Her maid came, announcing luncheon, but she would have none of it, nor any other offered office, including a bath and a house gown.
"You go away somewhere, Bowles," she said, "and please, don't come near me, and don't let anybody come anywhere in my distant vicinity, because I am v-very unhappy, Bowles, and deserve to be--and I--I desire to be alone with c-conscience."
"But, Miss Sybilla----"
"No, no, no! I don't even wish to hear your voice--or anybody's. I don't wish to hear a single human sound of any description. I--what is that scraping noise in the library?"
"A man, Miss Sybilla----"
"A man! W-what's his name?"
"I don't know, miss. He's a workman--a paper hanger."
"Oh!"
"Did you wish me to ask him to stop scraping, miss?"
Sybilla laughed: "No, thank you." And she continued, amused at herself after her maid had withdrawn, strolling about the gymnasium, making passes with her foil at ring, bar, and punching bag. Her anxiety, too, was subsiding. The young have no very great capacity for continued anxiety. Besides, the first healthy hint of incredulity was already creeping in. And as she strolled about, swishing her foil, she mused aloud at her ease: