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Suddenly she felt the need to speak. The wordy silence troubled

her. "Mother, Mother," she cried, "why does he love me so much? I

know why I love him. I love him because he is like what love

himself should be. But what does he see in me? I am not worthy of

him. And yet-why, I cannot tell-though I feel so much beneath

him, I don't feel humble. I feel proud, terribly proud. Mother,

did you love my father as I love Prince Charming?"

The elder woman grew pale beneath the coarse powder that daubed

her cheeks, and her dry lips twitched with a spasm of pain. Sybil

rushed to her, flung her arms round her neck, and kissed her.

"Forgive me, Mother. I know it pains you to talk about our

father. But it only pains you because you loved him so much.

Don't look so sad. I am as happy to-day as you were twenty years

ago. Ah! let me be happy for ever!"