The reconciliation between the husband and the wife was perfect. And Sybil was so happy that, in the lightness of her heart, she became kinder to Mrs. Blondelle than she had been for many days past.
But as for Mr. Berners, from this time he carefully avoided Mrs. Blondelle. He was as courteous to her as ever, even more courteous than ever when his wife was present, but as soon as Sybil would leave the room, Lyon would make some excuse and follow her. This went on for some days, during which Mrs. Blondelle, being cut short in her platonic flirtation, first wondered and then moped, and then resolved to win back her fancied slave. So she whitened her face with bismuth, to make it look pale and interesting, and she arranged her golden locks and flowing robes with the most studied air of graceful neglect, and she affected silence, pensiveness, and abstraction; and thus she utterly imposed on Lyon Berners, whose sympathies were awakened by her.
“Is it possible, that this pretty little fool can really be pleased with me, and pained by my neglect?” he inquired of himself. And then, human being like, he flattered himself and pitied her.
When this course of conduct had been kept up for a week, it happened one day that Sybil went alone to Blackville to purchase some articles for her approaching mask ball.
Lyon Berners was reclining on the sofa in the drawing-room, with the last number of the “North American Review” in his hands.
Suddenly a soft hand stole into his, and a soft voice murmured in his ear:
“Mr. Berners, how have I been so unhappy as to offend you?”
He looked up in surprise to see Rosa Blondelle standing by him. Her lovely face was very pale, her beautiful hair in disorder, her blue eyes full of tears, her tender voice tremulous with emotion.
As Lyon Berners met her appealing gaze, his heart smote him for his late coldness to her.
“In what manner have I been so unhappy as to offend you, Mr. Berners?” she repeated, tearfully.