Page:Once a Week Volume 8.djvu/80

72 all the impression it made upon Miss Hautley. The preparations for the gathering went on quickly, the invitations had gone out, and Deerham’s head was turned. Those who did not get invitations were ready to swallow up those who did. Miss Hautley was as exclusive as ever proud old Sir Rufus had been, and many were left out who thought they might have been invited. Amongst others, the Miss Wests thought so, especially as one card had gone to their house—for Mr. Jan Verner.

Two cards had been left at Deerham Court. For Lady and Miss Verner: for Mr. and Mrs. Verner. By some strange oversight, Miss Tempest was overlooked. That it was a simple oversight, there was no doubt; and so it turned out to be. For, after the fête was over, reserved old Miss Hautley condescended to explain that it was, and to apologise; but this is dating forward. It was not known to be an oversight when the cards arrived, and Lady Verner felt inclined to resent it. She hesitated whether to treat it resentfully and stay away herself; or to take no notice of it, farther than by conveying Lucy to the Hall in place of Decima.

Lucy laughed. She did not seem to care at all for the omission: but, as to going without the invitation, or in anybody’s place, she would not hear of it.

“Decima will not mind staying at home,” said Lady Verner. “She never cares to go out. You will not care to go, will you, Decima?”

An unwonted flush of crimson rose to Decima’s usually calm face.

“I should like to go to this, mamma; as Miss Hautley has asked me.”

“Like to go to it!” repeated Lady Verner. “Are you growing capricious, Decima? You generally profess to ‘like’ to stay at home.”

“I would rather go this time, if you have no objection,” was the quiet answer of Decima.

“Dear Lady Verner, if Decima remained at home ever so, I should not go,” interposed Lucy. “Only fancy my intruding there without an invitation! Miss Hautley might order me out again.”

“It is well to make a joke of it, Lucy, when I am vexed,” said Lady Verner. “I daresay it is only a mistake; but I don’t like such mistakes.”

“I daresay it is nothing else,” replied Lucy, laughing. “But, as to making my appearance there under the circumstances, I could not really do it to oblige even you, Lady Verner. And I would just as soon be at home.”

Lady Verner resigned herself to the decision, but she did not lookedlook [sic] pleased.

“It is to be I and Decima, then. Lionel”— glancing across the table at him—“you will accompany me. I cannot go without you.”

It was at the luncheon table they were discussing this: a meal of which Lionel rarely partook; in fact, he was rarely at home to partake of it; but he happened to be there to-day. Sibylla was present. Recovered from the accident—if it may be so called—of the breaking of the blood-vessel, she had appeared to grow stronger and better with the summer weather. Jan knew the improvement was all deceit, and told them so; told her so; that the very greatest caution was necessary, if she would avert a second similar attack; in fact, half the time of Jan’s visits at Deerham Court was spent in enjoining perfect tranquillity on Sibylla.

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 like 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.”

“I fancy that she did not send a refusal. And I feel sure she is thinking of going. You will not judge that I am unwarrantably interfering,” Decima added, in a tone of deprecation. “I would not do such a thing. But I thought it was right to apprise you of this. She is not well enough to go out.”

With a pressure of the hand on his sister’s shoulder, and a few muttered words of dismay, which she did not catch, Lionel sought his wife. No need of questioning, to confirm the truth of what Decima had said: Sibylla was figuring off before the glass, after the manner of her girlish days, with a wreath of white flowers on her head. It was her own sitting-room, the pretty room of the blue and white panels; and the tables and chairs were laden with other wreaths, with various head ornaments. She was trying their different effect, when, on turning round her head as the door opened, she saw it was her husband. His presence did not appear to discompose her, and she continued to place the wreath to her