He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. And instead he found her playing the great lady, and playing it well. Something to tell you. "Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly.
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