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Burnett, Frances Hodgson, 1849-1924

"The Head of the House of Coombe"


The music went swinging and singing with notes which were almost a
pain. And he was in the very room with her! Donal! Donal! He had
not known and did not know. He had laughed into her eyes without
knowing--but he had come back. A young man now like all the rest,
but more beautiful. What a laugh, what wonderful shoulders, what
wonderful dancing, how long and strongly smooth and supple he was
in the line fabric of his clothes! Though her mind did not form
these things in words for her, it was only that her eyes saw all
the charm of him from head to foot, and told her that he was only
more than ever what he had been in the miraculous first days.
"Perhaps he will not find out at all," she thought, dancing all
the while and trying to talk as well as think. "I was too little
for him to remember. I only remembered because I had nothing else.
Oh, if he should not find out!" She could not go and tell him.
Even if a girl could do such a thing, perhaps he could not recall
a childish incident of so long ago--such a small, small thing. It
had only been immense to her and so much water had flowed under
his bridge bearing so many flotillas. She had only stood and
looked down at a thin trickling stream which carried no ships at
all. It was very difficult to keep her eyes from stealing--even
darting--about in search of him. His high fair head with the
clipped wave in its hair could be followed if one dared be alert.


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