Lionel was crossing the hall at the moment of their entrance; his horse had just been brought round for him.
To say he was surprised at seeing them there would not be saying enough; he had known nothing of the intended call.

They met face to face.
Sibylla wore a sweeping dress of silk; a fine Indian shawl, the gift of Mrs.Verner, was folded round her, and her golden hair fell beneath her bonnet.

Her eyes fell, also, before the gaze of Lionel.
Never had she looked more beautiful, more attractive; and Lionel felt it.

But, had she been one for whom he had never cared, he could not have shown more courtly indifference.

A moment given to the choking down of his emotion, to the stilling of his beating pulses, and he stood before her calmly self-possessed; holding out his hand, speaking in a low, clear tone.
"Allow me to offer you my good wishes for your welfare, Mrs.
Massingbird." "Thank you; thank you very much," replied Sibylla, dropping his hand, avoiding his eye, and going on to find Mrs.Verner.
"Good-bye, Lionel," said Frederick Massingbird.