There they stood before each other, neither speaking for some moments.
Lionel's very lips were livid; and _her_ rich wax-work colour went and came, and her clear blue eyes fell under the stern gaze of his.
"Is this true, which I have been obliged to hear ?" was his first question.
She knew that she had acted ill.

She knew that Lionel Verner deserved to have a better part played by him.

She had always looked up to him--all the Wests had--as one superior in birth, rank, and station to herself.
Altogether, the moment brought to her a great amount of shame and confusion.
"Answer me one question; I demand it of you," exclaimed Lionel.

"Have you ever mistaken my sentiments towards you in the least degree ?" "Have--I--I don't know," she faltered.
"No equivocation," burst Lionel.

"Have you not _known_ that I loved you?
that I was only waiting my uncle's death to make you my wife ?--Heaven forgive me that I should thus speak as though I had built upon it!" Sibylla let fall some tears.
"Which have you loved ?--all this while! Me ?--or him ?" "Oh! don't speak to me like that," sobbed Sibylla.