As he turned, the baroness laid her hand on Hedwig's affectionately, as though sympathising with something she supposed to be passing in the girl's mind.

But Hedwig was passive, unless a little shudder at the first touch of the baroness's fingers might pass for a manifestation of feeling.

Hedwig had hitherto liked the baroness, finding in her a woman of a certain artistic sense, combined with a certain originality.

The girl was an absolute contrast to the woman, and admired in her the qualities she thought lacking in herself, though she possessed too much self-respect to attempt to acquire them by imitation.

Hedwig sat like a Scandinavian fairy princess on the summit of a glass hill; her friend roamed through life like a beautiful soft-footed wild animal, rejoicing in the sense of being, and sometimes indulging in a little playful destruction by the way.