She was surprised at the way the Major took it. He clutched the arms of his chair and went white when he caught the import of her discourse; but he heard her to the end, and then sat for a long while in silence. Finally, he inquired, “Sylvia, did anybody ever tell you why your Uncle Laurence killed himself?”
“No,” she replied.
“He was engaged to a girl, and her parents made her break off the match. I never knew why; but it ruined the girl’s life, as well as his, and it made a terrible impression on me. So I made a vow—and now, I suppose, is the time I have to keep it. I said I would never interfere in a love-affair of one of my children!”
Sylvia was deeply affected, not only by his words, but by the intense agitation which she saw he was repressing. “Papa, does it seem so very dreadful to you?” she asked.
Again there was a long wait before he answered. “It is something quite different from what I had expected,” he said. “It will make a difference in your whole life—to an extent which I fear you cannot realize.”
“But if I really love him, Papa?”
“If you really love him, my dear, then I will not try to oppose you. But oh, Sylvia, be sure that you love him! You must promise me to wait until I can be sure you are not mistaken about that.”
“I expect to wait, Papa,” she said. “There will be no mistake.”
They talked for half an hour or so, and then Sylvia went to her room. Half an hour later “Aunt Sarah,” the cook, came flying to her in great agitation. “Miss Sylvia, what’s de matter wid yo’ papa?”
“What?” cried Sylvia, springing up.