“None at all, I believe. What does Kotzebue say? ‘To laugh or cry without a reason, is one of the few privileges women have.’ I have no good reason to weep, dear Lyon! I know that I have not. But I am nervous and hysterical, I believe,” she added; for, as before, his tender caresses dispelled her jealousy and restored her trust. With her head resting on his bosom; with his arms around her; with his eyes smiling down upon hers, she could not look in his face and retain her jealous doubts.
“I have no reason in the world for weeping. I am just a nervous, hysterical woman—like the rest! It is no wonder men, who see the weakness of our sex, refuse to trust us with any power,” she added, with a light laugh.
“But I utterly deny this alleged ‘weakness of your sex.’ You bewray yourself and sex by repeating the slander, though even in jest, as I see you are. You are not weak, my Sybil. Nor do you weep without a cause. You have some good and sufficient reason for your tears.”
“Indeed, no; I have none. I am only nervous and hysterical, and thoroughly ashamed of myself for being so,” she answered, very sincerely, for she was really thoroughly ashamed of her late jealousy, and anxious to conceal it from her husband.
He looked at her so inquisitively, not to say so incredulously, that she hastened to add;
“This is really nothing but nervous irritability, dear Lyon. Do not distress yourself about my moods.”
“But I must, my darling. Whether their cause is mental or physical, real or imaginary, I must trouble myself about your tears,” answered Lyon Berners, with grave tenderness.
“Then let it be about my next ones; not these that are past and gone. And now to a pleasant topic. The ball that we are expected to give.”
“Yes, dear, that is your affair. But I am ready to give you any assistance in my power. Your cards, I believe, are all printed?”
“Yes; that was a happy idea to get the cards printed while we stopped in New York.”