She stood sadly in
front of her. Mrs. Thesiger made no advance.
"Well?" she asked, in her hard, cold voice.
"Thank you, mother," Sylvia repeated, and she walked slowly to the door
of the hotel. She looked up to the mountains. Needle spires of rock,
glistening pinnacles of ice, they stood dreaming to the moonlight and the
stars. The great step had been taken. She prayed for something of their
calm, something of their proud indifference to storm and sunshine,
solitude and company. She went up to her room and began to pack her
trunks. And as she packed, the tears gathered in her eyes and fell.
Meanwhile, her mother sat in the garden. So Sylvia wanted a home; she
could not endure the life she lived with her mother. Afar off a band
played; the streets beyond were noisy as a river; beneath the trees of
the garden here people talked quietly. Mrs. Thesiger sat with a little
vindictive smile upon her face. Her rival was going to be punished. Mrs.
Thesiger had left her husband, not he her. She read through the letter
which she had received from him this evening. It was a pressing request
for money. She was not going to send him money. She wondered how he would
appreciate the present of a daughter instead.
CHAPTER IX
SYLVIA MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF HER FATHER
Sylvia left Chamonix the next afternoon.
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