tragically, and she resolved to make an effort to secure for herself
a different career. She had heard that Mrs. Ferrars was in want of an
attendant, and she determined to apply for the post. As one of the
chief customers of her mother, Sylvia had been in the frequent habit of
waiting on that lady, with whom she had become a favourite. She was
so pretty, and the only person who could fit Mrs. Ferrars. Her appeal,
therefore, was not in vain; it was more than successful. Mrs. Ferrars
was attracted by Sylvia. Mrs. Ferrars was magnificent, generous, and
she liked to be a patroness and surrounded by favourites. She determined
that Sylvia should not sink into a menial position; she adopted her as a
humble friend, and one who every day became more regarded by her. Sylvia
arranged her invitations to her receptions, a task which required finish
and precision; sometimes wrote her notes. She spoke and wrote French
too, and that was useful, was a musician, and had a pretty voice. Above
all, she was a first-rate counsellor in costume; and so, looking also
after Mrs. Ferrars' dogs and birds, she became almost one of the family;
dined with them often when they were alone, and was frequently Mrs.
Ferrars' companion in her carriage.

Sylvia, though not by nature impulsive, really adored her patroness. She
governed her manners and she modelled her dress on that great original,
and, next to Mrs. Ferrars, Sylvia in time became nearly the finest lady
in London. There was, indeed, much in Mrs. Ferrars to captivate a
person like Sylvia. Mrs. Ferrars was beautiful, fashionable, gorgeous,
wonderfully expensive, and, where her taste was pleased, profusely
generous. Her winning manner was not less irresistible because it was
sometimes uncertain, and she had the art of being intimate without being
familiar.

When the crash came, Sylvia was really broken-hearted, or believed she