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"They are so absurdly literal," Lady Caroom sighed, helping herself to an infinitesimal portion of a wonderful savoury. "Don't talk about the place. I know I shall have an attack of nerves there." "Mother always gets nerves if she mayn't talk," Sybil murmured. "You're an undutiful daughter," Lady Caroom declared. "If I do talk I never say anything, so nobody need listen unless they like.
"It will be enchanting though, with the full moon and all. What time?" "Mrs. Sam Wyndham will arrange that," said Sybil. "She is going to matronize us." "How dreadful, to have to be chaperoned!" ejaculated Joe. "But Mrs. Wyndham is very jolly after all, so it does not much matter." "I believe they used to have Germans here without any mothers," remarked Sybil, "but they never do now."
Oh! is this indeed true?" exclaimed Sybil, in deep emotion. "As I am a man of truth, it is, as true as Heaven!" answered Lyon Berners, earnestly. And Sybil turned and threw herself in his arms, weeping for joy. "You shall have no more cause for distress, dear, warm-hearted wife. This lady must find other audience for her music.
But they will listen to you, they will cheer you, but they will never follow you. The dove and the eagle will not mate; the lion and the lamb will not lie down together; and the conquerors will never rescue the conquered." Egremont shook his head. "You still will cherish these phantoms, dear Sybil! and why? They are not visions of delight. Believe me they are as vain as they are distressing.
'Now Massa Parker, said Jack, 'lem'me tell yer jis' how it war 'bout dat wheat. Wen ole Jack com'd down yere, dis place war all growed up in woods. He go ter work, clared up de groun' an' plowed, an' planted, an' riz a crap, an' den wen it war all done, he hadn't a dollar to buy his ole woman a gown; an' he jis' took a bag ob wheat." "What did Mr. Parker say?" asked Sybil.
"Oh, I don't want to go too far," she exclaimed. "Of course there must be some explanation! You quite understand, Sybil! You are not to repeat a single word which I have said to any one." "My dear, I ought to tell Jimmy before it's too late. I am sure only one conclusion is possible. "Jimmy ought to be able to look after himself," urged Carrissima.
He was never quite sure whether people could be serious when they talked such peculiar language, and he observed with surprise that Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham talked to each other in phrases very different from those they used in addressing himself. Sybil had led Joe away to her room.
"And now I have something to reveal," said Sybil, solemnly. "Another morning dream?" inquired Lyon, while Pendleton looked up with interest. "No; a reality a ghastly, horrible reality," she answered. And while both looked at her with strange, deep interest and curiosity, she related her sepulchral experiences of the night.
But it was a wonderful inspiration for a young man fifty years ago to perceive that this could be done and to see the way in which it might be done. Coningsby and Sybil at any rate were active forces in the formation of a definite political programme. And this was a programme which in Parliament and in the country their author himself had created, organised, and led to victory.
But when she reached the house she was still uncertain, and she passed on, intending to turn back and go in as soon as she had made up her mind. In spite of all that she could argue to herself it seemed unsafe unwise, at least. Sybil might laugh at her, after all; Mrs. Wyndham might possibly tell Vancouver instead of telling John.
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