"The cold chaste moon, the queen of heaven's bright isles,,
"At home," returns he. He is gazing out of the window, with his hands clasped behind his back, and does not pay so much attention to her words as is his wont.,
"Except that my hair is rolled up, and is too dark, isn't it? I have read about her, and I once saw a picture of Marguerite in the Gallery in Dublin, and it was very beautiful. I remember it brought tears to my eyes, and Aunt Anastasia said I was too fanciful to be happy. Her story is a very sad one, isn't it?".
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