I
The consulting surgeon was still upstairs with Dr. Schubert and the
nurse. In the sun-room, the Venetian blinds drawn to shut out the hot
July rays, the family sat, awaiting the verdict. Sydney and Eileen had
hurried home from the West in response to a conservative telegram from
Lary. Sylvia and her husband were already there. The meeting of the
sisters was reserved, befitting the occasion. Now Sylvia forgot her
father--her growing resentment because of the general misunderstanding
with regard to her mother’s alleged visit--as she gazed across the
spacious room at the beautiful young woman whom she could with
difficulty accept as Mrs. Sydney Schubert.
“I can’t understand it,” she whispered to Oliver. “You know what a raw,
scraggy girl she was when we left here. I couldn’t make out what Hal
Marksley saw in her. But for Syd--he had such an eye for beauty. He
never went with a girl who was plain or homely. Mamma never wrote us
how she had changed.”
“I told you a long time ago,” her husband retorted, “that the ugly
duckling had a way of growing into the swan of the family.”
Sylvia flushed, annoyed, and lapsed into silence.