A foreshadowing of the truth came across her then. She grew deadly pale, and put up her hands, as if to ward off the blow. "Oh, Lionel! don't say it! don't say it!" she implored. "I never can receive her."
"Yes, you will, mother," he whispered, his own face pale too, his tone one of painful entreaty. "You will receive her for my sake."
"Is it—she?"
The aversion with which the name was avoided was unmistakable. Lionel only nodded a grave affirmative.
"Have you engaged yourself to her?"
"I have. Last night."
"Were you mad?" she asked in a whisper.
"Stay, mother. When you were speaking against Sibylla at breakfast, I refrained from interference, for you did not then know that defence of her was my duty. Will you forgive me for reminding you that I cannot permit it to be continued, even by you?"
"But do you forget that it is not a respectable alliance for you?" resumed Lady Verner. "No, not a respectable—"
"I cannot listen to this; I pray you cease!" he broke forth, a blaze of anger lighting his face. "Have you forgotten of whom you are speaking, mother? Not respectable!"