I am doing what I think is right, and I want to be let alone." She went out of the room, leaving Henry standing with her scissors in his hand.
After supper that night he could not bear to remain with Sylvia, sewing steadily upon Rose's wedding finery, and still wearing that terrible look on her face.

Rose and Horace were in the parlor.

Henry went down to Sidney Meeks's for comfort.
"Something is on my wife's mind," he told Sidney, when the two men were alone in the pleasant, untidy room.
"Do you think she feels badly about the love-affair ?" "She says that isn't it," replied Henry, gloomily, "but she goes about with a face like grim death, and I don't know what to make of it." "She'll tell finally." "I don't know whether she will or not." "Women always do." "I don't know whether she will or not." "She will." Henry remained with Meeks until quite late.

Sylvia sewed and sewed by her sitting-room lamp.

Her face never relaxed.