Peering through the opening, Jack watched Winefred's face as he had never before been able to observe it. He wondered why she was there, so manifest was it that the entertainment afforded her no pleasure.
Others wondered as well as he. A couple was standing outside, leaning against the door, in the shadow of which he was concealed.
'Do y' mark her, Joe?' asked the girl.
'Yes, I do, Bessie. She is tart as a green gooseberry, and will curdle Mrs. Jose's milk.'
'Why has she come, Joe? I can tell you. To outflounce us girls, and to make mock at you lads. She thinks herself in her finery as high as the clouds above us.'
'She is vastly pretty,' said Joe.
'Oh! if you think so, go and ask her to dance.'
Jack did not remove his eyes from her.
She certainly was pretty. She was more than pretty—most of the girls present were that—but she was above them in beauty as she transcended them in dress. The brow, broad and intelligent, was lighted by the candles above, and set off by her profuse dark hair. Her eyes were lowered, and the long lashes swept her cheek. The face was long, but formed an oval, and the chin, if pointed, was not too sharp. The delicate, sinuous lips would have made the mouth delicious but for the expression of bitterness that compressed them.
There was no brightness, not the suspicion of a smile, in her face, more than in that of a corpse.