"What do you mean, Sylvia ?" he said, in a faint voice.
"Do you know that Mr.Allen and Rose have come to an understanding and are going to get married ?" Henry stared at her.
"She has just told me," said Sylvia.

"Here I have done everything in the world I could for her to make her contented." "Sylvia, what on earth makes you feel so?
She is only going to do what every girl who has a good chance does--what you did yourself." "Look at here," said Sylvia, in an awful voice.
"What are they ?" "I found them in a box up in the garret.

They were cut from newspapers years ago, when Rose was nothing but a child, just after her mother died." "What are they?
Don't look so, Sylvia." "Here," said Sylvia, and Henry took the little yellow sheaf of newspaper clippings, adjusted his spectacles, moved the lamp nearer, and began to read.
He read one, then he looked at Sylvia, and his face was as white as hers.

"Good God!" he said.
Sylvia stood beside him, and their eyes remained fixed on each other's white face.

"I suppose the others are the same," Henry said, hoarsely.
Sylvia nodded.