She would go back to her room at once, and explain the matter of her dress to Eudaldo as best she might.

After all, why should he care what she wore or where she had been, or whether in the Princess's apartments she had for some reason exchanged gowns with Dolores.

Perhaps he would not even notice the dress at all.
She meant to go at once, but she stood quite still, her hands resting on the low sill of the window, while her forehead pressed against the cold round panes of glass.

Something hurt her which she could not understand, as she tried to fancy the two beautiful young beings who were within,--for she knew what beauty they had, and Dolores had described Don John to her as a young god.

His voice came to her like strains of very distant sweet music, that connect themselves to an unknown melody in the fancy of him who faintly hears.