"It's sweet to sacrifice for one we love--it's sweet to have someone
to sacrifice for," thought the Old Lady.
Desire grows by what it feeds on. The Old Lady thought she was content;
but Friday evening came and found her in a perfect fever to see
Sylvia in her party dress. It was not enough to fancy her in it;
nothing would do the Old Lady but seeing her.
"And I SHALL see her," said the Old Lady resolutely, looking out
from her window at Sylvia's light gleaming through the firs.
She wrapped herself in a dark shawl and crept out, slipping down
to the hollow and up the wood lane. It was a misty, moonlight night,
and a wind, fragrant with the aroma of clover fields, blew down
the lane to meet her.
"I wish I could take your perfume--the soul of you--and pour it
into her life," said the Old Lady aloud to that wind.
Sylvia Gray was standing in her room, ready for the party.
Before her stood Mrs. Spencer and Amelia Spencer and all the little
Spencer girls, in an admiring semi-circle. There was another spectator.
Outside, under the lilac bush, Old Lady Lloyd was standing.
She could see Sylvia plainly, in her dainty dress, with the pale pink
roses Old Lady Lloyd had left at the beech that day for her in her hair.
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