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Published online by Cambridge University Press: 01 March 2024
The morrow rose, as bright, as beautiful, as it was possible for day to be, and the eager followers of the sports of the turf looked out with gladness. Lady Darlies declared it was the most gratifying spectacle, the most enchanting sight. And having provided herself with one female companion and two males, set off in her new open carriage, perfectly contented with herself, her equipage and the admiring crowd. Many, tempted by the day, the assurances of their companions, as to its being the best worth seeing of any race that had ever been run in any part of the United Kingdom, and their dislike to be left to comparative loneliness in a large country house, followed her example. And except a few fat men, old dowagers and one old maid who had, after being half promised a place in somebody's carriage, been obliged to give it up to a Colonel Worthington and who sighed in a corner, Everard and Madame de Calzean found themselves almost alone. Why, he knew not, but Mr Price certainly stood in awe of his new acquaintance. She seemed so different from what he really believed her to be. She was not stupid, for she conversed well and fluently on most subjects, but all she said or did was said or done like a beautiful automaton.
“Surely,” thought her companion, as he looked at her, as she bent over a small picture she was finishing, “she must be acting. Where is the gaiety, the enthusiasm, the playful talent, Honorine used to describe to me? Where is even the expression which Madame de Valcone's picture of her throws into those dark passionless eyes?” He had just finished his reflection, when Madame de Calzean looked up from her drawing.
“You are meditating?” said she, in her slow calm voice.
“Yes.”
“And may one ask the subject of your reverie?”
“I was thinking,” said Everard smiling, “what could be the subject of that happy picture over which you have spent so many hours?”
“It is just finished. Would you like to look at it? It is a present I intend for Honorine de Valcone.” Everard eagerly availed himself of the invitation and placed himself opposite the picture. It was beautifully finished. Perhaps prejudice made him think the design French and complicated.
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