The bustle had aroused Sibylla.  She rose to look from the window; saw the carriage depart, saw Catherine come in, saw Lionel walk away towards Deerham.  It was all clear in the moonlight.  Lucy Tempest was looking from the other window.

“What a lovely night it is!” Lucy exclaimed.  “I should not mind a drive of ten miles, such a night as this.”

“And yet they choose to say that going out would hurt me!” spoke Sibylla in a resentful tone.  “They do it on purpose to vex me.”

Lucy chose to ignore the subject; it was not her business to enter into it one way or the other.  She felt that Mrs. Verner had done perfectly right in remaining at home; that her strength would have been found unequal to support the heat and excitement of a ballroom, following on the night air of the transit to it.  Lovely as the night was, it was cold:  for some few evenings past the gardeners had complained of frost.

Lucy drew from the window with a half sigh; it seemed almost a pity to shut out that pleasant moonlight:  turned and stirred the fire into a blaze.  Sibylla’s chilly nature caused them to enter upon evening fires before other people thought of them.

“Shall I ring for lights, Mrs. Verner?”

“I suppose it’s time, and past time,” was Sibylla’s answer.  “I must have been asleep ever so long.”

Catherine brought them in.  The man-servant had gone in attendance on his mistress.  The moderate household of Lady Verner consisted now but of four domestics; Therese, Catherine, the cook, and the man.

“Shall I bring tea in, Miss Lucy?” asked Catherine.

Lucy turned her eyes on Sibylla.  “Would you like tea now, Mrs. Verner?”

“No,” answered Sibylla.  “Not yet.”

She left the room as she spoke.  Catherine, who had been lowering the curtains, followed next.  Lucy drew a chair to the fire, sat down and fell into a reverie.

She was aroused by the door opening again.  It proved to be Catherine with the tea-things.  “I thought I’d bring them in, and then they’ll be ready,” remarked she.  “You can please to ring, miss, when you want the urn.”

Lucy simply nodded, and Catherine returned to the kitchen, to enjoy a social tete-a-tete supper with the cook.  Mademoiselle Therese, taking advantage of her mistress’s absence, had gone out for the rest of the evening.  The two servants sat on and chatted together:  so long, that Catherine openly wondered at the urn’s not being called for.

“They must both have gone to sleep, I should think,” quoth she.  “Miss Lucy over the fire in the sitting-room, and Mr. Lionel’s wife over hers, upstairs.  I have not heard her come down——­”

Catherine stopped.  The cook had started up, her eyes fixed on the doorway.  Catherine, whose back was towards it, hastily turned; and an involuntary exclamation broke from her lips.