“Don’t you understand?” said Sophie, looking at her in some astonishment. “It is not a common book; it is one given to Miss Henderson by the brother she loved. He is dead now; he can never give her any other book. That was the very last present he ever made her.”
“Have some lollipops, and try to think of cheerful things,” said Evelyn; but Sophie turned almost petulantly away.
“Do you know,” Sophie said to her special friend, Cherry Wynne, “I don’t think I like Evelyn. How funnily she spoke! I wonder, Cherry, if she had anything to do with the book?”
“Of course not,” answered Cherry. “She would not have dared to utter such a lie. Poor Miss Henderson! How sorry I am for her!”
CHAPTER XVI.—SYLVIA’S DRIVE.
“I have something very delightful to tell you, Sylvia,” said her father.
He was standing in his cold and desolate sitting-room. The fire was burning low in the grate. Sylvia shivered slightly, and bending down, took up a pair of tongs to put some more coals on the expiring fire.
“No, no, my dear—don’t,” said her father. “There is nothing more disagreeable than a person who always needs coddling. The night is quite hot for the time of year. Do you know, Sylvia, that I made during the last week a distinct saving. I allowed you, as I always do, ten shillings for the household expenses. You managed capitally on eight shillings. We really lived like fighting-cocks; and what is nicest of all, my dear daughter, you look the better in consequence.”
Sylvia did not speak.
“I notice, too,” continued Mr. Leeson, a still more satisfied smile playing round his lips, “that you eat less than you did before. Last night I was pleased to observe how truly abstemious you were at supper.”