I noticed her face, and I am quite certain.

She has a secret, and above all a secret from you." Marcella looked disturbed for a moment, then she laughed.
"Oh, no!" she said, with a little superior air.

"I assure you I know her better than you." Wharton said no more.
"Marcella!" called a distant voice from the hall.
The girl gathered up her white skirts and her flowers in haste.
"Good-night!" "Good-night! I shall hear you come home and wonder how you have sped.
One word, if I may! Take your _role_ and play it.

There is nothing subjects dislike so much as to see royalty decline its part." She laughed, blushed, a little proudly and uncertainly, and went without reply.

As she shut the door behind her, a sudden flatness fell upon her.
She walked through the dark Stone Parlour outside, seeing still the firmly-knit lightly-made figure--boyish, middle-sized, yet never insignificant--the tumbled waves of fair hair, the eyes so keenly blue, the face with its sharp mocking lines, its powers of sudden charm.