“I don’t know, I’m sure,” I answered, carelessly.
I was glad that Grahame had saved me the trouble of breaking the fact of her existence to Sibella. I was on perfectly good terms with the latter now, and she had quite overcome any scruples about deceiving “poor Lionel.” She had in fact not known her own decadence till I had exploited it for her. She was revenged by my becoming intensely jealous of her. After all, she was meeting daily a great number of men who were willing to dance attendance on her till further notice, and it was impossible and unnatural that she should not find some of them attractive, and having been taught infidelity she might profit only too well by the instruction. I behaved with the greatest discretion. I had no mind to have all my plans upset by a divorce case. Mr. Gascoyne would inevitably have shown me the door, whilst my chances with Miss Gascoyne would have disappeared entirely. No, if I could not give up so delirious a vice as Sibella it behoved me to be very careful, and I think I can flatter myself that Lionel never had the least suspicion. I suppose a guilty wife must always be in dread of disclosing her secret in the hours of sleep, like the lady in the opera, but I don’t think Sibella was sufficiently disturbed by the consciousness of sin to have her very sound slumbers interrupted.
I was jealous of her, and however much I might upbraid myself for such a weakness I was unable to control it. Woman-like, she very soon discovered the fact, and I was somewhat at her mercy.
Sooner or later, she must inevitably learn all about Miss Gascoyne’s existence, and I was glad that Grahame had broken the ice.
“She is very beautiful, is she not?”
“I believe she is considered lovely.”
“Then I can’t understand your not having mentioned her.”
There was a touch of asperity in Sibella’s voice.
“Why should I mention her?”
“Because as far as I can make out you are there constantly.”