"Oh! well; Sybil gives full vent to her feelings; always did, always
will. My little wife is in many respects a mere child, you know," said
Mr. Berners, tenderly.
"Ah! what a happy child, to have her faults so kindly indulged! I wish I
were that child!" sighed Rosa.
"But why should you wish to be anything else but yourself, being so
charming as you are?" he softly inquired.
"Do you really like me, just as I am, Mr. Berners?" she meekly inquired,
dropping her eyes.
"I really do. I have told you so, Rosa," he answered, approaching her,
and taking her hand.
She sighed and turned away her head; but she left her hand in his clasp.
"Dear Rosa! dear child!" he murmured. "You are not happy."
"No, not happy," she echoed, in a broken voice.
"Dear Rosa! what can I do to make you happy?" he tenderly inquired.
"You? What can you do? Oh!--But I forget myself! I know not what I say!
I must leave you, Mr. Berners!" she exclaimed, in well-acted alarm, as
she snatched her hand from his grasp and fled from the room.
Mr. Berners looked after her, sighed heavily, and then began to walk
thoughtfully up and down the room.
Sybil, from her covert, watched him, and grimly nodded her head. Then
she also slipped away.
An hour later than this, the three, Mr. and Mrs. Berners and Mrs.
Blondelle, were in the drawing-room together.
"You promised me some music," whispered Lyon to Rosa.
"Oh yes; and I will give you some. I am so glad you like my poor songs.
I am so happy when I can do anything at all to please you," she murmured
in reply, lifting her humid blue eyes to his face.
"Everything you do pleases me," he answered, in a very low voice.
Sybil was not standing very near them, yet, with ears sharpened by
jealousy, she overheard the whole of that short colloquy, and--treasured
it up.
Lyon Berners led Rosa Blondelle to the piano, arranged her music-stool,
and placed the music sheets before her. She turned to one of Byron's
impassioned songs, and while he hung enraptured over her, she sang the
words, and ever she raised her eyes to his, to give eloquent expression
and point to the sentiment. And then his eyes answered, if his voice
and his heart did not.
That song was finished, and many more songs were sung, each more
impassioned than the other, until at last, Rosa, growing weary and
becoming slightly hoarse, arose from the piano, and with a
half-suppressed sigh sank into an easy-chair.
Then Sybil--who had watched them through the evening, and noted every
look and word and smile and sigh that passed between them, and who now
found her powers of self-command waning--Sybil, I say, rang for the
bedroom candles. And when they were brought, the little party separated
and retired for the night.