Sylvia's Lovers

Before May was out, Molly Corney was married and had left the

neighbourhood for Newcastle. Although Charley Kinraid was not the

bridegroom, Sylvia's promise to be bridesmaid was claimed. But the

friendship brought on by the circumstances of neighbourhood and

parity of age had become very much weakened in the time that elapsed

between Molly's engagement and wedding. In the first place, she

herself was so absorbed in her preparations, so elated by her good

fortune in getting married, and married, too, before her elder

sister, that all her faults blossomed out full and strong. Sylvia

felt her to be selfish; Mrs. Robson thought her not maidenly. A year

before she would have been far more missed and regretted by Sylvia;

now it was almost a relief to the latter to be freed from the

perpetual calls upon her sympathy, from the constant demands upon

her congratulations, made by one who had no thought or feeling to

bestow on others; at least, not in these weeks of 'cock-a-doodle-dooing,'

as Mrs. Robson persisted in calling it. It was seldom that Bell

was taken with a humorous idea; but this once having hatched a

solitary joke, she was always clucking it into notice--to go on

with her own poultry simile.

Every time during that summer that Philip saw his cousin, he thought

her prettier than she had ever been before; some new touch of

colour, some fresh sweet charm, seemed to have been added, just

as every summer day calls out new beauty in the flowers. And this

was not the addition of Philip's fancy. Hester Rose, who met

Sylvia on rare occasions, came back each time with a candid, sad

acknowledgement in her heart that it was no wonder that Sylvia was

so much admired and loved.

One day Hester had seen her sitting near her mother in the

market-place; there was a basket by her, and over the clean cloth

that covered the yellow pounds of butter, she had laid the

hedge-roses and honeysuckles she had gathered on the way into

Monkshaven; her straw hat was on her knee, and she was busy placing

some of the flowers in the ribbon that went round it. Then she held

it on her hand, and turned it round about, putting her head on one

side, the better to view the effect; and all this time, Hester,

peeping at her through the folds of the stuffs displayed in Foster's

windows, saw her with admiring, wistful eyes; wondering, too, if

Philip, at the other counter, were aware of his cousin's being

there, so near to him. Then Sylvia put on her hat, and, looking up

at Foster's windows, caught Hester's face of interest, and smiled

and blushed at the consciousness of having been watched over her

little vanities, and Hester smiled back, but rather sadly. Then a

customer came in, and she had to attend to her business, which, on

this as on all market days, was great. In the midst she was aware of

Philip rushing bare-headed out of the shop, eager and delighted at

something he saw outside. There was a little looking-glass hung

against the wall on Hester's side, placed in that retired corner, in

order that the good women who came to purchase head-gear of any kind

might see the effect thereof before they concluded their bargain.

In a pause of custom, Hester, half-ashamed, stole into this corner,

and looked at herself in the glass. What did she see? a colourless

face, dark soft hair with no light gleams in it, eyes that were

melancholy instead of smiling, a mouth compressed with a sense of

dissatisfaction. This was what she had to compare with the bright

bonny face in the sunlight outside. She gave a gulp to check the

sigh that was rising, and came back, even more patient than she had

been before this disheartening peep, to serve all the whims and

fancies of purchasers.