“Call my service what you will, dear love! a right or a favor, it is always yours! What, then, is this favor, sweet Sybil?”
“That you will give me a perfect carte blanche in my manner of dealing with this poor little lady, even though my manner should seem foolish or extravagant.”
At these words from his ardent, generous, romantic wife, Lyon Berners looked very grave. What, indeed might Sybil, with her magnanimity and munificence not think proper to do for this utter stranger—this possible adventuress? Lyon looked very solemn over this proposal from his wife. He hesitated for a moment; but her large, clear, honest eyes were fixed full upon him, waiting for his reply. Could he refuse her request? Did he not owe everything to her, and to that very high-flown spirit of generosity which was not only a fault (if it were a fault) of Sybil, but a trait common to all her race.
“As you will, my darling wife! I should be a cur, and worse than a cur—a thankless wretch—to wish to restrain you in anything!” he answered, sealing his agreement on her velvet lips.
In another minute the landlord re-entered the room.
“Mrs. Blondelle’s thanks and compliments, and she will be very grateful for Mrs. Berners’ visit, as soon as Mrs. Berners pleases to come,” was the message that Mr. Judson brought.
Sybil arose with a smile, kissed her hand playfully to her husband, and passed out of the room.
The landlord went before her, rapped at the opposite door, then opened it, announced the visitor, and closed it behind her.
Sybil advanced a step into the stranger’s apartment, and then paused in involuntary admiration.
She had heard and read of celebrated beauties, whose charms had conquered the wisest statesmen and the bravest warriors, who had governed monarchs and ministers, and raised or ruined kingdoms and empires. And often in poetic fancy she had tried to figure to herself one of these fairy forms and faces. But never, in her most romantic moods, had she imagined a creature so perfectly beautiful as this one that she saw before her.