Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. But the lady was not so easily won; and though she did not absolutely reject him, gave him very slight hopes. She was the High Priestess. Wily little devil she is. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper.
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