— VII —
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak
To let base clouds o’ertake me in my way?
—Sonnets
Campion was shown into the pleasant morning room, bright with daffodils and narcissus, where — as he had earnestly hoped — he found Sybil alone. She was standing by the mantelpiece, and he thought she had been crying, though her eyes were dry as they rested on him for an instant.
He had meant to go to her side at once, but something in her glance checked him, and he stood near the door waiting for her to speak. At last she said, in a rather muffled voice, and without looking at him, “You might have warned me!”
“Of what?” he said.
“That I was like that.”
“But — good heavens! you are not like that. How can you think so?”
She gave a dreary
