Mrs. Bassett compressed her lips.  She had not liked this quotation from Mrs. Owen’s utterances on this vexed question of higher education.  Could it be possible that Aunt Sally looked upon Marian as one of those colts for whom the trainer could do nothing?  It was not a reassuring thought; her apprehensions as to Sylvia’s place in her kinswoman’s affections were quickened by Sylvia’s words; but Mrs. Bassett dropped the matter.

“I have never felt that young girls should read George Eliot.  She doesn’t seem to me quite an ideal to set before a young girl.”

As Sylvia knew nothing of George Eliot, except what she had gleaned from the biographical data in a text-book on nineteenth-century writers, she was unable to follow Mrs. Bassett.  She had read “Mill on the Floss,” and “Romola” and saw no reason why every one shouldn’t enjoy them.

Mrs. Bassett twirled her closed parasol absently and studied the profile of the girl beside her.

“The requirements for college are not really so difficult, I suppose?” she suggested.

Sylvia’s dark eyes brightened as she faced her interlocutor.  Those of us who know Sylvia find that quick flash of humor in her eyes adorable.

“Oh, they can’t be, for I answered most of the questions!” she exclaimed, and then, seeing no response in her inquisitor, she added soberly:  “It’s all set out in the catalogue and I have one with me.  I’d be glad to bring it over if you’d like to see it.”

“Thank you, Sylvia.  I should like to see it.  I may want to ask you some questions about the work; but of course you won’t say anything to Marian of our talk.  I am not quite sure, and I’ll have to discuss it with Mr. Bassett.”

“Of course I shan’t speak of it, Mrs. Bassett.”

Marian’s voice was now heard calling them, down the path, and the girl appeared, a moment later, munching a bit of toast stuccoed with jam, and eager to be off for the casino where a tennis match was scheduled for the morning.

“Don’t be late for dinner this evening, Marian; your father will be here, and if you see Blackford, be sure to tell him to meet the 3.10.”

“Yes, mama, I’ll remember, and I’ll try to meet the train too.”  And then to Sylvia, as she led the way to the boathouse to get the canoe, “I’m glad dad’s coming.  He’s perfectly grand, and I’m going to see if he won’t give me a naphtha launch.  Dad’s a good old scout and he’s pretty sure to do it.”

Marian’s manner of speaking of her parents disclosed the filial relationship in a new aspect to Sylvia, who did not at once reconcile it with her own understanding of the fifth commandment.  Marian referred to her father variously as “the grand old man,” “the true scout,” “Sir Morton the good knight,” and to her mother as “the Princess Pauline,” or “one’s mama,” giving to mama the French pronunciation.  All this seemed to Sylvia to be in keeping with Marian’s general precociousness.