The slim lines of her figure had the lissome development of a girl who spent her days out of doors.
She stood there motionless, apparently lost in meditation, indifferent to the bitter wind which was driving across the moors with insistent force.
"Put this on, Sisily." Sisily turned with a start.

Her aunt, a large stout woman muffled in heavy furs, was standing behind her, holding a wrap in her hand.
"You'll catch your death of cold, child, standing here in this thin dress," the elder lady continued.

"Why didn't you wear your coat?
You'd be warmer sitting in the car.

It's really very selfish of Robert, keeping us all waiting in this dreadful wind!" She shivered, and drew her furs closer.

"Why doesn't he come away?
As if it could do any good!" As she spoke the tall form of Robert Turold was seen approaching through the rank grass and mouldering tombstones with a quick stride.