“Sibyl, I have something to tell you.”
“What?”
There was a tremulous note in Miss Winstead’s voice which arrested the gay, careless chatter. The child looked at her governess. That deep, comprehensive, strange look visited her eyes. Miss Winstead got up hastily and walked to the window, then she returned to her seat.
“What is it?” said Sibyl, still seated at the tea-table, but turning round and watching her governess.
“It is something that will pain you, dear.”
“Oh!” said Sibyl, “go on, please. Out with it! plump it out! as Gus would say. Be quick. I don’t like to be kept in ’spense.”
“I am afraid, Sibyl, that you will not see your father to-night.”
Sibyl jumped up just as if someone had shot her. She stood quite still for a moment, and a shiver went through her little frame; then she went up to Miss Winstead.
“I can bear it,” she said; “go on. Shall I see father to-morrow?”