In her path stood a presence that said: Thou shalt not!
There were, alas, but two ways of life—the way of right and the way of wrong, and between them lay no neutral zone. This she acknowledged with her mind. But her rebel heart would play her false, flouting her puritan codes and defying the creeds that conscience dictated.
Meantime while she thus wrestled with the angel of her best self, Sylvia accepted the situation with characteristic lightness. Her life in this vast world and wide had been of short duration, but during its brief span she had learned a surprising amount about the earth and the human beings that peopled it.
She knew more already about men than did Marcia—much more. Long ago they had ceased to be gods to her. She was accustomed to them and their ways, and was never at a loss to give back to each as good as he sent—frequently better.
Her sophistication in the present instance greatly relieved the strain.
She jested fearlessly with Heath, speaking a language with which he was familiar and one that amused him no end.
Often he would sit watching her furtively, his glance moving from the gold of her hair to the blue of her eyes, the fine poise of her fair white throat, the slender lines of her girlish figure. Often, too, in such moments he would think of the possibilities that lay in the prodigal beauty she so heedlessly ignored.
That he took pleasure in being with her and treating her with half playful, half affectionate admiration was incontestable. Yet notwithstanding this, his fondness was nicely restrained and never slipped into familiarity or license.
It was the sort of delicately poised relation in which the girl was thoroughly at home and with which she knew well how to cope.