"
Sylvie quivered as though a wound had been touched. "Oh, you mean
me," she said, "I know you mean me. I'm making trouble. I'm eating
too much. I'll go. Pete, has anybody been asking about me at the
post-office, trying to find me? They _must_ be hunting for me." She
had stood up and was clasping and unclasping her hands. Hugh and Pete
protested in one breath: "Nonsense, Sylvie!"
And Pete went on with: "There hasn't been anyone asking about you,
but--so much the better for us. You're safe here, and comfortable,
aren't you? And--Hugh, _you_ tell her what it means to us to have
her here."
It was more of a speech than he had made since Sylvie's arrival, and
it was not just the speech, in tone or manner, of a fourteen-year-old
boy. There was a new somber note in his voice, too--some of the
youthful quality had gone out of it. Sylvie took a step toward him,
to thank him, perhaps, perhaps to satisfy, by laying her hand upon
him, a sudden bewilderment; but in her blindness she stumbled on the
edge of the hearth, and to save her from falling, Pete caught her
in his arms. For an instant he held her close, held her fiercely,
closer and more fiercely than he knew, and Sylvie felt the strength
of him and heard the pounding of his heart.
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