Zoe was not beautiful, but there was a wondrous charm in her deep brown
eyes and in the expression of her pretty, if irregular, features.
Sometimes her face seemed as small as that of a young child, and alive
with eerie fancies; and always behind her laughter was something which
got into her eyes, giving them a haunting melancholy. She had no signs
of hysteria, though now and then there came heart-breaking little
outbursts of emotion which had this proof that they were not hysteria--
they were never seen by others. They were sacred to her own solitude.
While in Montreal she had tasted for the first time the joys of the
theatre, and had then secretly read numbers of plays, which she bought
from an old bookseller, who was wise enough to choose them for her. She
became possessed of a love for the stage even before Gerard Fynes came
upon the scene. The beginning of it all was the rumour that her mother
was now an actress; yet the root-cause was far down in a temperament
responsive to all artistic things.
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