Sylvia let the letter drop on her lap, and stared before her with blank eyes. Through the curtains could be seen a glimpse of the house opposite, the blind at Bridgie’s window drawn up at its usual rakish angle.
In three weeks, in less than three weeks, she would say good-bye for ever to Rutland Road and its inhabitants; good-bye to England itself, it appeared, for at least a year to come, and at two-and-twenty a year is as long as a lifetime, if it divides us from those we love. She would drift away out of sight, and the last six months would become but an episode in her own life and those of her friends.
“D’ye remember Sylvia,—the girl with the bark on the road?” In imagination she could hear Pixie putting the question in the years to come, and Bridgie would remember quite well, because she had not the faculty of forgetting, but other people—other people were reputedly fickle, and tempted to forget old friends in favour of new! Other people would probably be in love with a fair-haired beauty by that time, and have forgotten all about Sylvia Trevor!
The pain which shot through the girl’s heart at these reflections was so sharp that it startled her into a realisation of her own position. Dad was coming home, she was going to live with him once more, and instead of being happy and elated she was miserable—miserable! She was going to leave her aunt’s home, with the restrictions and lack of sympathy which had made it so trying, and was once more to live with the fondest and most indulgent of parents, and instead of filling her with delight the news seemed like a sentence of banishment from all that made life worth living!
To do Sylvia justice she was shocked at her own thoughts, and made a valiant effort to look at the prospect in a more dutiful spirit. At least, she determined, no one should suspect a want of loyalty to that best and kindest of men! Aunt Margaret would take for granted that she felt nothing but delight, and she would postpone breaking the news to Bridgie until she had grown accustomed to the idea of separation, and could discuss it with composure.
It would be easier than usual to keep this resolve, for since Esmeralda’s arrival the neighbours necessarily saw less of each other than in the long winter days when there had been no rival claims on their time and attention. Aunt Margaret would be pleased to find that she was chosen as counsellor and adviser-in-chief, and during the short time which was left she must do her utmost to gratify the old lady, who had been on the whole very kind and forbearing during the two years which they had spent together.
“I wish I had been nicer to her!” sighed Sylvia regretfully. “I was always meaning to be, but now it’s too late. That’s the worst of putting off things in this world; the chance may never come again!”