"I value this most of all my collection. I know the lady well. I wouldn't lose it for any amount of money."
My lady arose abruptly and walked to the window, and the hue of her face was the hue of death. Sybilla Silver's glittering eyes went from face to face.
"I reckon I'll be going now," Mr. Parmalee remarked. "The rain seems to hold up a little. I'll be along to-morrow, Sir Everard, to take those views. Much obliged to you for your kindness. Good-day."
He glanced furtively at the stately woman by the window, standing still as if turning to stone. But she neither looked nor moved nor spoke.
CHAPTER XVIII.
IN THE PICTURE-GALLERY.
Mr. Parmalee, true to his promise, presented himself at the earliest admissible hour next day with all the apparatus of his art.
So early was it, indeed, that Sybilla was just pouring out the baronet's first cup of tea, while he leisurely opened the letters the morning mail had brought.
Lady Kingsland complained of a bad headache, her husband said, and would not leave her room until dinner.
Sir Everard made this announcement, quietly opening his letters. Sybilla looked at him with gleaming eyes. The time had come for her to begin to lay her train.