There were the usual surprises, the usual gay recognitions.
Among the rest, “Harold the Saxon” and “Edith the Fair” stood confessed as Mr. Berners and Mrs. Blondelle, and much silent surprise as well as much whispered suspicion was the result.
“Is it possible?” muttered one. “I took them for a pair of lovers, they were so much together.”
“I thought they were a newly married pair, who took advantage of their masks to be more together than etiquette allows,” murmured a second.
“I think it was very improper; don’t you?” inquired a third.
“Improper! It was disgraceful,” indignantly answered a fourth, who was no other than Beatrix Pendleton, who now completely understood why it was that Sybil Berners wished to change dresses with her, and also how it was that Sybil’s voice was so hollow, as she spoke in the bed-chamber. “She wished to put on my dress that she might watch them unsuspected, and she was right. She detected them in their sinful trifling, and she was wretched,” said Beatrix to herself. And she looked around to catch a glimpse of Sybil’s face. Sybil was sitting too near her to be seen. Sybil was on the same side with herself, and only two or three seats off. But Beatrix saw Mr. Berners and Mrs. Blondelle sitting immediately opposite to herself, and with a recklessness that savored of fatuity, still carrying on their sentimental flirtation.
Yes! Rosa was still throwing up her eyes to his eyes, and cooing “soft nonsense” in his ears; and Lyon was still dwelling on her glances and her tones with lover-like devotion. Suddenly assuming a gay tone, she asked him:
“Where is our ghastly friend, Death! I do not see him anywhere in the room, and I was so anxious to see him unmasked, that I might find out who he is. Where is he? Do you see him anywhere?”
“No; he is not here yet; but doubtless he will make his appearance presently,” answered Mr. Berners.
“Do you really not know who he is?”