“As you please, my dear, wayward Sybil. But when do you propose this affair to come off?”
“On All-Hallow Eve.”
“Good. All-Hallow Eve is the proper sort of an eldritch night for such a piece of diablerie as a mask ball to be held,” laughed Mr. Berners.
“But now, seriously, Lyon; do you really dislike or disapprove this plan? If you do I will willingly modify it according to your judgment; or even, if you wish it, I will willingly drop it altogether,” she said, very earnestly.
“My dear impetuous Sybil, you should make no such sacrifices, even if I did dislike or disapprove your plan; but I do neither. I dare say I shall enjoy the masquerade as much as any one; and that it will be very popular and quite a success. But now, dear Sybil, let me hear what fantastic shape you will assume at this witches’ dance?”
“I will tell you, Lyon; but mind, you must keep the secret.”
“Oh! inviolably,” said Mr. Berners, with a laugh.
“Oh! I mean only that you must not speak of it outside the family, because, you see, it is such a perfectly original character that if it was known it would be taken by half a dozen people at least.”
“I will never breathe its name,” laughed Lyon.
“Then the character I shall take is—”