The venture in flattery was perhaps more suggestive than Igraine could have wished.
“You must waste much time, my lord.”
“But little.”
“I am sorry I have so poor a wardrobe, that you have fathomed the whole of it in less than a month. To tell the truth, when I came into Winchester, I had only one gown, and that rather ragged.”
“They did not give you green and gold at Avangel?”
“No, the good women wore grey to typify the colour of their souls.”
Gorlois laughed in his keen quiet fashion. The girl’s eyes were wonderfully bright and subtle, and he had never seen such a splendour of hair. He longed to finger it, to let it run through his fingers like amber wine. Leaning one elbow on the stone back of the seat, and his head on his palm, he watched the silver comb rippling at its work, with a kind of dreamy complacency.
The girl’s voice broke out suddenly upon him.
“My lord?”
Gorlois attended.