Sibylla liked
morning concerts uncommonly, nearly as much as Master Cheese liked
tarts; she liked anything that afforded an apology for dress and
display.
"Mind, Lionel, you _promise_ to take me," she reiterated.
"Yes. Provided you feel equal to going."
Sibylla took breakfast in her own room, according to custom. Formerly,
she had done so through idleness: now, she was really not well enough to
rise early. Lionel, when he joined the family breakfast table, announced
the news; announced it in his own characteristic manner.
"Sibylla thinks, after all, that she will be better at home this
evening," he said. "I am glad she has so decided it."
"Her senses have come to her, have they?" remarked Lady Verner.
He made no reply. He never did make a reply to any shaft lanced by Lady
Verner at his wife. My lady was sparing of her shafts in a general way
since they had resided with her, but she did throw one out now and then.
"You will go with me then, Lionel?"
He shook his head, telling his mother she must excuse him: it was not
his intention to be present.
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