It seemed to her that all the light in the room centred on it, and it shone in her eyes like a copper lamp.
Charlotte also glanced at it.

"Why, Richard must have come while you were over to our house," she said.
"It don't make any odds if he did," returned Sylvia, with a faint blush and a bridle.

Sylvia was much younger than her sister.

Standing there in the dim light she did not look so much older than her niece.
Her figure had the slim angularity and primness which are sometimes seen in elderly women who are not matrons, and she had donned a little white lace cap at thirty, but her face had still a delicate bloom, and the wistful wonder of expression which belongs to youth.
However, she never thought of Charlotte as anything but a child as compared with herself.

Sylvia felt very old, and the more so that she grudged her years painfully.