It seemed
that she could even command the colour upon her cheeks. Thus they both
wore brave faces as she had bidden. They even danced together. But all
the while Ethne was conscious that she was holding up a great load of
pain and humiliation which would presently crush her, and Feversham felt
those four feathers burning at his breast. It was wonderful to him that
the whole company did not know of them. He never approached a partner
without the notion that she would turn upon him with the contemptuous
name which was his upon her tongue. Yet he felt no fear on that account.
He would not indeed have cared had it happened, had the word been
spoken. He had lost Ethne. He watched her and looked in vain amongst
her guests, as indeed he surely knew he would, for a fit comparison.
There were women, pretty, graceful, even beautiful, but Ethne stood
apart by the particular character of her beauty. The broad forehead, the
perfect curve of the eyebrows, the great steady, clear, grey eyes, the
full red lips which could dimple into tenderness and shut level with
resolution, and the royal grace of her carriage, marked her out to
Feversham's thinking, and would do so in any company.
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