conversational audacities and delighted in "taking a shot at the idols"
as she put it. But underneath the jewel-like hardness and brilliance of
the exterior there was a difference. Her theories of life were not so
polished and compact and perfected. She had undergone more than one
seismic upheaval of emotion during the year and her "cock-sureness" was
shattered if not annihilated. But the greatest difference lay in her
deepened power of human sympathy and understanding. The success of
"Melissa on the Road" had not been mere accident but a logical outgrowth
of its author's surer insight into life, and the play was an even more
certain indication that Suzanne in finding herself had found something
universal at the same time.
As for Sylvia--but let Sylvia speak for herself. Suzanne, lolling as
before in Sylvia's hammock, again pronounced judgment.
"I never knew a person for whom the whole universe seemed to be working
the way it does for you, Sylvia Arden. Now, if I had wanted to live in
a certain place Roger would have been called to Kamchatka or Kalamazoo
or some other God forgotten spot. But just because you had your heart
set on living at Arden Hall the fates come galloping up to present Phil
a choice professional opening on a charger."
"Do you know whether a charger is a horse or a platter?" laughed Sylvia.
"I should never know from your phrasing."
"It is both, of course. Don't criticize my diction. Diction is my
business. And don't crab. Honest, Sylvia, don't you think your luck is
altogether out of proportion to your deserts?"
"'In the course of justice which of us should see salvation?'" quoted
Sylvia. "Oh, I know, Suzanne. It is almost too good to be true that
Phil can find the right kind of work in Greendale and we can live here
at Arden Hall. But you are mistaken about my having set my heart on
living here. I love it better than any place on earth but I would have
gone anywhere with Phil. Even the Hall wanes in comparison with him."
And Sylvia blushed charmingly as she made the admission.
"Of course you think so. Quite the proper sentiment to express
twenty-four hours before your wedding. May the Lord give me grace to
feel the same next December when I follow your lead to the altar. But,
Sylvia, you don't really know what you are talking about. I can't
imagine you in a little apartment. You're too--spacious."
Sylvia smiled.
"Oh, I believe I could have adjusted my spaciousness if necessary. But
I'm rather glad I don't have to. I'd rather--spread."
"You _will_ spread, too," put in Barb. "You and Phil will have a
wonderful opportunity to really live here, more than you could ever have
done in the city."
"I hope so." Sylvia's eyes were thoughtful as she looked out across the
lawn, past the magnolia to the blue sky, just as she had a year ago.
She looked as if she saw visions. Perhaps she did. The "home trust"
which she and Felicia had formed years ago was still an integral part of
her scheme of things. She meant her home to be a home in the truest
sense, not just a house beneath whose roof she could shelter herself and
her loved ones. She wanted her doors to stand open wide to the
world--especially the lonely people. "The lonely people" were always
very close to Sylvia's heart perhaps because her own lonely girlhood had
given her the clew to the yearning that nearly all the world knows at
times.
"You are going to keep on being viciously contented," accused Suzanne.
"I hope so," said Sylvia again. "I feel that way at present, anyway. I
am afraid I'll never do anything very big, Suzanne. You and Barb are
going to leave me way behind, I know. I haven't any special ambition
except to be happy myself and to make other people within my range
happy, too."
"You are a genius at that. Remember what Mr. Kinnard said. Don't let
Suzanne tease you, Sylvia. You have the secret of living. If all the
people in the world wanted to be happy themselves and tried to see that
other people near them were happy, why--"
"The millennium would have come," finished Suzanne. "You are blooming
sentimentalists both of you, though I don't deny there is a little solid
sense behind your sentiment. Anyway, I have a sneaking notion I shall
have a sort of satisfaction knowing that down here on your Hill things
are going to be a little more the way they ought to be than is customary
in this cranky old world."
"Why, Suzanne! That is just what I was thinking," cried Barb. "I see
so much sin and sordidness and misery and things so snarled and twisted
that it seems as if they never would smooth out. I'm going to see even
more this year if I go in for the probation work. And it is wonderful
to me to be able to think that it is all clean and sweet and happy and
kind in Sylvia's world. It is kindness somehow that is important. If
we would all be kind the way Christ taught us there wouldn't be any war
and hate and competition and oppression. We'd all be just brothers and
sisters."
"Maybe that is what we are growing into," said Sylvia soberly. "Thank
you, Barb. I like that--what you said just now. Remember, if you want
to send anybody down to my--_our_ garden-- It is Phil's, too--we shall
be glad to take her--or him--in. We want to help."
"We want to help." That is the keynote of the new democracy. And Barb
and Suzanne and Sylvia, each in her own way, had enlisted in the shining
army which is none other than the army of love.
And indoors, while the three girls were thus philosophizing about the
universe at large, Felicia and Stephen had suddenly concentrated upon
themselves.
"Felicia," Stephen was saying, "I have waited very patiently. Haven't
you a different answer for me this time? I am not going to pretend I
shall go away broken-hearted if it is no. My heart is a little too old
to break, but if you could make it yes it will make all the difference
in the world. Couldn't you say it, dear? Sylvia won't need you after
to-morrow. And you know the kiddies won't be the losers. We'll see to
that. Those reasons of yours aren't operative any more, you know."
"But there is still Sydney," she reminded him gravely, her face averted.
"There is," he admitted. "Ah, but, Felicia, you can't live all your
days on a memory--even so vital a one. I don't expect to take Syd's
place. I don't even want to. But, Felicia, look at me. Haven't I
somewhere a place all my own in your heart?"
And then Felicia lifted her eyes, still forget-me-not blue like
Marianna's.
"Yes, Stephen, I believe you have--a big place. If you want me as I am,
the best of me gone, the rest is all yours."
Night and stillness of night on Arden Hall and Sylvia's garden!
Suddenly out of the darkness Sylvia stole down the broad staircase,
candle in hand, like a vestal virgin, in her white silk robe, her dark
hair unbound, lying loose upon her shoulders.
On the wall, near the foot of the stairs hung two portraits; one, of a
dark-eyed young man, the other a lovely young girl, looking out with
wistful, wondering gaze upon the world.
Straight to the portraits went Sylvia, holding her candle high. For a
moment she stood there with uplifted face and rapt gaze, trying to speak
to these two, to bespeak their blessing this night on the daughter who
was to follow in their footsteps to-morrow in giving herself in marriage
to the mate she loved.
"If only you were here," she sighed. "I do want you so, Father!
Mother! Please try to know and be glad I am so happy. Please be glad.
I want you to be glad."
In the flickering light of the uplifted candle it seemed to Sylvia as if
her father's dark eyes smiled down into hers as if he understood and was
glad as she desired.
"The truest and the kindest," she whispered. "That was what Doctor Tom
said, and I know you must have been. Phil is like that, too, Father.
I'm glad you know. Good night."
Then she turned to the fair girl whom it had always been a little hard
to think of as a mother, she was so tiny and sweet and girlish herself
and her eyes looked so incredibly young and innocent.
"Little Mother!" crooned Sylvia. "Little, little Mother! I wonder if
you were afraid at all. Did you ever feel like running away even from
him? This marrying is such a big, solemn business. Didn't you feel a
teeny little bit scared about it all? It isn't that you are afraid of
him. It is rather yourself you don't trust, as if you weren't quite
tall enough to reach up to marriage. Marriage is so high, so dreadfully
high. But it is all right, isn't it, little Mother? You just have to
trust love, don't you? Good night, little Mother. Please love me up
there where you are."
This rite over, Sylvia turned to go back upstairs. But the moonlight
fell in bright patines across the floor from the latticed windows,
beside the front door, and Sylvia had never been able to resist
moonlight. Hastily she set down her candle and snatched up a black
velvet cloak from the rack and throwing it about her shoulders, covering
her thin silken draperies, she unbolted the rear door which led out into
the garden and ran down the steps into the enchanted world outside.
Even as she reached the path she uttered a half startled exclamation. A
tall form was pacing up and down under the willow-trees, silhouetted
against the whiteness of the garden space. She did not retreat however
but stood motionless as a statue with the moonlight full upon her. In a
moment the silhouetted figure turned and came swiftly toward her.
"Sylvia!"
"Phil!"
For a second she was swept into Phil's arms, his kiss on her lips. Then
they stood apart, looking at each other as if all at once they had
discovered some new, sacred thing which all their love up to now had not
taught them.
"Phil, I'm glad--glad it is you," breathed Sylvia. "Glad I'm going to
be yours."
"Forever and ever, amen," said Phil Lorrimer, as solemnly as if he were
pronouncing his own wedding service.
The actual ceremony took place the next day in the gray stone Gothic
church where Sylvia's father and mother had been made man and wife. But
to Sylvia, and perhaps to Phil, too, it always seemed as if the real
wedding had been the night before in the white moonlight of Sylvia's own
garden. There it was at least that Sylvia lost forever her fear of not
being able to reach up to marriage however high it was. Love, she knew,
would show her the way.
THE END
* * * * * * * *
*CHARMING BOOKS FOR GIRLS*
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WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE, By Jean Webster.
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JUST PATTY, By Jean Webster.
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THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL, By Eleanor Gates.
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This story relates the experience of one of those unfortunate children
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Additional episodes in the girlhood of this delightful heroine that
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THE HEART OF RACHAEL.
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THE FLIRT.
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K.
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THE MAN IN LOWER TEN.
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WHEN A MAN MARRIES.
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THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE.
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THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS.
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THE HARVESTER.
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FRECKLES.
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THE SONG OF THE CARDINAL.
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