yourself. I don’t think I can endure discussing — this, Maid Rosalba, Juxon and so forth, tonight. And I wish to understand you — I know so little about your life, we have confined our talk so much to subjects of common interest. Do you understand?” There was a frown on her face, and she was concentrating hard upon carving the ham.
“Why, yes.” Auriol poured out wine for the two of them, and they drank in silence for a while. At first, neither looked at the other, but then Auriol turned his head and watched Meriel as she sipped her wine, scowled, smiled, and poked at the food. Her eyes were not on him.
He wondered how he could ever have truly supposed she was a man. Though she tried to shave, her complexion betrayed her, and so did the slimness of her wrists, the size of her feet, her long neck, and her arched forehead. Her voice, though deep for a woman’s, was high for a man’s.
Once, he had thought the Marquis’s face spoilt by its stiff and watchful expression; but her face was fully alive now, and he could perceive it as it was. The little room’s dull and flickering light made her skin gleam, and cast shadows to show up her high cheekbones and pointed chin, and the set of her not quite human eyes.
Meriel’s eyes were of an unusually pale grey, and they would have been insipid if their irises had not been rimmed with darker colour. As it was they were brilliant, slanting and sharp, and the brows above them were like black antennae, swooping up from her nose towards her red temples. The whole effect, Auriol decided, was of an elf-prince in a story-book and not of a boy, or a woman. Her other features matched those eyes, for though her nose was rather long it was very straight, and had flaring deep-cut nostrils; and her delicately curving mouth was thin and overwide. It was also highly coloured, and that made her look passionate.
Examining Meriel for the first time in the knowledge that she was a woman, Auriol was first impressed by her potential animal beauty. She had features and colouring which, depending on her mood, could make a very unpleasant face one day and a magical one the next. But when he continued to study her, he saw that her looks were on their way to being ruined by over-exertion, insufficient sleep and food, too much brandy, misery and fear.
She was hollow-cheeked, and unhealthily white, and there were dull shadows under her eyes. Soon, he could tell, tiny broken veins would begin to appear on either side of her nose. Above all, she was far too thin, and because of this she could not possibly be as strong as she seemed.
Several times in the past few months he had seen Meriel dismount trembling from one of her powerful horses, looking as though she were about to be sick, seen her staggering round with glazed eyes and ugly face after a night’s hard drinking, and each time he had felt an impulse to prevent the Marquis’s overtaxinghimself again. Now, it was quite understandable that he should have felt like that about Meriel. Now, Meriel was going to grow into real strength, health and beauty, and he would be responsible.
“Well sir, you are looking at me!”
Auriol jumped. “Yes — thinking you might have been a nonpareil, you’ve something more than beauty.”
“Gammon, Wychwood.”
“As it is, you drink too much.”
She was surprised. “Thank you, sir, I will engage myself to drink any man under the table without feeling any the worse.”
“That’s not my meaning. I know you can do that, I’ve seen it. But it is not good for you.”
“Propriety, Wychwood? It ain’t the thing? Do I not conduct myself as a well-bred female should? Is that what you mean?” Meriel lifted her eyebrows.
“Good God, no!” He was quite angry. “I mean you’ll drink yourself to death one of these days — perhaps that’s been your intention.”
“Perhaps it has. Sir, I thought you was to talk with me about yourself. Don’t think I am not devilish obliged to you for your
“Why, yes.” Auriol poured out wine for the two of them, and they drank in silence for a while. At first, neither looked at the other, but then Auriol turned his head and watched Meriel as she sipped her wine, scowled, smiled, and poked at the food. Her eyes were not on him.
He wondered how he could ever have truly supposed she was a man. Though she tried to shave, her complexion betrayed her, and so did the slimness of her wrists, the size of her feet, her long neck, and her arched forehead. Her voice, though deep for a woman’s, was high for a man’s.
Once, he had thought the Marquis’s face spoilt by its stiff and watchful expression; but her face was fully alive now, and he could perceive it as it was. The little room’s dull and flickering light made her skin gleam, and cast shadows to show up her high cheekbones and pointed chin, and the set of her not quite human eyes.
Meriel’s eyes were of an unusually pale grey, and they would have been insipid if their irises had not been rimmed with darker colour. As it was they were brilliant, slanting and sharp, and the brows above them were like black antennae, swooping up from her nose towards her red temples. The whole effect, Auriol decided, was of an elf-prince in a story-book and not of a boy, or a woman. Her other features matched those eyes, for though her nose was rather long it was very straight, and had flaring deep-cut nostrils; and her delicately curving mouth was thin and overwide. It was also highly coloured, and that made her look passionate.
Examining Meriel for the first time in the knowledge that she was a woman, Auriol was first impressed by her potential animal beauty. She had features and colouring which, depending on her mood, could make a very unpleasant face one day and a magical one the next. But when he continued to study her, he saw that her looks were on their way to being ruined by over-exertion, insufficient sleep and food, too much brandy, misery and fear.
She was hollow-cheeked, and unhealthily white, and there were dull shadows under her eyes. Soon, he could tell, tiny broken veins would begin to appear on either side of her nose. Above all, she was far too thin, and because of this she could not possibly be as strong as she seemed.
Several times in the past few months he had seen Meriel dismount trembling from one of her powerful horses, looking as though she were about to be sick, seen her staggering round with glazed eyes and ugly face after a night’s hard drinking, and each time he had felt an impulse to prevent the Marquis’s overtaxinghimself again. Now, it was quite understandable that he should have felt like that about Meriel. Now, Meriel was going to grow into real strength, health and beauty, and he would be responsible.
“Well sir, you are looking at me!”
Auriol jumped. “Yes — thinking you might have been a nonpareil, you’ve something more than beauty.”
“Gammon, Wychwood.”
“As it is, you drink too much.”
She was surprised. “Thank you, sir, I will engage myself to drink any man under the table without feeling any the worse.”
“That’s not my meaning. I know you can do that, I’ve seen it. But it is not good for you.”
“Propriety, Wychwood? It ain’t the thing? Do I not conduct myself as a well-bred female should? Is that what you mean?” Meriel lifted her eyebrows.
“Good God, no!” He was quite angry. “I mean you’ll drink yourself to death one of these days — perhaps that’s been your intention.”
“Perhaps it has. Sir, I thought you was to talk with me about yourself. Don’t think I am not devilish obliged to you for your
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