a good deal in charity, but mostly among single women. She seems to think that those who have husbands and children don't need pity."
"She's quite safe for your sister to be with?"
"Oh, quite. She has all her senses, only that she's a trifle peculiar. She's a splendid business woman, everyone says."
"It is a curious friendship. I should never have supposed it of Miss Sylvia."
"No. One funny thing is that Miss Spencer's full of sentiment—wait till you hear her sing 'She wore a Wreath of Roses'—whereas Sylvia's quite without sentiment, and laughs at everything sentimental."