"No others.

Only I." "There! That's just like Sylvia," cried Mrs.Thesiger, in exasperation.
"She has a fated look and makes nothing of it." But the secret of her discontent was just a woman's jealousy of a younger rival.

Men were beginning to turn from her toward her daughter.

That Sylvia never competed only made the sting the sharper.

The grave face with its perfect oval, which smiled so rarely, but in so winning a way, its delicate color, its freshness, were points which she could not forgive her daughter.