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She had thought to wear it now, since she must look more the demoiselle. She is no more English than that set of beggars over there. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. "I never wear false whiskers," went on O'Higgins. And at the thought of that other lover—he was convinced that that beloved person was a lover, and she found herself unable to say a word to explain to him that this other person, the person she loved, did not even know of her love—Ramage grew angry and savage once more, and returned suddenly to gibe and insult.
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