That she must leave the Panelled Parlour at her usual hour, or attract attention by doing that to which her household was unaccustomed, she well knew, her manner of life being ever stately and ceremonious in its regularity¹.  When she dined at home she and Anne partook of their repast together in the large dining-room, the table loaded with silver dishes and massive glittering glass, their powdered, gold-laced lacqueys in attendance, as though a score of guests had shared the meal with them.  Since her lord’s death there had been nights when her ladyship had sat late writing letters and reading documents pertaining² to her estates, the management of which, though in a measure controlled by stewards³ and attorneys, was not left to them, as the business of most great ladies is generally left to others.  All papers were examined by her, all leases and agreements clearly understood before she signed them, and if there were aught unsatisfactory, both stewards and lawyers were called to her presence to explain.  
“Never did I—or any other man—meet with such a head upon a woman’s shoulders,” her attorney said.  And the head steward⁴ of Dunstanwolde and Helversly learned to quake at the sight of her bold handwriting upon the outside of a letter.
 
“Such a lady!” he said—“such a lady!  Lie to her if you can; palter if you know how; try upon her the smallest honest shrewd trick, and see how it fares with you.  Were it not that she is generous as she is piercing of eye, no man could serve her and make an honest living.”
 
She went to her chamber⁵ and was attired⁶ again sumptuously⁷ for dinner.  Before she descended⁸ she dismissed her woman for a space on some errand, and when she was alone, drawing near to her mirror, gazed steadfastly⁹ within it at her face.  When she had read Osmonde’s letter her cheeks had glowed; but when she had come back to earth, and as she had sat under her woman’s hands at her toilette, bit by bit the crimson¹⁰ had died out as she had thought of what was behind her and of what lay before.  The thing was so stiffly rigid¹¹ by this time, and its eyes still stared so.  Never had she needed to put red upon her cheeks before, Nature having stained them with such richness of hue¹²; but as no lady of the day was unprovided with her crimson, there was a little pot among her toilette ornaments¹³ which contained all that any emergency might require.  She opened this small receptacle and took from it the red she for the first time was in want of.
 
“I must not wear a pale face, God knows,” she said, and rubbed the colour on her cheeks with boldness.
 
It would have seemed that she wore her finest crimson when she went forth¹⁴ full dressed from her apartment; little Nero grinned to see her, the lacqueys saying among themselves that his Grace’s courier had surely brought good news, and that they might expect his master soon.  At the dinner-table ’twas Anne who was pale and ate but little, she having put no red upon her cheeks, and having no appetite for what was spread before her.  She looked strangely as though she were withered¹⁵ and shrunken, and her face seemed even wrinkled.  My lady had small leaning towards food, but she sent no food away untouched, forcing herself to eat, and letting not the talk flag—though it was indeed true that ’twas she herself who talked, Mistress Anne speaking rarely; but as it was always her way to be silent, and a listener rather than one who conversed¹⁶, this was not greatly noticeable.
 
Her Ladyship of Dunstanwolde talked of her guests of the afternoon, and was charming and witty¹⁷ in her speech of them; she repeated the mots of the wits, and told some brilliant stories of certain modish¹⁸ ladies and gentlemen of fashion; she had things to say of statesmen and politics, and was sparkling indeed in speaking of the lovely languisher¹⁹ whose little wrist was too delicate and slender to support the loaded whip.  While she talked, Mistress Anne’s soft, dull eyes were fixed²⁰ upon her with a sort of wonder which had some of the quality of bewilderment; but this was no new thing either, for to the one woman the other was ever something to marvel²¹ at.
 
“It is because you are so quiet a mouse, Anne,” my lady said, with her dazzling smile, “that you seem never in the way; and yet I should miss you if I knew you were not within the house.  When the duke takes me to Camylotte you must be with me even then.  It is so great a house that in it I can find you a bower²² in which you can be happy even if you see us but little.  ’Tis a heavenly place I am told, and of great splendour and beauty.  The park and flower-gardens are the envy of all England.”
 
“You—will be very happy, sister,” said Anne, “and—and like a queen.”
 
“Yes,” was her sister’s answer—“yes.”  And ’twas spoken with a deep in-

Join or Log In! You need to log in to continue reading

Create a new account   I have a account already

	Create an New Account
Email:  (User Name)
Password:	Letters and numbers only. 6-20 characters.
Retype Password:
Screen Name:	Letters and numbers only. 6-50 Characters.
Confirmation Code:	(Please type in the characters in the green image.)

	Login into Your Account
Email:
Password:
	Remember me on this computer.