, or seek to conceal, her
sentiments--either of Sibylla herself, or of the step she had taken. And
Lionel had the pleasure of hearing his intended bride alluded to in a
manner that was not altogether complimentary.

He could not stop it. He could not take upon himself the defence of
Sibylla, and say, "Do you know that you are speaking of my future wife?"
No, for Lucy Tempest was there. Not in her presence had he the courage
to bring home to himself his own dishonour: to avow that, after wooing
her (it was very like it), he had turned round and asked another to
marry him. The morning sun shone into the room upon the snowy cloth,
upon the silver breakfast service, upon the exquisite cups of painted
porcelain, upon those seated round the table. Decima sat opposite to
Lady Verner, Lionel and Lucy were face to face on either side. The walls
exhibited a few choice paintings; the room and its appurtenances were in
excellent taste. Lady Verner liked things that pleased the eye. That
silver service had been a recent present of Lionel's, who had delighted
in showering elegancies and comforts upon his mother since his
accession.

"What could have induced her ever to think of taking up her residence at
Verner's Pride on her return?" reiterated Lady Verner to Lionel.

"She believed she was coming to her aunt. It was only at the station,
here, that she learned Mrs. Verner was dead."

"She did learn it there?"

"Yes. She learned it there."

"And she could come to Verner's Pride _after_ that? knowing that you,
and you alone, were its master?"

Lionel toyed with his coffee-cup. He wished his mother would spare her
remarks.

"She was so fatigued, so low-spirited, that I believed she was scarcely
conscious where she drove," he returned. "I am certain that the idea of
there being any impropriety in it never once crossed her mind."

Lady Verner drew her shawl around her with a peculiar movement. If ever
action expressed scorn, that one did--scorn of Sibylla, scorn of her
conduct, scorn of Lionel's credulity in believing in her. Lionel read it
all. Happening to glance across the table, he caught the eyes of Lucy
Tempest fixed upon him with an open expression of wonder. Wonder at
what? At his believing in Sibylla? It might be. With all Lucy's
straightforward plainness, she would have been one of the last to storm
Lionel's abode, and take refuge in it. A retort, defending Sibylla, had
been upon Lionel's tongue, but that gaze stopped