"I know I said it. I saw how cross-grained you were going to be over it, and that's why I said it to you. I accepted the invitation."
"But, my dear, you must not go!"
Sibylla was flinging off the white wreath, and taking up a pink one, which she began to fix in her hair. She did not answer.
"After all," deliberated she, "I have a great mind to wear pearls. Not a wreath at all."
"Sibylla! I say you must not go."
"Now, Lionel, it is of no use your talking. I have made up my mind to go; I did at first; and go I shall. Don't you remember," she continued, turning her face from the glass towards him, her careless tone changing for one of sharpness, "that papa said I must not be crossed?"
"But you are not in a state to go out," remonstrated Lionel. "Jan forbids it utterly."
"Jan? Jan's in your pay. He says what you tell him to say."
"Child, how can you give utterance to such things?" he asked in a tone of emotion. "When Jan interdicts your going out he has only your welfare at heart. And you know that I have it. Evening air and scenes of excitement are equally pernicious for you."
"I shall go," returned Sibylla. "You are going, you know," she resentfully said. "I wonder you don't propose that I shall be locked up at home in a dark closet, while you are there, dancing."