I know what must be." Grace, seated in the firelight, looked up as Sylvia rose from her desk and came across the room; and when she sank down on the rug at her feet, resting her cheek against the elder woman's knees, nothing was said for a long time--a time of length sufficient to commit a memory to its grave, lay it away decently and in quiet befitting.
Sore doubt assailed Grace Ferrall, guiltily aware that once again she had meddled; and in the calm tenor of her own placid, marital satisfaction, looking backward along the pleasant path she had trodden with its little monuments to love at decent intervals amid the agreeable monotony of content, her heart and conscience misgave her lest she had counselled this young girl wrongly, committing her to the arid lovelessness which she herself had never known.
Leaning there, her fingers lingering in light caress on Sylvia's bright hair, for every doubt she brought up argument, to every sentimental wavering within her heart she opposed the chilling reason of common sense.

Destruction to happiness lay in Sylvia's yielding to her caprice for Siward.

There was other happiness in the world besides the non-essential one of love.

That must be Sylvia's portion.

And after all--and after all, love was a matter of degree; and it was well for Sylvia that she had the malady so lightly--well for her that it had advanced so little, lest she suspect what its crowning miracles might be and fall sick of a passion for what she had forever lost.
For a week or more the snow continued; colder, gloomier weather set in, and the impending menace of Ash Wednesday redoubled the social pace, culminating in the Westervelt ball on the eve of the forty days.
And Sylvia had not yet seen Siward or spoken to him again across the wilderness of streets and men.
In the first relaxation of Lent she had instinctively welcomed an opportunity for spiritual consolation and a chance to take her spiritual bearings; not because of bodily fatigue--for in the splendour of her youthful vigour she did not know what that meant.
Saint Berold was a pretty good saint, and his church was patronised by Major Belwether's household.