Sybella beat a retreat to her own room, but opposition ceased. The last shot had told. To abdicate in favour of Evelyn, for even one night, was no part of Sybella's policy.
Cyril had made up his mind to strike, once and for all, for liberty. A wiser woman than Sybella would have foreseen this, and by judicious yielding would have obviated the need for any such self-assertion on Cyril's part. Had she at once yielded the reins to him, he would probably have put them back into her hands. But striving to retain too much, she was in danger of losing everything.
Sybella, unfortunately, was not wise. She gave in because she had no choice; but for days she sulked; and Cyril's kind-mannered overtures, designed to show that he had no wish to give pain, met with a snappish response.
Little as Sybella knew it, she was slowly killing her last remnants of power over Cyril. A gentle and loving woman might have guided him with a rein of silk, might have done with him almost what she would. His affectionateness could have been worked upon to any extent. But unauthorised attempts at control roused all his latent powers of resistance; and ill-temper on her side deadened feeling on his. Nothing is so deadening to affection as the constant friction of an uncertain and irritable temper. Cyril had once been really fond of Miss Devereux; but through years, the fondness had been lessening under the chill of her uncontrolled egotism, and this autumn's struggles bid fair to put it out of existence altogether.
As the dinner-party drew near, Sybella had to put aside irritation so far as to prepare for it. She found that, if she did not exert herself, arrangements would be taken out of her hands. Thereupon she consented to listen, with an injured air, to what Cyril had to say, and she gave requisite orders.
One thing tending to smooth her ruffled feelings was Cyril's interest in the new dress with which he insisted on presenting her. She had plenty of dresses already; but no doubt he meant the gift for a peace-offering.
A difficulty arose. Cyril wanted Miss Devereux to have a handsome black silk or satin; and Sybella desired pale mauve, trimmed with white lace. Cyril suggested grey as a compromise; but Sybella held to the mauve. She had worn a delicate straw-coloured silk on Cyril's birthday, and Lady Lucas had congratulated her on her youthful looks. Lady Lucas was famed for saying smooth things, and to other people, it had seemed that the too light dress and too juvenile hat had brought out the deepening rumples in Sybella's cheeks, and had shown off the ridges in her throat. But these remarks had not reached Sybella.
After all, she was only just over fifty; and what is fifty compared with—say, with eighty? Sybella felt young still; and she probably would feel the same, if she should live to be ninety; not because she kept youth's elasticity, which does occasionally last into old age, but because she was a creature of one-sided development, and part of her brain had never fully emerged from the semi-infantine stage. Hence her tendency to gush.
Cyril, at twenty-one, naturally looked upon fifty as somewhat advanced; and, theories of age apart, he was keen enough to see that "Aunt Sybella" looked far better in middle-aged grey or black than in pale straw: or in mauve as delicate as the blue of "love-in-a-mist." However, not wishing to give fresh offence, he bought the coveted hazy hue; and Sybella, in consultations with her dressmaker, became almost reconciled to the thought of "that dreadful dinner-party."
All the invitations were accepted, including Jem's. He knew that he would meet Evelyn, and might probably have to take her in to dinner. What then? All "that" was over—a thing of the past. Evelyn Villiers was merely a pleasant acquaintance to him now, and a rather frequent member of his congregation. She seemed to be gradually sliding away from St. John's, and slipping into the Parish Church. Mr. James Trevelyan "helped her," she said quietly, and her husband had liked him. But Jem knew well that they could never be anything further, one to the other.