I leave him in your hands." He was speaking with a humorous magnanimity.

But his eyes wandered back to Sylvia, who sat some distance away in the embrasure of the window, with her face in her hands; and his voice changed.
"Sylvia," he said, gently, "come here." Sylvia rose and walked over to the table.
The waiting, the knowledge which had come to her during the last few days, had told their tale.

She had the look which Chayne too well remembered, the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the languor in her walk, the pallor in her cheeks, the distress and shame in her expression.
"Sit down," he said; and she obeyed him reluctantly, seating herself over against him.

She gazed at the table-cloth with that mutinous look upon her face which took away from her her womanhood and gave to her the aspect of a pretty but resentful child.

Garratt Skinner for the life of him could not but smile at her.
"Well, Sylvia, you have beaten me.