Her voice was calm and self-contained as ever—the unassailable dignity just as usual. The hall was full of officers, standing about the fire and drinking tea, and Eleonora’s well-worn armour was instantly on, as her sister asked where she had been, since others had walked home and had not overtaken her.
“I came by the lower road,” said she.
“Indeed! I never saw you.”
“I saw you pass—or rather heard you.”
“And did not let me pick you up! Did you hide yourself?”
“It was much warmer to walk.”
“So you seem to have found it, to judge by your cheeks,” said Lady Tyrrell.
And Mr. Strangeways and one or two others could not restrain a murmured exclamation on the exceeding loveliness of that deepened colour and brightened eye; but Lenore only knew that an equally bright and keen eye was watching her heedfully, and knew that she was suspected, if not read through and through.
She mingled in the discussion of the skating, with those outward society-senses that she learnt to put on, and escaped as soon as possible to her own room.
Again she almost fell on the ground in her own little oratory chamber, in a tumult of gladness that was almost agony, and fear that was almost joy.