Page 158 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

Vickers, with a sickly smile—she, like Gallio, cared for none
of these things— ‘but our little library is necessarily limited,
and I am not a great reader. John, my dear, Mr. Frere would
like another glass of brandy-and-water. Oh, don’t apologize;
I am a soldier’s wife, you know. Sylvia, my love, say good-
night to Mr. Frere, and retire.’
‘Good-night, Miss Sylvia. Will you give me a kiss?’
‘No!’
‘Sylvia, don’t be rude!’
‘I’m not rude,’ cries Sylvia, indignant at the way in which
her literary confidence had been received. ‘He’s rude! I won’t
kiss you. Kiss you indeed! My goodness gracious!’
‘Won’t you, you little beauty?’ cried Frere, suddenly lean-
ing forward, and putting his arm round the child. ‘Then I
must kiss you!’
To his astonishment, Sylvia, finding herself thus seized
and kissed despite herself, flushed scarlet, and, lifting up
her tiny fist, struck him on the cheek with all her force.
The blow was so sudden, and the momentary pain so
sharp, that Maurice nearly slipped into his native coarse-
ness, and rapped out an oath.
‘My dear Sylvia!’ cried Vickers, in tones of grave reproof.
But Frere laughed, caught both the child’s hands in one
of his own, and kissed her again and again, despite her
struggles. ‘There!’ he said, with a sort of triumph in his tone.
‘You got nothing by that, you see.’
Vickers rose, with annoyance visible on his face, to draw
the child away; and as he did so, she, gasping for breath, and
sobbing with rage, wrenched her wrist free, and in a storm

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