"Not to much purpose. Though no one would suspect it from your looks, you're a very determined person, Sylvia. Now I don't know how to express my feelings; I want to do something dramatic, even if it's absurd, and I can't even speak aloud. Couldn't you have got rid of Miss West by some means?"
"How could I tell what you wished to say?" Sylvia asked with a shy smile. "Besides, Ethel wouldn't go. She stuck there in the most determined fashion!"
"Then we'll have to disregard her. It must be early next year, Sylvia.
I'll see Lansing to-morrow."
He continued in a quietly exultant strain, and Sylvia felt relieved that her fate was decided. She had some time ago led him to believe she would marry him; but she had, with vague misgivings and prompted by half-understood reasons, put off a definite engagement. Now she had given her pledge, and though she thought of George with faint regret, she was on the whole conscious of satisfaction. Bland, she believed, had a good deal to offer her which she could not have enjoyed with his rival.
Presently a servant brought Ethel something on a salver, and a few moments later she approached the other two with a telegram in her hand.
"I thought I had better tell you, Sylvia," she explained. "Stephen has just got a letter from Edgar, written a day or two before he sailed. He should arrive on Saturday, and George is with him."
Sylvia had not expected this and she was off her guard. She started, and sat looking at Ethel incredulously, with something like consternation.
"It's quite true," said Ethel bluntly. "He'll be here in three more days."
Then Sylvia recovered her composure.
"In that case, I'll have to let Muriel know at once; he'll go straight there, and she's staying with Lucy. Perhaps I had better telegraph."