"Improper! It was disgraceful," indignantly answered a fourth, who was no other than Beatrix Pendleton, who now completely understood why it was that Sybil Berners wished to change dresses with her, and also how it was that Sybil's voice was so hollow, as she spoke in the bed-chamber. "She wished to put on my dress that she might watch them unsuspected, and she was right. She detected them in their sinful trifling, and she was wretched," said Beatrix to herself. And she looked around to catch a glimpse of Sybil's face. Sybil was sitting too near her to be seen. Sybil was on the same side with herself, and only two or three seats off. But Beatrix saw Mr. Berners and Mrs. Blondelle sitting immediately opposite to herself, and with a recklessness that savored of fatuity, still carrying on their sentimental flirtation. Yes! Rosa was still throwing up her eyes to his eyes, and cooing "soft nonsense" in his ears; and Lyon was still dwelling on her glances and her tones with lover-like devotion. Suddenly assuming a gay tone, she asked him: "Where is our ghastly friend, Death! I do not see him anywhere in the room, and I was _so_ anxious to see him unmasked, that I might find out who he is. Where is he? Do you see him anywhere?" "No; he is not here yet; but doubtless he will make his appearance presently," answered Mr. Berners. "Do you really not know who he is?" "Not in the least; nor does any one else here know," replied Mr. Berners. Suddenly Rosa looked up, started, and with a suppressed cry, muttered: "Good heavens! Look at Sybil!" Mr. Berners followed the direction of her gaze across the table, and even he started at the sight of Sybil's face. That face wore a look of anguish, despair, and desperation that seemed fixed there forever; for in all its agony of passion that tortured and writhen face was as still, cold, hard, and lifeless as marble, except that from its eyes streamed glances as from orbs of fire. Mr. Berners suddenly turned his eyes from her, and looked up and down the table. Fortunately now every one was too busily engaged in eating, drinking, laughing, talking, flirting, and gossiping to attend to the looks of their hostess. "I must go and speak to her," said Lyon Berners in extreme anxiety and displeasure, as he left Rosa's side, and made his way around the table, until he stood immediately behind his wife. He touched her on her shoulder to attract her attention. She started as if an adder had stung her, but she never looked around. "Sybil, my dearest, you are ill. What is the matter?" he whispered, trying to avoid being overheard by others. "Do NOT touch me! _Do not_ speak to me, unless you wish to see me drop dead or go mad before you!" she answered in tones so full of suppressed energy, that he impulsively drew back. He waited for a moment in dire dread lest the assembled company should see the state of his wife, and then he ventured to renew his efforts.