Part 24 (2/2)

Only one thing troubles John Burrill, he does not quite understand Sybil; he has ”got the hang,” so he thinks of the other members of the family, but sometimes Sybil's wordless glance operates upon him like a cold shower bath, and Mr. Burrill, like all the ”gutter born,” rather fears a shower bath.

Coa.r.s.e in sense and sentiment, plebeian in body and soul; whatever else Sybil Lamotte's husband may be, let our story develop.

Quitting his place now, he crosses the room, and, taking up a position where his eyes can gloat upon Sybil's face, he rests one elbow upon a mantel, and so, in a comfortable after-dinner att.i.tude, continues his pleasant meditations. Sybil stirs uneasily, but notices his proximity in no other way. Presently her eyes shoot straight past him, and she says to Evan who has also risen, and stands stretching himself, lazily, with his face to the window, and his back toward the a.s.sembly:

”Evan, just hand me that book on the mantel. No, not _that_ one,” as he lays his ready hand on the book nearest him, ”the other.”

”Oh!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es Evan, at the same moment laying hand upon a volume directly underneath John Burrill's elbow. ”Hoist up your arrum, Burrill.

'My lady's up, and wants her wollum.'”

John Burrill's face reddens slowly. He is an Englishman, and sometimes his H's and A's play him sorry tricks, although he has labored hard to Americanize himself, and likes to think that he has succeeded.

”D--n it!” broke out the man, suddenly losing his after dinner calm.

”You might have asked _me_ for the book, Sybil; it was near enough.”

Sybil received the book from Evan's hand, opened it, turned a page or two, and then lifting her eyes to his face, replied in a voice, low, clear, and cutting as the north wind:

”Evan is my slave, Mr. Burrill, _you_--are my lord and master.”

Indescribable contempt shone upon him for a moment from her splendid eyes; then she lowered them, and became, apparently, wholly absorbed in her book.

John Burrill muttered something very low, and probably very ugly, and dropped back into his former att.i.tude; and the others, never by word or glance, noticed this little pa.s.sage at arms. Only Evan returned to the window, and standing there with hands in pockets, glowered down upon the frost-touched rose trees and cl.u.s.tered geraniums, savagely, and long.

Presently, Evan turns from the window, which commands a view of the drive.

”Constance is coming,” he says, addressing Sybil.

She starts up, looking anxious and disturbed; Constance has visited her, and she has driven over once to see Constance; but it has so happened that John Burrill has always been absent; and Sybil has a shuddering horror of this meeting that must be.

The announcement seems to galvanize them all into life. Mr. Lamotte looks up with a gleam of latent antic.i.p.ation in his eyes; Frank smiles his pleasure; and John Burrill steals a deprecatory glance at a mirror, smoothes a wrinkle out of his waistcoat, and outsmiles Frank. Here is another triumph; he is about to be introduced to the richest girl in the country; to meet her on an equal footing, in the character of husband to her dearest friend.

Sybil rises and goes to the window; her pale face flus.h.i.+ng. There is a rolling of wheels, a sound of swift, firm footsteps without, and then the door opens, and Constance is announced.

She follows her name in her usual free, at home fas.h.i.+on, and in a moment is kissing Sybil, shaking hands with Mrs. Lamotte, exchanging smiling salutations with Mr. Lamotte, and gay badinage with Francis. And then, while Sybil still hesitates, Evan comes to the rescue.

With a face of preternatural gravity, he advances, seizes the arm of John Burrill, drags him toward Constance, and says, with elaborate politeness:

”Constance, allow me to present my new brother-in-law, Mr. Burrill.

Brother-in-law, this is Miss Wardour, of Wardour Place.”

In spite of themselves, they smile; all except Sybil. John Burrill feels that somehow, he is made ridiculous; that another man in his place would not have been thus introduced. But the eyes of the heiress are upon his face, her daintily gloved hand is proffered him, and she lies in her softest contralto, and unblus.h.i.+ngly:

”I am happy to know you, Mr. Burrill.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”I am happy to know you.”]

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