But she was so obstinate! She would not keep herself quiet; she would go out; she would wear those thin summer dresses, low, in the evening. She is wearing a delicate muslin now, as she sits by Lady Verner, and her blue eyes are suspiciously bright, and her cheeks are suspiciously hectic, and the old laboured breath can be seen through the muslin moving her chest up and down, as it used to be seen—a lovely vision still, with her golden hair clustering about her; but her hands are hot and trembling, and her frame is painfully thin. Certainly she does not look fit to enter upon evening gaiety, and Lady Verner in addressing her son, "You will go with me, Lionel," proved that she never so much as cast a thought to the improbability that Sibylla would venture thither.
"If—you—particularly wish it, mother," was Lionel's reply, spoken with hesitation.
"Do you not wish to go?" rejoined Lady Verner.
"I would very much prefer not," he replied.
"Nonsense, Lionel! I don't think you have gone out once since you left Verner's Pride. Staying at home won't mend matters. I wish you to go with me; I shall make a point of it."
Lady Verner spoke with some irritation, and Lionel said no more. He supposed he must acquiesce.
It was no long-timed invitation of weeks. The cards arrived on the Monday, and the fête was for the following Thursday. Lionel thought no more about it; he was not as the ladies, whose toilettes would take all of that time to prepare. On the Wednesday, Decima took him aside.
"Lionel, do you know that Mrs. Verner intends to go to-morrow evening?"
Lionel paused; paused from surprise.
"You must be mistaken, Decima. She sent a refusal."