During this time he would often talk verse in his sleep, such as to Lady Joan, at least, sometimes seemed lovely, though she never could get a hold of it, she said; for always, just as she seemed on the point of understanding it, he would cease, and her ears would ache with the silence.
One warm evening, when now a good deal better, and able to sit up a part of the day, Cosmo was lying on the sofa, watching her face as she read.

Through the age-dusted window came the glowing beams of the setting sun, lined and dulled and blotted.

They fell on her hands, and her hands reflected them, in a pale rosy gleam, upon her face.
"How beautiful you are in the red light, Joan!" said Cosmo.
"That's the light, not me," she returned.
"Yes, it IS you.

The red light shows you more as you are.

In the dark even YOU do not look beautiful.