§ 19
She went home; and at the dinner-table she was telling some of the adventures of the house party. “Oh, by the way,” she said, carelessly, “I met Frank Shirley.”
“Really?” exclaimed Mrs. Castleman. “Those poor, unfortunate people!”
“He must be quite a man now,” said Aunt Varina. “How old is he?”
“About twenty-one,” said the mother. Sylvia was amazed; she had not thought definitely of his age, but he had seemed a mature man to her.
“I see him now and then,” put in the Major. “He comes to town. Not a bad-looking chap.”
“He asked if he might call,” said Sylvia. “I told him, Yes. Was that right, Papa?”
“Why, certainly,” was the reply.
“He seems a very shy, silent kind of man,” she added. “He wasn’t sure that he’d be welcome.”
“Why, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Castleman. “I’m sure we’ve never made any difference in our treatment of the Shirleys!”