Cruel As The Grave

"I will never breathe its name," laughed Lyon.

"Then the character I shall take is--"

"What?"

"Fire!"

"Fire?"

"Fire."

"Ha! ha! ha! it will suit you admirably, my little Berners of the

Burning Heart. But how on earth will you contrive to costume and

impersonate the consuming element?"

"It would take me a week to tell you, and then you would not understand.

But you shall see."

"I hope you will not set all your company in a flame; that is all, my

dear."

"But I shall try to do so. And now, dear Lyon, if you wish to help me,

sit down at my writing-table there, and fill out and direct the

invitations, you will find the visiting list, printed cards, and blank

envelopes all in a parcel in the desk."

"But is it not early to send them?" inquired Mr. Berners, as he seated

himself at the table.

"No; not for a mask ball. This is the tenth. The ball is to come off on

the thirty-first. If the cards are sent to-day, our friends will have

just three weeks to get ready, which will not be too long to select

their characters and contrive their costumes."

"I suppose you know best, my dear," said Mr. Berners, as he referred to

the visiting list and began to prepare for his task.

Sybil went to her dressing-glass and began to arrange her somewhat

disordered hair. While she stood there, she suddenly inquired: "Where did you leave Mrs. Blondelle?"

"I did not leave her anywhere. She left me. She excused herself, and

went--to her room, I suppose."

"Ah!" sighed Sybil. She did not like this answer. She was sorry to know

that her husband had remained with the beauty until the beauty had left

him. She tortured herself with the thought that, if Mrs. Blondelle had

remained in the morning room, Mr. Berners would have been there at her

side.

So morbid was now the condition of Sybil that a word was enough to

arouse her jealousy, a caress sufficient to allay it. She would not

leave Lyon to himself, she thought. He should know the difference

between his wife and his guest in that particular. So the guest, being

now in her own room, where her hostess heartily wished she might spend

the greater portion of the day, Sybil felt free from the pressing duties

of hospitality, at least for the time being; and so she drew a chair to

the corner of the same table occupied by her husband, and she began to

help him in his task by directing the envelopes, while he filled out

the cards. Thus sitting together, working in unison, and conversing

occasionally, they passed the morning--a happier morning than Sybil had

seen for several days.

But of course they met their guest again at dinner, where Rosa Blondelle

was as fascinating and Lyon Berners as much fascinated as before, and

where Sybil's mental malady returned in full force.