"Then I seem to have wasted my time in bringing you that feather," and he pointed towards it.

She was holding it in her open hand, and she drew her hand sharply away, as though she feared for a moment that he meant to rob her of it.
"I am most grateful for it," she returned.
"It's a bit of a muddle, isn't it ?" Willoughby remarked.

"It seems a little rough on Feversham perhaps.

It's a little rough on Jack Durrance, too, when you come to think of it." Then he looked at Ethne.

He noticed her careful handling of the feather; he remembered something of the glowing look with which she had listened to his story, something of the eager tones in which she had put her questions; and he added, "I shouldn't wonder if it was rather rough on you too, Miss Eustace." Ethne did not answer him, and they walked together out of the enclosure towards the spot where Willoughby had moored his boat.