Every day she loved her more, and yearned after her more deeply.
All the long repressed tenderness of her nature overflowed to this
girl who was unconscious of it. She was proud of Sylvia's grace
and beauty, and sweetness of voice and laughter. She began to like
the Spencer children because they worshipped Sylvia; she envied
Mrs. Spencer because the latter could minister to Sylvia's needs.
Even the egg pedlar seemed a delightful person because he brought
news of Sylvia--her social popularity, her professional success,
the love and admiration she had won already.
The Old Lady never dreamed of revealing herself to Sylvia. That, in her
poverty, was not to be thought of for a moment. It would have been
very sweet to know her--sweet to have her come to the old house--
sweet to talk to her--to enter into her life. But it might not be.
The Old Lady's pride was still far stronger than her love.
It was the one thing she had never sacrificed and never--
so she believed--could sacrifice.
II. The June Chapter
There were no Mayflowers in June; but now the Old Lady's garden
was full of blossoms and every morning Sylvia found a bouquet
of them by the beech--the perfumed ivory of white narcissus,
the flame of tulips, the fairy branches of bleeding-heart, the
pink-and-snow of little, thorny, single, sweetbreathed early roses.
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