“He usually does,” replied the rider. “Perhaps, though, I am interrupting you? I see you have a play in your hand.”
“I was looking over a part––but I know it very well,” she added, moving slowly from the border of willows. Leading his horse, he followed.
His features, stern and obdurate in repose, relaxed in severity, while the deep-set blue eyes grew less searching and guarded. This alleviation became him well, a tide of youth softening his expression as a wave smoothes the sands.
“What is the part?”
“Juliana, in ‘The Honeymoon’! It is one of our stock pieces.”
“And you like it?”
“Oh, yes.” Lingering where a bit of sward was set with field flowers.
“And who plays the duke?” he continued.
“Mr. O’Flariaty,” she answered, a suggestion of amusement in her glance. Beneath the shading of straight, black brows, her eyes were deceptively dark, until scrutinized closely, they resolved themselves into a clear gray.