Behind a Mask quotes

Her eyes were gray, but at that instant they seemed black with some strong emotion of anger, pride, or defiance. A curious smile passed over her face as she bowed, and said in her penetrating voice,

“Thanks. The last scene shall be still better.”

Young Coventry was a cool, indolent man, seldom conscious of any emotion, any passion, pleasurable or otherwise; but at the look, the tone of the governess, he experienced a new sensation, indefinable, yet strong.

“Very neighborly of Lady S. to send the dangerous young lady here, where there are two young gentlemen to be captivated. I wonder why she didn’t keep Sydney after she had caught him,” murmured Coventry to his cousin.

“Because she had the utmost contempt for a titled fool.”

Miss Muir dropped the words almost into his ear, as she bent to take her shawl from the sofa corner.

When alone Miss Muir’s conduct was decidedly peculiar. Her first act was to clench her hands and mutter between her teeth, with passionate force,

“I’ll not fail again if there is power in a woman’s wit and will!”

She stood a moment motionless, with an expression of almost fierce disdain on her face, then shook her clenched hand as if menacing some unseen enemy.

Still sitting on the floor she unbound and removed the long abundant braids from her head, wiped the pink from her face, took out several pearly teeth, and slipping off her dress appeared herself indeed, a haggard, worn, and moody woman of thirty at least.

The metamorphosis was wonderful, but the disguise was more in the expression she assumed than in any art of costume or false adornment.

Now she was alone, and her mobile features settled into their natural expression, weary, hard, bitter. She had been lovely once, happy, innocent, and tender;

Turning, she fixed her eyes on him with a penetrating power that made him shrink as she said slowly,

“Under the ice I see fire, and warn you to beware lest it prove a volcano.”

For a moment he sat dumb, wondering at the insight of the girl; for she was the first to discover the hidden warmth of a nature too proud to confess its tender impulses, or the ambitions that slept till some potent voice awoke them.

“So you won’t be indebted to me for a penny? What a proud woman you are, Miss Muir.”

“I am; it’s a family failing.”

And she gave him a significant glance, which recalled to him the memory of who she was. He understood her feeling, and liked her the better for it, knowing that he would have done the same had he been in her place.

“Why do you do that?” he asked involuntarily.

“Because it is my duty to forget,” was all her answer.

“Can you always forget when it becomes a duty?”

“You are complimentary,” laughed the girl.

“I am a witch, and one day my disguise will drop away and you will see me as I am, old, ugly, bad and lost. Beware of me in time. I’ve warned you. Now love me at your peril.”

Coventry had paused as he spoke, and eyed her with an unquiet look, conscious of some fascination which conquered yet brought no happiness. A feverish yet pleasurable excitement possessed him;

Jean crept into the garden like a guilty thing, trying to hide the satisfaction which struggled with a woman’s natural pity, for so sad an end for this brave young life.

“Why waste tears or feign sorrow when I must be glad?” she muttered, as she paced to and fro along the terrace.

“The poor boy is out of pain, and I am out of danger.”