he truth came across her then. She grew deadly pale,
and put up her hands, as if to ward off the blow. "Oh, Lionel! don't say
it! don't say it!" she implored. "I never can receive her."

"Yes, you will, mother," he whispered, his own face pale too, his tone
one of painful entreaty. "You will receive her for my sake."

"Is it--_she_?"

The aversion with which the name was avoided was unmistakable. Lionel
only nodded a grave affirmative.

"Have you engaged yourself to her?"

"I have. Last night."

"Were you mad?" she asked in a whisper.

"Stay, mother. When you were speaking against Sibylla at breakfast, I
refrained from interference, for you did not then know that defence of
her was my duty. Will you forgive me for reminding you that I cannot
permit it to be continued, even by you?"

"But do you forget that it is not a respectable alliance for you?"
resumed Lady Verner. "No, not a respectable--"

"I cannot listen to this; I pray you cease!" he broke forth, a blaze of
anger lighting his face. "Have you forgotten of whom you are speaking,
mother? Not respectable!"

"I say that it is not a respectable alliance for you--Lionel Verner,"
she persisted. "An obscure surgeon's daughter, he of not too good
repute, who has been out to the end of the world, and found her way back
alone, a widow, is _not_ a desirable alliance for a Verner. It would not
be desirable for Jan; it is terrible for you?"

"We shall not agree upon this," said Lionel, preparing to take his
departure. "I have acquainted you, mother, and I have no more to say,
except to urge--if I may do so--that you will learn to speak of Sibylla
with courtesy, remembering that she will shortly be my wife."

Lady Verner caught his hand as he was retreating.

"Lionel, my son, tell me how you came to do it," she wailed. "You cannot
_love_ her! the wife, the widow of another man! It must have been the
work of a moment of folly. Perhaps she drew you into it!"

The suggestion, "the work of a moment of folly," was so very close a
representation of what it had been, of what Lionel was beginning to see
it to have been now, that the rest of the speech was lost to him in the
echo of that one sentence. Somehow, he did not care to refute it.

"She will be my wife, respected and honoured," was all he answered, as
he quitted the room.

Lady Verner followed him. He went straight out, and she saw him walk
hastily across the courtyard, putting on his hat as he traversed it.