Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. She fixed her brilliant eyes upon him. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. “You have dyed your hair and darkened your eyebrows. He had, however, planned brilliant careers for his two sons, and, with a certain human amount of warping and delay, they were pursuing these.
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