It was night that he dreaded--the long hours, lying there tense, stark-eyed, sickened with desire.
As for Sylvia, she and Grace Ferrall had taken to motoring, driving away into the interior or taking long flights north and south along the coast.

Sometimes they took Quarrier, sometimes, when Mrs.Ferrall drove, they took in ballast in the shape of a superfluous Page boy and a girl for him.

Once Grace Ferrall asked Siward to join them; but no definite time being set, he was scarcely surprised to find them gone when he returned from a morning on the snipe meadows.

And Sylvia, leagues away by that time, curled up in the tonneau beside Grace Ferrall, watched the dark pines flying past, cheeks pink, eyes like stars, while the rushing wind drove health into her and care out of her--cleansing, purifying, overwhelming winds flowing through and through her, till her very soul within her seemed shining through the beauty of her eyes.

Besides, she had just confessed.
"He kissed you!" repeated Grace Ferrall incredulously.
"Yes--a number of times.