Scarcely knowing what she did, for her eyes and thoughts were still following her husband and her rival, Sybil bowed assent, and arose from her seat.
Death took her hand and led her up to the same quadrille, at the head of which Harold the Saxon and Edith the Fair stood, and he placed himself and his partner exactly opposite to, and facing them.
Thus Lyon Berners for the first time in the evening was obliged to see his wife, for of course he knew her by her dress, as she knew him by his dress. She saw him stoop and whisper to his partner, and she surmised that he gave her a hint as to who was their vis-a-vis, and gave it as a warning. She fancied here that her confidence had been betrayed in small matters as well as in great, and even in this very small item of divulging the secret of her costume to her rival. And at that moment she took a resolution, which later in the evening she carried out. Now, however, from behind her golden mask she continued to watch her husband and her rival. She noticed, that from the instant her husband had observed his wife’s presence, he modified his manner towards his partner, until there seemed nothing but indifference in it.
But this change, instead of being satisfactory to Sybil, was simply disgusting to her, who saw in it only the effect of her own presence, inducing hypocrisy and deception in them. And the resolution that she had formed was strengthened.
Meanwhile the only couple that was wanted to complete the quadrille now came up, and the dance began.
Sybil noticed, in an absent-minded sort of a way, how very gracefully her grim partner danced. And the thought passed carelessly through her mind, that if in that most ghastly disguise his manner and address were so elegant and polished, how very refined, how perfect they must be in his plain dress. And she wondered and conjectured who, among her numerous friends and acquaintances, this gentleman could be; and she admired and marvelled at the tact and skill with which he so completely and successfully concealed his identity.
She noticed too, in the superficial sort of manner in which she noticed everything except the objects of her agonizing jealousy, that her strange partner watched Rosa as closely as she herself watched Lyon—and she even asked herself:
“Does he know Rosa, and is he jealous?”
Meanwhile the mazy dance went merrily on, heying and setting, whirling and twisting to the inspiring sound of music. And Sybil acted her part, scarcely conscious that she did it, until the set was ended, and she was led back to her seat by her partner, who, as he placed her in it, bowed gracefully, thanked her for the honor she had done him, and inquired if he could have the pleasure of bringing her a glass of water, lemonade, or anything else.
But she politely declined all refreshment.