“By being very silent and demure as Janet Foster; or, if need should be, by carrying on your mood of sullenness as Beatrix Pendleton, masked.”
“That will do,” agreed Beatrix, with a smile.
All the while they had been speaking, they had also been taking off their fancy dresses. No time was lost, and the exchange of costume was quickly effected.
“Now,” said Sybil, “another favor.”
“Name it.”
“Let me go down first. Then do you wait ten minutes here before you follow me. And when you enter the room keep away from me, as well as from my husband and my guest.”
“Very well. I will do so. Anything else?”
“Nothing now, thank you,” said Sybil, kissing her hand as she left the room.
And Sybil, dressed now in the plain, close-fitting camlet gown and prim white linen cap, cuffs, and collar of the Puritan maid, and with a pale, young looking mask on her face, reëntered the saloon to try her experiment.
She looked around, and soon saw her husband and her rival sitting side-by-side, on the little retired sofa in the corner. They were absorbed in each other’s attractions, and did not see her. She glided cautiously into a seat near them.