Lady Verner’s carriage—­the most fascinating carriage in all Deerham, with its blue and silver appointments, its fine horses, all the present of Lionel—­conveyed them to the house of Dr. West.  Lady Verner would not have gone otherwise than in state, for untold gold.  Distance allowing her, for she was not a good walker, she would have gone on foot, without attendants, to visit the Countess of Elmsley and Lady Mary; but not Sibylla.  You can understand the distinction.

They arrived at an inopportune moment, for Lionel was there.  At least, Lionel thought it inopportune.  On leaving his mother’s house he had gone to Sibylla’s.  And, however gratified he may have been by the speedy compliance of his mother with his request, he had very much preferred not to be present himself, if the call comprised, as he saw it did comprise, Lucy Tempest.

Sibylla was at home alone; her sisters were out.  She had been leaning back in an invalid chair, listening to the words of Lionel, when a servant opened the door and announced Lady Verner.  Neither had observed the stopping of the carriage.  Carriages often stopped at the house, and visitors entered it; but they were most frequently professional visits, concerning nobody but Jan.  Lady Verner swept in.  For her very life she could not avoid showing hauteur in that moment.  Sibylla sprung from her chair, and stood with a changing face.

Lionel’s countenance, too, was changing.  It was the first time he had met Lucy face to face in the close proximity necessitated by a room.  He had studiously striven not to meet her, and had contrived to succeed.  Did he call himself a coward for it?  But where was the help?

A few moments given to greeting, to the assuming of seats, and they were settled down.  Lady Verner and Decima on a sofa opposite Sibylla; Lucy in a low chair—­what she was sure to look out for; Lionel leaning against the mantel-piece—­as favourite a position of his, as a low seat was of Lucy’s.  Sibylla had been startled by their entrance, and her chest was beating.  Her brilliant colour went and came, her hand was pressed upon her bosom, as if to still it, and she lay rather back in her chair for support.  She had not assumed a widow’s cap since her arrival, and her pretty hair fell around her in a shower of gold.  In spite of Lady Verner’s prejudices, she could not help thinking her very beautiful; but she looked suspiciously delicate.

“It is very kind of you to come to see me,” said Sibylla, speaking timidly across to Lady Verner.

Lady Verner slightly bowed.  “You do not look strong,” she observed to Sibylla, speaking in the moment’s impulse.  “Are you well?”

“I am pretty well.  I am not strong.  Since I returned home, a little thing seems to flutter me, as your entrance has done now.  Lionel had just told me you would call upon me, he thought.  I was so glad to hear it!  Somehow I had feared you would not.”

Candid, at any rate; and Lady Verner did not disapprove the apparent feeling that prompted it; but how her heart revolted at hearing those lips pronounce “Lionel” familiarly, she alone could tell.  Again came the offence.