ament in, for them!--I am here."--BROWNING.

"You are a lunatic, and fit only for a lunatic asylum!" was the angry
comment of Lyon Berners, as he turned upon his heel and left his wife.

It was the first time in his life that he had ever spoken angrily to
Sybil, or even felt angry with her.

Hitherto he had borne her fierce outbursts of jealousy with "a great
patience," feeling, perhaps, that they flamed up from the depths of her
burning love for him; feeling, also, that his own thoughtless conduct
had caused them.

Now, however, he was thoroughly incensed by the deportment of his wife,
and deeply mortified at the effect it might have upon their company.

He went around to the opposite side of the table. He did not again join
Rosa, for he dreaded a scene, and even a catastrophe; but he mingled
with the crowd, and stood where he could see Sybil, without being seen
by her.

Her face remained the same--awful in the marble-like stillness of her
agonized features; terrible in the fierceness of her flaming eyes!

This was at length observed by some of the guests, who whispered their
comments or enquiries to others. And the hum of voices and the burden of
their low-toned talk at length reached the ears or excited the
suspicions of Lyon Berners. The ordeal of the supper-table was a
frightful trial to him. He longed for it to be over.

At length the longing was gratified--the torture was over. The guests,
by twos and by fours, by small groups and large parties, left the
supper-room for the saloon, where the musicians struck up a grand march,
and the greater portion of the company formed into a leisurely promenade
as a gentle exercise after eating, and a prudent prelude to more
dancing.

Some among the guests, however, preferred to seat themselves on the
sofas that lined the walls, and to rest.

Among these last was Rosa Blondelle, who sat on a corner sofa, and
sulked and looked sad and sentimental because Lyon Berners had not
spoken to her, or even approached her since he had seen that look on
Sybil's face. To the vain and shallow coquette, it was gall and
bitterness to perceive that Sybil had still the power, of whatever sort,
to keep her own husband and _her_ admirer from her side. So Rosa sat and
sorrowed, or seemed to sorrow, on the corner sofa, from which nobody
invited her to rise, for there was a very general feeling of
disapprobation against the beautiful blonde.

Sybil also sank upon a side seat, where sh