Owen, looking at her fixedly
with her fine gray eyes. "You're the first Sylvia I have ever known. I'm
just plain Sally!" Then she seized Sylvia's hands and drew her close and
kissed her.
As Sylvia had brought but one white gown, she decided that the blue
serge skirt and linen shirt-waist in which she had traveled would do for
luncheon. She put on a fresh collar and knotted a black scarf under it
and went downstairs.
She ran down quickly, to have the meeting with the strange niece over as
quickly as possible. Mrs. Owen was not in sight, and her grandfather had
not returned from town; but as Sylvia paused a moment at the door of the
spacious high-ceilinged drawing-room she saw a golden head bent over a
music rack by the piano. Sylvia stood on the threshold an instant, shy
and uncertain as to how she should make herself known. The sun flooding
the windows glinted on the bright hair of the girl at the piano; she was
very fair, and her features were clear-cut and regular. There was no
sound in the room but the crisp rustle of the leaves of music as the
girl tossed them about. Then as she flung aside the last sheet with an
exclamation of disappointment, Sylvia made herself known.
"I'm Sylvia Garrison," she said, advancing.
They gravely inspected each other for a moment; then Marian put out her
hand.
"I'm Marian Bassett.
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