r white donkey; the mysterious behaviour
of Dinah Roy, in which there was undoubtedly more than met the ear; all
these could not cover for a moment the one burning fact--Lucy's love,
and his own dishonour. In vain Lionel flung off his hat, heedless of any
second sun-stroke, and pushed his hair from his heated brow. It was of
no use; as he had felt when he went out from the presence of Lucy, so he
felt now--_stifled_ with dishonour.

Sibylla was at a table, writing notes, when he reached home. Several
were on it, already written, and in their envelopes. She looked up at
him.

"Oh, Lionel, what a while you have been out! I thought you were never
coming home."

He leaned down and kissed her. Although his conscience had revealed to
him, that day, that he loved another better, _she_ should never feel the
difference. Nay, the very knowledge that it was so would render him all
the more careful to give her marks of love.

"I have been to my mother's, and to one or two more places. What are you
so busy over, dear?"

"I am writing invitations," said Sibylla.

"Invitations! Before people have called upon you?"

"They can call all the same. I have been asking Mary Tynn how many beds
she can, by dint of screwing, afford. I am going to fill them all. I
shall ask them for a month. How grave you look, Lionel!"

"In this first early sojourn together in our own house, Sibylla, I think
we shall be happier alone."

"Oh, no, we should not. I love visitors. We shall be together all the
same, Lionel."

"My little wife," he said, "if you cared for me as I care for you, you
would not feel the want of visitors just now."

And there was no sophistry in this speech. He had come to the conviction
that Lucy ought to have been his wife, but he did care for Sibylla very
much. The prospect of a house full of guests at the present moment,
appeared most displeasing to him, if only as a matter of taste.

"Put it off for a few weeks, Sibylla."

Sibylla pouted. "It is of no use preaching, Lionel. If you are to be a
preaching husband, I shall be sorry I married you. Fred was never that."

Lionel's face turned blood-red. Sibylla put up her hand, and drew it
carelessly down.

"You must let me have my own way for this once," she coaxingly said.
"What's the use of my bringing all those loves of things from Paris, if
we are to live in a dungeon, and nobody's to see them? I must invite
them, Lionel."

"Very well," he answered, yielding the poi