As he entered the room, Elizabeth rose
from her chair.
She stood there waiting for his orders, or his report--her quiet
eyes upon him.
He told himself not to be a fool, and throwing away his cigarette,
he walked up to her, and said in a tone of bravado:
'Well, the barricades are up!'
CHAPTER VIII
The Squire having shot his bolt, looked anxiously for the effect of
it.
Elizabeth, apparently, took it calmly. She was standing with one
hand on the table behind her, and the autumn sun streaming in
through the western windows caught the little golden curls on her
temples, and the one or two small adornments that she habitually
wore, especially a Greek coin--a gold stater--hanging on a slender
chain round her neck. In the Squire's eyes, the stately figure in
plain black, with the brilliant head and hands, had in some way
gathered into itself the significance of the library. All the
background of books, with its pale and yet rich harmony of tone, the
glass cases with their bronzes and terra-cottas, the statues, the
papers on the table, the few flowers that were never wanting to
Elizabeth's corner, the taste with which the furniture had been
re-arranged, the general elegance and refinement of the big room in
fact, since Elizabeth had reduced it from chaos to order, were now
related to her rather than to him.
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