Also, there was the young physician who kept watch over Sylvia’s health; a dapper little man with pink and white complexion, and a brown moustache from which he could not keep his fingers. He had a bungalow to himself, but sometimes he went along on the launch-trips, and Sylvia thought she observed wrinkles of amusement round his eyes whenever she differed from her husband on the subject of Burke. She suspected this young man of not telling all his ideas to his multi-millionaire patients, and she was entertained by the prospect of probing him.
Then came Mrs. Varina Tuis; who since the tragic cutting of her own domestic knot, had given her life to the service of the happier members of the Castleman line. She was now to be companion and counsellor to Sylvia; and on the very day of her arrival she discovered the chasm that was yawning in her niece’s life.
“It’s wonderful,” wrote Sylvia, “the intuition of the Castleman women. We were in the launch, passing one of the viaducts of the new railroad, and Aunt Varina exclaimed, ‘What a wonderful piece of work!’ ‘Yes,’ put in my husband, ‘but don’t let Sylvia hear you say it.’ ‘Why not?’ she asked; and he replied, ‘She’ll tell you how many hours a day the poor Dagoes have to work.’ That was all; but I saw Aunt Varina give a quick glance at me, and I saw that she was not fooled by my efforts to make conversation. It was rather horrid of Douglas, for he knows that I love these old people, and do not want them to know about my trouble. But it is characteristic of him—when he is annoyed he seldom tries to spare others.
“As soon as we were alone, Aunt Varina began, ‘Sylvia, my dear, what does it mean? What have you done to worry your husband?’
“You would be entertained if I could remember the conversation. I tried to dodge the trouble by answering off-hand, ‘Douglas had eaten too many turtle-eggs for luncheon ‘—this being a man-like thing, that any dear old lady would understand. But she was too shrewd. I had to explain to her that I was learning to think, and this sent her into a perfect panic.
“‘You actually mean, my child, that you are thinking about subjects to which your husband objects, and you refuse to stop when he asks you to? Surely you must know that he has some good reason for objecting.’
“‘I suppose so,’ I said, ‘but he has not made that reason clear to me; and certainly I have a right—’
“She would not hear any more than that. ‘Right, Sylvia? Right? Are you claiming the right to drive your husband from you?’
“‘But surely I can’t regulate all my thinking by the fear of driving my husband from me!’
“‘Sylvia, you take my breath away. Where did you get such ideas?’