sharply.

"That last portrait he showed her," Miss Silver answered. "Yet that may
have been only fancy, too."

"Then, Miss Silver, have the goodness to indulge in no more such
fancies. I don't care to hear your suspicions and surmises, and I don't
choose to have my wife so minutely watched. As for this too inquisitive
Yankee, he had better cease his questions, if he wishes to quit England
with sound bones!"

He arose angrily from the table, swept his letters together, and left
the room. But his face wore a deep-red flush, and, his bent brows never
relaxed. The first poisonous suspicion had entered his mind, and the
calm of perfect trust would never reign there again.

Sybilla gazed after him with her dark, evil smile.

"Fume and fret as you please, my dear Sir Everard, but this is only
sowing the first seed. I shall watch your wife, and I will tell you my
suspicions and my fancies, and you will listen in spite of your uplifted
sublimity now. Jealousy is ingrained in your nature, though you do not
know it, and a very little breath will fan the tiny coal into an
inextinguishable flame."

She arose, rang the bell for the servant to clear the table, shook out
her black silk robe, and went, with a smile on her handsome face, to do
the fascinating to Mr. Parmalee.

She found that cautious gentleman busily arranging his implements in the
picture-gallery, preparatory to taking sundry views of the noble room.
He nodded gravely to the young lady, and went steadfastly on with his
work.

"You certainly lose no time, Mr. Parmalee," Miss Silver said. "I was
remarking to Sir Everard at breakfast that you were a perfect devotee of
art."

"How does the baronet find himself this morning?" he asked.

"As usual--well."

"And her ladyship?" very carelessly.

"Her ladyship is not well. I'm afraid your pretty pictures disagreed
with her, Mr. Parmalee."

"Hey?" said the artist, with a sharp, suspicious stare.

"She was perfectly well until you showed them to her. She has been ill
ever since. One must draw one's own inference."

Mr. Parmalee busied himself some five minutes in profound silence.
Then--

"Where is she to-day? Ain't she about?"

"No. I told you she was ill. She complained of headache after you left
yesterday, and went up to her own room. I have not seen her since."

Mr. Parmalee began to whistle a negro melody, and still went
industriously on with his work.

"I don't think nothing of that,