Sylvia's Lovers
Page 81Sylvia herself had been rather put out by Philip's way of coming to
her. 'It made her look so silly,' she thought; and 'what for must he
make a sight of himself, coming among the market folk in
that-a-way'; and when he took to admiring her hat, she pulled out
the flowers in a pet, and threw them down, and trampled them under
foot.
'What for art thou doing that, Sylvie?' said her mother. 'The
flowers is well enough, though may-be thy hat might ha' been
stained.' 'I don't like Philip to speak to me so,' said Sylvia, pouting.
'How?' asked her mother.
But Sylvia could not repeat his words. She hung her head, and looked
red and pre-occupied, anything but pleased. Philip had addressed his
It just shows what different views different men and women take of
their fellow-creatures, when I say that Hester looked upon Philip as
the best and most agreeable man she had ever known. He was not one
to speak of himself without being questioned on the subject, so his
Haytersbank relations, only come into the neighborhood in the last
year or two, knew nothing of the trials he had surmounted, or the
difficult duties he had performed. His aunt, indeed, had strong
faith in him, both from partial knowledge of his character, and
because he was of her own tribe and kin; but she had never learnt
the small details of his past life. Sylvia respected him as her
mother's friend, and treated him tolerably well as long as he
thought of him when he was absent.
Now Hester, who had watched him daily for all the years since he had
first come as an errand-boy into Foster's shop--watching with quiet,
modest, yet observant eyes--had seen how devoted he was to his
master's interests, had known of his careful and punctual
ministration to his absent mother's comforts, as long as she was
living to benefit by his silent, frugal self-denial.
His methodical appropriation of the few hours he could call his
own was not without its charms to the equally methodical Hester;
the way in which he reproduced any lately acquired piece of
knowledge--knowledge so wearisome to Sylvia--was delightfully
would have required an observer more interested in discovering her
feelings than Philip was to have perceived the little flush on the
pale cheek, and the brightness in the half-veiled eyes whenever he
was talking. She had not thought of love on either side. Love was a
vanity, a worldliness not to be spoken about, or even thought about.
Once or twice before the Robsons came into the neighbourhood, an
idea had crossed her mind that possibly the quiet, habitual way in
which she and Philip lived together, might drift them into matrimony
at some distant period; and she could not bear the humble advances
which Coulson, Philip's fellow-lodger, sometimes made. They seemed
to disgust her with him.