“Why, Sylvia!” he exclaimed.
“And I—I’m very much in love.”
“Who is the man, my dear?”
“It is Frank Shirley.”
Sylvia was used to watching people and reading their thoughts quickly. She saw that her uncle’s first emotion was one of dismay. “Frank Shirley!”
“Yes, Uncle Basil.”
Then she saw him gather himself together. He was going to try to be fair—the dear soul! But she could not forget that his first emotion had been dismay. “Tell me about it, my child,” he said.
“I met him at the Venable’s,” she replied, “only a couple of weeks ago. He’s an unusual sort of man, lonely and unhappy, very reserved and hard to get at. He fell in love with me—very much in love; but he didn’t want me to know it. He did tell me at last.”
The Bishop was silent. “I love him,” she added.
“Are you sure?”