She followed Sylvia to her room, continuing to reassure her. She even
shook out the gown, exclaiming, "Well, well" (Sylvia didn't know why),
and went out abruptly, instructing Sylvia to ring for the maid if she
needed help.

There were three other guests for dinner, and they were unlike any other
people that Sylvia had known. She was introduced first to Admiral
Martin, a retired officer of the Navy, who, having remained in the
service of his country to the retiring age, had just come home to live
in the capital of his native state. He was short and thick and talked in
a deep, growling voice exactly as admirals should. The suns and winds of
many seas had burned and scored his face, and a stubby mustache gave him
a belligerent aspect. He mopped his brow with a tremendous handkerchief
and when Mrs. Owen introduced Sylvia as Professor Kelton's granddaughter
he glared fiercely.

"Well, I declare, Andy, your granddaughter; well, I declare." He held
Sylvia's hand a moment and peered into her face. "I remember your mother
very well. Andy, I recall distinctly that you and your wife were at Old
Point in about the winter of '69 and your daughter was with you. So this
is your granddaughter? Well, I declare; I wish she was mine."

"I'm glad to see you, Sylvia," said Mrs. Martin, a shy, white-haired
little woman. "I remember that winter at Old Point. I was waiting for my
husband there. You look like your mother. It's really a very striking
resemblance. We were all so fond of Edna."

This was the first time that any one except her grandfather had ever
spoken to Sylvia of her mother, and the words of these strangers
thrilled her strangely and caused the tears to shine suddenly in her