Sylvia laughed, a trifle wildly--but Mrs. Tuis had dealt with hysteria before. “What would you like to wear?” she demanded. And then, without waiting for an answer, “Let me choose something. One of your pretty frocks.” “A pretty frock, and a seething volcano underneath! That is your idea of a woman’s life!” The other responded very gravely, “A pretty frock, my dear, and a smile--instead of a vulgar scene, and ruin and desolation afterwards.” Sylvia made no reply. Yes, that was the life of woman--her old aunt knew! And her old aunt knew also the psychology of her sex. She did not go on talking about pretty frocks in the abstract; she turned at once to the clothes-closet, and began laying pretty frocks upon the bed! 3. Sylvia emerged upon the “gallery,” clad in dainty pink muslin, her beautiful shiny hair arranged under a semi-invalid’s cap of pink maline. Her face was pale, and the big red-brown eyes were hollow; but she was quiet, and apparently mistress of herself again. She even humoured Aunt Varina by leaning slightly upon her feeble arm, while the maid hastened to place her chair in a shaded spot. Her husband came, and the doctors; the tea-things were brought, and Aunt Varina poured tea, a-flutter with excitement. They talked about the comparative temperatures of New York and the Florida Keys, and about hedges of jasmine to shade the gallery from the evening sun. And after a while, Aunt Varina arose, explaining that she would prepare Elaine for her father’s visit. In the doorway she stood for a moment, smiling upon the pretty picture; it was all settled now--the outward forms had been observed, and the matter would end, as such matters should end between husband and wife--a few tears, a few reproaches, and then a few kisses. The baby was made ready, with a new dress, and a fresh silk bandage to cover the pitiful, lifeless eyes. Aunt Varina had found pleasure in making these bandages; she made them soft and pretty--less hygienic, perhaps, but avoiding the suggestion of the hospital. When Sylvia and her husband came into the room, the faces of both of them were white. Sylvia stopped near the door-way; and poor Aunt Varina fluttered about, in agony of soul. When van Tuiver went to the cradle, she hurried to his side, and sought to awaken the little one with gentle nudges. Quite unexpectedly to her, van Tuiver sought to pick up the infant; she helped him, and he stood, holding it awkwardly, as if afraid it might go to pieces in his arms. So any man might appear, with his first infant; but to Sylvia it seemed the most tragic sight she had ever seen in her life. She gave a low cry, “Douglas!” and he turned, and she saw his face was working with the feeling he was ashamed for anyone to see. “Oh, Douglas,” she whispered, “I’m so _sorry_ for you!” At which Aunt Varina decided that it was time for her to make her escape.