Part 43 (1/2)
”You do, father,” answered the girl. ”You watch the post too much. I cannot imagine,” she continued, ”why you are so fretted and so miserable, for surely we must spend very, very little indeed.”
”We spend more than we ought, Sylvia-far more. But there, dear, I am not complaining; I suppose a young girl must have dainties and fine dress.”
”Fine dress!” said Sylvia. She looked down at her shabby garment and colored painfully.
Mr. Leeson faced her with his bright and sunken dark eyes.
”Come here,” he said.
She went up to him, trembling and her head hanging.
”I saw you two days ago; it was Sunday, and you went to church. I was standing in the shrubbery. I was lost-yes, lost-in painful thoughts.
Those recipes which I was about to give to the world were occupying my mind, and other things as well. You rushed by in your shabby dress; you went into the house by the back entrance. Sylvia dear, I sometimes think it would be wise to lock that door. With you and me alone in the house it might be safest to have only one mode of ingress.”
”But I always lock it when I go out,” said Sylvia; ”and it saves so much time to be able to use the back entrance.”
”It is just like you, Sylvia; you argue about every thing I say.
However, to proceed. You went in; I wondered at your speed. You came out again in a quarter of an hour transformed. Where did you get that dress?”
”What dress, father?”
”Do not prevaricate. Look me straight in the face and tell me. You were dressed in brown of rich shade and good material. You had a stylish and fanciful and hideous hat upon your head; it had feathers. My very breath was arrested when I saw the merry-andrew you made of yourself. You had furs, too-doubtless imitations, but still, to all appearance, rich furs-round neck and wrist. Sylvia, have you during these months and years been secretly saving money?”
”No, father.”
”You say 'No, father,' in a very strange tone. If you had no money to buy the dress, how did you get it?”
”It was-given to me.”
”By whom?”
”I would rather not say.”
”But you must say.”
Here Mr. Leeson took Sylvia by both her wrists; he held them tightly in his bony hands. He was seated, and he pulled her down towards him.
”Tell me at once. I insist upon knowing.”
”I cannot-there! I will not.”
”You defy me?”
”If that is defying you, father, yes. The dress was given to me.”
”You refuse to say by whom?”
”Yes, father.”
”Then leave my presence. I am angry, hurt. Sylvia, you must return it.”