both left the room.

"Am I to be at the beck and call of that French madmizel?" she
resentfully asked. "I was not engaged for that, Mrs. Tynn."

"It seems we are all to be at her beck and call, to hear her go on," was
Mrs. Tynn's wrathful rejoinder. "Of course it can't be tolerated. We
shall see in a day or two. Phoeby, girl, what could possess Mrs.
Verner to buy all them cart-loads of finery? She must have spent the
money like water."

"So she did," acquiesced Phoeby. "She did nothing all day long but
drive about from one place to another and choose pretty things. You
should see the china that's coming over!"

"I wonder Mr. Lionel let her," was the thoughtlessly-spoken remark of
Tynn. And she tried, when too late, to cough it down.

"He helped her, I think," answered Phoeby. "I know he bought some of
that beautiful jewellery for her himself, and brought it home. I saw him
kiss her, through the doorway, as he clasped that pink necklace on her
neck."

"Oh, well, I don't want to hear about that rubbish," tartly rejoined
Tynn. "If you take to peep through doorways, girl, you won't suit
Verner's Pride."

Phoeby did not like the rebuff. She turned one way, and Mrs. Tynn went
off another.

In the breakfast-room below, in her charming French morning costume,
tasty and elegant, sat Sibylla Verner. With French dresses, she seemed
to be acquiring French habits. Late as the hour was, the breakfast
remained on the table. Sibylla might have sent the things away an hour
ago; but she kept a little chocolate in her cup, and toyed with it. She
had never tasted chocolate for breakfast in all her life, previous to
this visit to Paris: now she protested she could take nothing else.
Possibly she may have caught the taste for it from Mademoiselle Benoite.
Her husband sat opposite to her, his chair drawn from the table, and
turned to face the room. A perfectly satisfied, happy expression
pervaded his face; he appeared to be fully contented with his lot and
with his bride. Just now he was laughing immoderately.

Perched upon the arm of a sofa, having there come to an anchor, his legs
hanging down and swaying about in their favourite fashion, was Jan
Verner. Jan had come in to pay them a visit and congratulate them on
their return. That is speaking somewhat figuratively, however, for Jan
possessed no notion of congratulating anybody. As Lady Verner sometimes
resentfully said, Jan had no more social politeness in him than a bear.
Upo