Evander, watching her fair, lowered face under its crown of dark hair, thought of all that Imogen might mean, or Rosalind or Juliet, did each of these dear ones show on the stage like this lady. He gave the odd thought form in speech.
“It is strange,” he said, almost to himself, “that a Cavalier world is content without women players.”
Brilliana lifted her face from the book, and there was a look of astonishment and even of pain upon it.
“Oh, that is quite another matter,” she said, quickly. “That could never come to pass.”
Evander’s Puritanism, recalled to recollection of itself, felt compelled to assent.
“I trust not,” he said, gravely. He was looking at Brilliana with eyes that were honestly admiring. She rose from her seat.
“I must dismiss you now,” she said, “for I have much to do ere dinner. You will dine with me, I pray.”
Evander made her a not uncourtly bow.
“If I be not unwelcome,” he suggested.
Brilliana shook her head very positively.