Meanwhile, her mother sat in the garden. So Sylvia
wanted a home; she could not endure the life she lived
with her mother. Afar off a band played; the
streets beyond were noisy as a river; beneath the trees
of the garden here people talked quietly. Mrs.
Thesiger sat with a little vindictive smile upon her
face. Her rival was going to be punished.
Mrs. Thesiger had left her husband, not he her.
She read through the letter which she had received
from him this evening. It was a pressing request
for money. She was not going to send him money.
She wondered how he would appreciate the present of
a daughter instead.
SYLVIA MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF HER FATHER
Sylvia left Chamonix the next afternoon. It was
a Saturday, and she stepped out of her railway-carriage
on to the platform of Victoria Station at seven o’clock
on the Sunday evening. She was tired by her long
journey, and she felt rather lonely as she waited for
her trunks to be passed by the officers of the custom-house.
It was her very first visit to London, and there was
not one person to meet her. Other travelers were
being welcomed on all sides by their friends.
No one in all London expected her. She doubted
if she had one single acquaintance in the whole town.
Her mother, foreseeing this very moment, had with a
subtlety of malice refrained from so much as sending
a telegram to the girl’s father; and Sylvia
herself, not knowing him, had kept silence too.
Since he did not expect her, she thought her better
plan was to see him, or rather, since her thoughts
were frank, to let him see her. Her mirror had
assured her that her looks would be a better introduction
than a telegram.
She had her boxes placed upon a cab and drove off
to Hobart Place. The sense of loneliness soon
left her. She was buoyed up by excitement.
The novelty of the streets amused her. Moreover,
she had invented her father, clothed him with many
qualities as with shining raiment, and set him high
among the persons of her dreams. Would he be satisfied
with his daughter? That was her fear, and with
the help of the looking-glass at the side of her hansom,
she tried to remove the traces of travel from her young
face.
The cab stopped at a door in a narrow wall between
two houses, and she got out. Over the wall she
saw the green leaves and branches of a few lime trees
which rose from a little garden, and at the end of
the garden, in the far recess between the two side
walls, the upper windows of a little neat white house.
Sylvia was charmed with it. She rang the bell,
and a servant came to the door.
“Is Mr. Skinner in?” asked Sylvia.
“Yes,” she said, doubtfully, “but—”
Sylvia, however, had made her plans.
“Thank you,” she said. She made a
sign to the cabman, and walked on through the doorway
into a little garden of grass with a few flowers on
each side against the walls. A tiled path led
through the middle of the grass to the glass door
of the house. Sylvia walked straight down, followed
by the cabman who brought her boxes in one after the
other. The servant, giving way before the composure
of this strange young visitor, opened the door of
a sitting-room upon the left hand, and Sylvia, followed
by her trunks, entered and took possession.
