Sylvia's Lovers

Sylvia did not reply, but went and took down the books with a

languid, indifferent air.

'And so you won't learn any more geography,' said Hepburn.

Something in his tone struck her, and she looked up in his face.

There were marks of stern offence upon his countenance, and yet in

it there was also an air of wistful regret and sadness that touched

her.

'Yo're niver angry with me, Philip? Sooner than vex yo', I'll try

and learn. Only, I'm just stupid; and it mun be such a trouble to

you.' Hepburn would fain have snatched at this half proposal that the

lessons should be continued, but he was too stubborn and proud to

say anything. He turned away from the sweet, pleading face without a

word, to wrap up his books in a piece of paper. He knew that she was

standing quite still by his side, though he made as if he did not

perceive her. When he had done he abruptly wished them all

'good-night,' and took his leave.

There were tears in Sylvia's eyes, although the feeling in her heart

was rather one of relief. She had made a fair offer, and it had been

treated with silent contempt. A few days afterwards, her father came

in from Monkshaven market, and dropped out, among other pieces of

news, that he had met Kinraid, who was bound for his own home at

Cullercoats. He had desired his respects to Mrs. Robson and her

daughter; and had bid Robson say that he would have come up to

Haytersbank to wish them good-by, but that as he was pressed for

time, he hoped they would excuse him. But Robson did not think it

worth while to give this long message of mere politeness. Indeed, as

it did not relate to business, and was only sent to women, Robson

forgot all about it, pretty nearly as soon as it was uttered. So

Sylvia went about fretting herself for one or two days, at her

hero's apparent carelessness of those who had at any rate treated

him more like a friend than an acquaintance of only a few weeks'

standing; and then, her anger quenching her incipient regard, she

went about her daily business pretty much as though he had never

been. He had gone away out of her sight into the thick mist of

unseen life from which he had emerged--gone away without a word, and

she might never see him again. But still there was a chance of her

seeing him when he came to marry Molly Corney. Perhaps she should be

bridesmaid, and then what a pleasant merry time the wedding-day

would be! The Corneys were all such kind people, and in their family

there never seemed to be the checks and restraints by which her own

mother hedged her round. Then there came an overwhelming

self-reproaching burst of love for that 'own mother'; a humiliation

before her slightest wish, as penance for the moment's unspoken

treason; and thus Sylvia was led to request her cousin Philip to

resume his lessons in so meek a manner, that he slowly and

graciously acceded to a request which he was yearning to fulfil all

the time.