“Axes—what do you mean?” “Social axes. You’ll understand my world bye-and-bye, Sylvia. Isabella’s trying to make an impression beyond her income, and she’s seeking alliances. What you must remember is that the need is on her side.” There was a pause, while Sylvia sat thinking. “Tell me,” she said, at last, “why did Mrs. Winthrop change so suddenly, and begin urging me to marry you?” “It’s the same thing,” he answered. “She couldn’t afford to displease me. When she found that I was determined to have my way, she tried to make it seem her work. Naturally, she’d want as much of the prestige of this wedding as she could get.” Again Sylvia pondered. “Hasn’t Mrs. Winthrop’s husband enough money?” she asked. “He has enough, but he won’t spend it. The tragedy of Isabella’s life is that her husband is really interested in railroads.” “But I thought he adored her!” Sylvia remembered a pathetic stout gentleman she had seen wandering about on the outskirts of a throng of the great lady’s admirers. “Oh, yes,” replied van Tuiver, with laughter. “I never saw a woman who had a man more completely bluffed. But the trouble is that he offers himself, and what she wants is his money.” There followed a long silence. Van Tuiver had pleasant things to meditate upon; but suddenly he chanced to look at Sylvia, and exclaimed, “Why, what’s the matter?” “Nothing,” she said, and turned away her head to conceal the tears she had failed to repress. “But what is it?” he demanded, not without a touch of annoyance. “There’s no use talking about it,” was Sylvia’s reply. “It’s just that you promised you would try not to think so much about money. Sometimes I can’t help being frightened, when I realize that you don’t ever believe in people—but only in money.” She saw the old worried look come back to his face. “You know that I believe in _you_!” he exclaimed. “You told me,” she answered, “that the only way I was able to make an impression upon you was by refusing to marry you. And now I have given up that prestige—so aren’t you afraid that you may come to feel about me as you do about Mrs. Winthrop?” § 27 Major and Mrs. Castleman arrived next morning, and after that there were busy times for Sylvia. There was the wedding-gown to be shown, and the trousseau and the presents; there were plans for the future to be told of, and many blessings to be received. “Miss Margaret” was in a “state” most of the time—tears of joy and tears of sorrow pursuing each other down her generous cheeks. “Sylvia,” she exclaimed, in one breath, “I _know_ you will be happy!” And then, in the next breath, “Sylvia, I _hope_ you will be happy!” And then, in a third breath, “Sylvia, how will we ever get on without you? Who will dare to spank the baby?” It was with her father that she had the really trying ordeal; her father took her into a room alone, and held her hands in his and tried to read her soul. “Tell me, my child, are you going to be happy?”