“Yes, Sylvia,” he answered, and once again he thought of Merry’s face.
“Nothing can alter that,” she continued.
“Nothing, my love,” he said.
Then he looked at her again, and saw that she was a little troubled about something; and, as was his custom, he determined to take the bull by the horns.
“You have something on your mind, Sylvia. What is it?”
“I have,” she said at once; “and something of very great importance. I have a sort of fear that to talk of it with you may possibly trouble you a little. Shall we defer it, dear? The day is so peaceful, and we are so happy.”
“No, no,” he replied at once. “We will take the opportunity of the children being perfectly happy at the rectory to discuss the thing that worries you. But what can it be?” he continued. “That is more than I can imagine. I have never seen you worried before.”
Again he thought of Merry, but it was impossible to connect his wife’s trouble with his child’s discontent.
“Well, I will tell you just out, Cyril,” said his wife. “I 39 urge nothing, but I feel bound to make a suggestion. I know your views with regard to the girls.”
“My views, dear! What do you mean?”