She swept from the room without pausing to listen to the reply of her infuriated sister. CHAPTER VIII. Whether Sydney Lyle was frightened or not by her sister's threat she made no effort to interfere with the marriage, whose appointed day was swiftly approaching. Captain Ernscliffe was a daily visitor at Mr. Lyle's, but Sydney kept her room, or was constantly absorbed in fashionable gayeties, so that she saw but little of Queenie and her lover. But though Sydney had apparently given up the contest, she still preserved a tacit feud with Queenie, refusing to speak to or notice her in any way, and haughtily repelling the questions and remonstrances of the family on the subject. Lord Valentine, the lover of the fair Georgina, at length arrived, and the cards of invitation were issued for the double wedding, which Mrs. Lyle had determined should be quite a brilliant affair. Mrs. Lyle was jubilant over the prospect of marrying off two of her girls so advantageously; and Mr. Lyle, in the midst of his trouble and anxiety over Queenie, was still conscious of a certain sense of relief, for there had been a coldness and estrangement between Queenie and the other members of the family ever since her return, and the atmosphere of home had seemed charged with electricity that threatened at any moment to burst into storm. So that none, except, perhaps, Sydney, were sorry when the eventful night arrived, and the two brides were dressing in their respective rooms, Georgina attended by her mother and Sydney, and the single maid employed by the family waiting on Queenie. The unhappy girl was keenly conscious of the tacit slight, but she did not seem to notice it by word or sign, and after her toilet was completed she sent the maid away, saying that she wished to be alone a little while. "Everything is perfect," she said, surveying herself critically in the mirror. "I am a shade too pale, but then they allow that to brides, I believe. Ah, me!" She walked up and down the room, her small hands locked before her, her beautiful face as white as death, a look of deep unrest in her large, violet eyes. There was a slight tap at the door. She knew it at once for her father's familiar knock. "Enter, papa," she said. He turned the door-handle softly and came in. "I have come to see if the bride looks pretty," he said, veiling his emotion under an affectation of lightness. "You are the only one who cares to know," she answered, with a ring of bitterness in her sweet voice. He stood silent, surveying her with sad yet admiring eyes.