"My mother and sister leave before the end of the year, Sybilla. Will you desert me, too?"
"Never, Sir Everard! I will never desert you while you wish me to stay."
"I should like it, I confess. It will be horribly dreary for my bride to come home to a house where there is no one to welcome her but the servants. If my mother can spare you, Sybilla, I wish you would stay."
As once before, she lifted his hand to her lips.
"Sybilla belongs to you, Sir Everard! Command, and she will obey."
He laughed, but he also reddened as he drew his hand hastily away.
"Oh, pooh! don't be melodramatic! There is no question of commanding and obeying about it. You are free to do as you please. If you choose to remain, give Lady Kingsland proper notice. If you prefer to go, why, I must look out for some one to take your place. Don't be in a hurry—there's plenty of time to decide."
He swung on and left her.
"Plenty of time to decide," she repeated, with a smile curling her thin lips. "My good Sir Everard, I decided long ago! Marry your fox-hunting bride—bring her home. Sybilla Silver will be here to welcome her, never fear!"
The baronet stayed three weeks in England—then returned impatiently to Paris. Of course the rapture of the meeting more than repaid the pain of parting.