"A likeness to something—to someone," the Countess Agatha was saying. "I cannot think where."
"What gossip do ye broach?" asked the Earl.
Susannah bent over her harp, but his mother answered at once.
"We were speaking of your Lavinia," she said. "I could swear I had seen her face before."
"Her type," replied Rose Lyndwood, "is not uncommon. And now will you sing to me, Susannah?"
Marius had lights brought into the library, and seated himself at the great desk between the bookshelves, where my lady had sat that evening when her son had told her of his ruin.
After arranging his paper and sharpening a quill, Marius leant back in the comfortable chair and fell into a happy musing. The future was good to dwell on. The colour crept into his cheeks, and the fire into his eyes, and his boyishly handsome face softened into a dreamy expression.
The candles burning either side the desk showed a pleasant picture of him, elegant, young, wide-browed and fair, with fresh, untaught lips, one hand slackly holding the quill, the other hanging by his side, grey silk and soft lace adorning his slim figure, and his bright hair brushing the dark background of the carved seat.
Suddenly the door opened and shut.
Marius dropped the quill with a start.