“Good-night,” said Sylvia. Rose felt merely a soft touch of thin, tightly closed lips. Sylvia did not know how to kiss, but she was glowing with delight.
When she joined Henry in their bedroom down-stairs he looked at her in some disapproval. “I don't think you'd ought to have gone in there,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Why, you must expect young folks to be young folks, and it was only natural for them to want to set there in the moonlight.”
“They can set in there in the moonlight if they want to,” said Sylvia. “I didn't hinder them.”
“I think they wanted to be alone.”
“When they set in the moonlight, I'm going to set, too,” said Sylvia. She slipped off her gown carefully over her head. When the head emerged Henry saw that it was carried high with the same rigidity which had lately puzzled him, and that her face had that same expression of stern isolation.
“Sylvia,” said Henry.
“Well?”
“Does anything worry you lately?”