Skelton did not go to Belfield very often, but in one way and another he saw Sylvia pretty constantly. He never could quite make out the faint resentment in her manner to him. But the truth, from Sylvia’s point of view, was, that he had come into her life and disorganised it, and made her dissatisfied with what before had satisfied her, and had shown her other ideals and standards which were beyond her reach; and, on the whole, Sylvia reckoned Skelton among the enemies of her peace.
In August, Mrs. Shapleigh usually made her hegira to the Springs. One of Sylvia’s crimes in her mother’s eyes was that she was not always madly anxious to be off on this annual jaunt. But this year nobody could complain that Sylvia was not ready enough to go. So eager was she for a change, that Mrs. Shapleigh declared Sylvia would go off without a rag to her back if it were not for a mother’s devotion. Lewis Pryor dreaded her going, and he seemed really the only person whom Sylvia regretted. But Skelton found himself secretly very much dissatisfied with the idea that Sylvia should go away.
One hot August afternoon, after having seen the great Belfield carriage drive out of the lane with Mr. and Mrs. Shapleigh, and seeing Sylvia’s white figure fluttering about on the river shore, Skelton concluded that he would walk across the bridge and call on Mr. and Mrs. Shapleigh, which would result, of course, in his seeing only Sylvia.
The day had been sultry, and not a breath stirred the giant trees around Deerchase. There were masses of coppery clouds in the west, and, although the sun blazed redly, the river was dark. Skelton predicted a thunderstorm as he crossed the bridge.
Down by the water was Sylvia, with a rustic hat tied under her chin.
“I am going all over the place for the last time,� she said to Skelton when he came up. “Day after to-morrow we start—we can’t make the journey in less than eight days—and oh, I shall be so glad to be on the road!�
It rather disconcerted Skelton that Sylvia, who seemed so different from most women, should be so anxious after what seemed to him a commonplace pleasure. He hated watering places himself.
“It will be very gay, no doubt,� he answered. “But it is such an immense effort for so little!�
“Yes,� agreed Sylvia, walking slowly along the edge of the river and looking absently down towards Lone Point; “but there is a dreadful stagnation here. I wake up every morning at the same moment—to see the same things—to meet the same people. Ah, how tired I am of it all!�
This was a rare complaint for women to make in those days, when a taste for travelling was thought depraved. Skelton observed her closely, and saw signs of an inward restlessness.