"All right, just a minute," came the ready answer. A minute later the door was thrown open, and Sylvia stood in it, wrapped in a white satin dressing-gown edged with soft fur, her dark hair falling over her shoulders, her neck and arms bare. She drew back, the quick red color flooding her cheeks. "_Austin!"_ she exclaimed; "I never thought of your coming back--I supposed, of course, it was one of the girls. I can't--you mustn't--" But Sylvia was too much mistress of herself and woman of the world to remain embarrassed long in any situation. She recovered herself before Austin did. "What has happened?" she asked quickly; "is any one ill?" "No--Sylvia--what were those papers you gave me to burn?" "Waste--rubbish. Go to bed, Austin, and don't frighten me out of my wits again by coming and asking me silly questions." "What kind of waste paper? Please be a little more explicit." "How did you happen to come back to ask me such a thing--what made you think of it?" "I don't know--I just did. Tell me instantly, please." "Don't dictate to me--the last time you did you were sorry." "Yes--and you were sorry that you didn't listen to me, weren't you?" "No!" she cried, "I wasn't--not in the end. If I hadn't gone out to ride that day, you never would have gone to Europe--and come back the man you have!" She turned away from him, her eyes full of tears, her voice shaking. He was quite at a loss to understand her emotion, almost too excited himself to notice it; but he could not help being conscious of the tensity of the moment. He spoke more gently. "Sylvia--don't think me presuming--I don't mean it that way; and you and I mustn't quarrel again. But I believe I have a right to ask what that document you gave me to burn up was. If you'll give me your word of honor that I haven't--I can only beg your forgiveness for having intruded upon you, and for my rudeness in speaking as I did." She turned again slowly, and faced him. He wondered if it was the unshed tears that made her eyes so soft. "You have a right," she said, "and _I_ shouldn't have spoken as I did. You were fair, and I wasn't, as usual. I'll tell you. And will you promise me just to--to give this little slip of paper to your father--and never refer to the matter again, or let him?" "I promise."