Weeping bitterly, her face in her hands, she was standing, but her body was bent in grief, and she was all shaken with it, though little sound escaped that lonely passion of pity and heartbreak. Harcourt at once felt that he had invaded holy ground. He gave himself time to notice only that she was tall, cloaked wholly in black—and he turned, or half-turned, to retire.
But in his haste and embarrassment he let his stick fall from his hand; whereat the young woman started, and they looked at each other.
In an instant Harcourt understood that she was the sister of her whose portrait stood on his mantelpiece; and he felt that he had never seen woman so lovely and gentle.
CHAPTER III
VIOLET
She looked at Harcourt with wide eyes, seeming frightened, in suspense, and ready to fly, because he did not know how his eyes devoured her.
“I am sorry—” he began, retiring a step.
“What do you want of me?” she asked, staring fixedly at him.