Her robe, made by Bessie, was of white wool and hung straight from her shoulders. It had a flat round collar, which Bessie had ornamented with little frills of lace.
With her fair hair tousled, her long dark eyelashes still wet from her tears, she looked like a small angel who had fallen out of Heaven by mistake.
“You are sure there is – no one – there?” Sylvina asked anxiously.
“I promise you the room is empty,” the Marquis answered. “And you know that you can trust me to protect you.”
“I do trust you – Sir Justin,” Sylvina replied breathlessly, “and everything is quite – quite different – now.”
She dropped her eyes for a moment and then she said hesitantly,
“I feel – ashamed of making such a fuss over what must seem to you a very – trivial episode when you are so vitally concerned
