Hugh seated himself on the end of the bed and kissed her forehead
and her hand, but it quivered under his lips and was drawn away.

He came back into the living-room with a pale, bewildered face.




CHAPTER XI


Next day there came out of that room a new Sylvie or rather a dozen
new Sylvies: a flighty witch of a Sylvie who tempted her blindness
with rash ventures about the rooms and even out of doors, who
laughed at Hugh and led him on, and drew him out to his maddest
improvisations, who treated Pete to snubs and tauntings that stung
like so many little whips; and again a Sylvie who was still and timid
and a trifle furtive, who rarely spoke, but sat with locked hands
in an attitude of desperate concentration and seemed to be planning
something secret and dangerous; and then there was a haughty,
touch-me-not Sylvie; and a Sylvie who mysteriously wept. But all of
these Sylvies showed an impetuous, new tenderness toward Bella.

"I've been all wrong about you, Bella," she confessed. "I know you're
not really old and ugly and cross at all. Let me touch your face."
Bella, awkward and flushed, had no choice but to submit to the flick
of the light, young fingers. "I'm learning the touch of the blind,"
Sylvie boasted. "Now, listen--isn't this right? You have thick,
straight eyebrows and deep-set eyes; are they blue or brown, Bella,
or bright gray?"