The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. Another picture slid across her vision. He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made no remark. There was no one stirring in the flats. As soon as Blueskin was removed, Wild intimated his intention of visiting the Castle. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. But that's his American education.
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