Lying in Wait

At length the longing was gratified--the torture was over. The guests,
by twos and by fours, by small groups and large parties, left the
supper-room for the saloon, where the musicians struck up a grand march,
and the greater portion of the company formed into a leisurely promenade
as a gentle exercise after eating, and a prudent prelude to more
dancing.

Some among the guests, however, preferred to seat themselves on the
sofas that lined the walls, and to rest.

Among these last was Rosa Blondelle, who sat on a corner sofa, and
sulked and looked sad and sentimental because Lyon Berners had not
spoken to her, or even approached her since he had seen that look on
Sybil's face. To the vain and shallow coquette, it was gall and
bitterness to perceive that Sybil had still the power, of whatever sort,
to keep her own husband and her admirer from her side. So Rosa sat and
sorrowed, or seemed to sorrow, on the corner sofa, from which nobody
invited her to rise, for there was a very general feeling of
disapprobation against the beautiful blonde.

Sybil also sank upon a side seat, where she sat with that same look of
agony turned to marble, on her face. Some one came up and invited her to
join in the promenade. Scarcely recognizing the speaker, or
comprehending what he said, she arose, more like an automaton than a
living woman, and let herself be led away to join the march.

But her looks had now attracted very general attention, and occasioned
much comment. More than one indiscreet friend or acquaintance had
remarked to Mr. Berners: "Mrs. Berners looks quite ill. I fear the fatigue of this masquerade has
been too much for her," or words to that effect.