"
Mrs. Fulton was not in her room, so Sylvia went down the stairs to look
for her. She heard voices in the sitting-room, and turned in that
direction.
"Oh!" she whispered, as she stood in the open door. For her mother was
sitting on the big sofa near the open fire, and beside her sat Mr.
Robert Waite, while her father was standing in front of them. They were
all talking so earnestly that they did not notice the surprised little
girl standing in the doorway, and Sylvia heard Mr. Waite say:
"I shall be glad to protect your interests here, Mr. Fulton, as far as
it is possible to do so. And you had better leave Charleston
immediately. The city is no longer a safe place for northern people. The
conflict may begin at any moment."
"'Conflict,'" Sylvia repeated the word to herself. Probably it meant
something dreadful, she thought, recalling the "question period" at Miss
Rosalie's school.
Just then Mr. Waite glanced toward the door and saw Sylvia. In a second
he was on his feet, bowing as politely as on their last meeting.
"Miss Sylvia, I am glad to see you again," and he stepped forward to
meet her.
Sylvia, feeling quite grown-up, made her pretty curtsey, and smiled with
delight at Mr. Waite's greeting, as he led her toward her mother and,
with another polite bow, gave her the seat on the sofa.
"I was hoping to see Miss Sylvia," he said. "I had meant to make her a
little Christmas gift, with your permission," and he bowed again to Mrs.
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