Both paused, looked at each other and listened.
The sound seemed to come from a room on the opposite side of the passage to their own apartment.
“What is that?” inquired Sybil, looking up to her husband’s face.
“It seems to be some woman in distress,” answered Lyon.
“Oh! see what it is, dear, will you?” entreated Sybil.
She was herself so happy, that it was really dreadful to be reminded just then that sorrow should exist in this world; at all.
“Oh, go and see what is the matter. Do, dear,” she insisted, seeing that he hesitated.
“I would do so, dear, in a moment, but it might be indiscreet on my part. The lady may be a party to some little domestic misunderstanding, with which it would be impertinent in any stranger to interfere,” answered the more thoughtful husband.
“A domestic misunderstanding! O, dear Lyon, that such things should be! Fancy you and I having a misunderstanding!” exclaimed Sybil, with a shiver.
“I cannot fancy anything of the sort, my darling; Heaven forbid that I could!” said Lyon, fervently.