Raymond was taken aback. He had expected protest.
But the car materialized and so did the picnics and the cool breezes on young, unafraid faces.
At each new venture reassurance waxed stronger—things could be made true in the world; it was only children who failed, in spite of tradition.
Just at this time Sylvia came to town radiating success and happiness.
The result was disastrous. There are times when one cannot endure the prosperity of his friends! Had Sylvia come back with her banners trailing, Joan and Patricia would have rallied to her standard, but she was cool, crisp, and her eyes were fixed upon a successful future.
She was going to do, not only the frieze, but a dozen other things. People whom she had met had been impressed. Things were coming her way with a vengeance. One order was in the Far West—a glorified cabin in a canyon.
"I'm to do all the interior decorating," Sylvia bubbled; "a little out of my line, but they feel I can do it. And"—here the girl looked blissful—"it will be near enough for my John to come and take a vacation."
Patricia and Joan, at that moment, knew the resentment of the unattached woman for the protected one. Sylvia appeared the child of the gods while they were merely permitted to sit at the gates and envy her triumphs.
"I suppose," Patricia burst in, "that this means the end?"
"End?" Sylvia looked puzzled.