"
Close to the edge of the Round Pond a swanlike cutter was putting out to
sea; in the wake of this fair creature a tiny scooped-out bit of wood,
with three feathers for masts, bobbed and trembled; and the two small
ragged boys who owned that little galley were stretching bits of branch
out towards her over the bright waters.
Bianca looked, without seeing, at this proof of man's pride in his own
property. A thin gold chain hung round her neck; suddenly she thrust
it into the bosom of her dress. It had broken into two, between her
fingers.
They reached home without another word.
At the door of Hilary's study sat Miranda. The little person answered
his caress by a shiver of her sleek skin, then curled herself down again
on the spot she had already warmed.
"Aren't you coming in with me?" he said.
Miranda did not move.
The reason for her refusal was apparent when Hilary had entered. Close
to the long bookcase, behind the bust of Socrates, stood the little
model. Very still, as if fearing to betray itself by sound or movement,
was her figure in its blue-green frock, and a brimless toque of brown
straw, with two purplish roses squashed together into a band of darker
velvet. Beside those roses a tiny peacock's feather had been slipped
in--unholy little visitor, slanting backward, trying, as it were, to
draw all eyes, yet to escape notice.
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