Her head was poised so that the sunlight framed her face, which was rather broad—the brow rather too broad—under the waving light-brown hair, the nose short and indeterminate; cheeks still round from youth, almost waxen-pale, and faintly hollowed under the eyes. It was her lips, dainty yet loving, and above all her grey eyes, big and dreamily alive, which made her a swan. He could not imagine her in nurse's garb.
“This is new, isn't it, Nollie?”
“Cyril Morland's sisters are both out; and he'll be going soon. Everybody goes.”
“Gratian hasn't got out yet: It takes a long time to get trained.”
“I know; all the more reason to begin.”
She got up, looked at him, looked at her hands, seemed about to speak, but did not. A little colour had come into her cheeks. Then, obviously making conversation, she asked:
“Are you going to church? It's worth anything to hear Uncle Bob read the Lessons, especially when he loses his place. No; you're not to put on your long coat till just before church time. I won't have it!”
Obediently Pierson resigned his long coat.
“Now, you see, you can have my rose. Your nose is better!” She kissed his nose, and transferred her rose to the buttonhole of his short coat. “That's all. Come along!” And with her arm through his, they went down. But he knew she had come to say something which she had not said.
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