in some way an excitement that would shatter for a moment the overwhelming sense of monotony and so relieve her nerves. She thought, "What has come over me? Am I one of those women who enjoys working up scenes?"
He rose from his chair and stood, very tall and thin, with drooping shoulders, looking down at her out of the pale eyes. "It's about Sybil," he said. "I understand that she goes riding every morning with this fellow O'Hara."
"That's true," replied Olivia quietly. "They go every morning before breakfast, before the rest of us are out."
He frowned and assumed almost mechanically a manner of severe dignity. "And you mean to say that you have known about it all along?"
"They meet down in the meadows by the old gravel-pit because he doesn't care to come up to the house."
"He knows, perhaps, that he wouldn't be welcome."
Olivia smiled a little ironically. "I'm sure that's the reason. That's why he didn't come to-night, though I asked him. You must know, Anson, that I don't feel as you do about him."
"No, I suppose not. You rarely do."
"There's no need to be unpleasant," she said quietly.
"You seem to know a great deal about it."
"Sybil tells me everything she does. It is much better to have it that way, I think."
Watching him, it gave her a faint, warm sense of satisfaction to see that Anson was annoyed by her calmness, and yet she was a little ashamed, too, for wanting the excitement of a small scene, just a tiny scene, to make life seem a little more exciting. He said, "But you know how Aunt Cassie and my father feel about O'Hara."
Then, for the first time, Olivia began to see light in the darkness. "Your father knows all about it, Anson. He has gone with them himself on the red mare, once or twice."
