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It was an honest face, ruddy with wind and sun and thatched with hair which his mislikers called red but his friends golden. The girl seemed to have had her say. She turned wearily aside, and drew the chain between her young lips with a gesture of despair. "Since when have you become Burgundian, Catherine?" the young man asked timidly.
He had traits that would have fitted him very well for the career he had once contemplated, and he had even made some preliminary studies for the ministry. But the very generosity of his creed perplexed him, his mislikers said; contending that he could never have got on with the mob of the redeemed.
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