sees that he could do a lot for you. All the same, that's a pretty gown
you've got on--an awfully pretty gown," he repeated with emphasis,
adding immediately afterwards in another tone--"Lisa!--I say!--you're
not going to wear black any more?"

"No"--said Lady Merton, "no--I am not going to wear black any more." The
words came lingeringly out, and as the servant removed her plate,
Elizabeth turned to look out of the window at the endless woods, a
shadow on her beautiful eyes.

She was slenderly made, with a small face and head round which the
abundant hair was very smoothly and closely wound. The hair was of a
delicate brown, the complexion clear, but rather colourless. Among other
young and handsome women, Elizabeth Merton made little effect; like a
fine pencil drawing, she required an attentive eye. The modelling of the
features, of the brow, the cheeks, the throat, was singularly refined,
though without a touch of severity; her hands, with their very long and
slender fingers, conveyed the same impression. Her dress, though dainty,
was simple and inconspicuous, and her movements, light, graceful,
self-controlled, seemed to show a person of equable temperament, without
any strong emotions. In her light cheerfulness, her perpetual interest
in the things about her, she might have reminded a spectator of some of
the smaller sea-birds that flit endlessly from wave to wave, for whom
the business of life appears to be summed up in flitting and poising.

The comparison would have been an inadequate one. But Elizabeth Merton's
secrets were not easily known. She could rave of Canada; she rarely
talked of herself. She had married, at the age of nineteen, a young
Cavalry officer, Sir Francis Merton, who had died of fever within a year
of their wedding, on a small West African expedition for which he had