Mentally, she could hardly be maturer than the hero-worshipping girl in the procession of Miss Vincent's young seminarists.

Probably so, but she carried magic.

She was of the order of women who walk as the goddesses of old, bearing the gift divine.

And, by the way, she had the step of the goddess.

Weyburn repeated to himself the favourite familiar line expressive of the glorious walk, and accused Lord Ormont of being in cacophonous accordance with the perpetual wrong of circumstance, he her possessor, the sole person of her sphere insensible to the magic she bore! So ran his thought.
The young man chose to conceive that he thought abstractedly.