Chapter 3 - Page 2

man practising the social art of
impertinence; but it didn't matter, for Flora came away with
alacrity, bringing all her prettiness and pleasure and gliding over
the grass in that rustle of delicate mourning which made the
endless variety of her garments, as a painter could take heed,
strike one always as the same obscure elegance. She seated herself
on the floor of my mother's chair, a little too much on her right
instep as I afterwards gathered, caressing her still hand, smiling
up into her cold face, commending and approving her without a
reserve and without a doubt. She told her immediately, as if it
were something for her to hold on by, that she was soon to sit to
me for a "likeness," and these words gave me a chance to enquire if
it would be the fate of the picture, should I finish it, to be
presented to the young man in the knickerbockers. Her lips, at
this, parted in a stare; her eyes darkened to the purple of one of
the shadow-patches on the sea. She showed for the passing instant
the face of some splendid tragic mask, and I remembered for the
inconsequence of it what Mrs. Meldrum had said about her sight. I
had derived from this lady a worrying impulse to catechise her, but
that didn't seem exactly kind; so I substituted another question,
inquiring who the pretty young man in knickerbockers might happen
to be.

"Oh a gentleman I met at Boulogne. He has come over to see me."
After a moment she added: "Lord Iffield."

I had never heard of Lord Iffield, but her mention of his having
been at Boulogne helped me to give him a niche. Mrs. Meldrum had
incidentally thrown a certain light on the manners of Mrs. Floyd-
Taylor, Flora's recent hostess in that charming town, a lady who,
it appeared, had a special vocation for helping rich young men to
find a use for their leisure. She had always one or other in hand
and had apparently on this occasion pointed her lesson at the rare
creature on the opposite coast. I had a vague idea that Boulogne
was not a resort of the world's envied; at the same time there
might very well have been a strong attraction there even for one of
the darlings of fortune. I could perfectly understand in any case
that such a darling should be drawn to Folkestone by Flora Saunt.
But it was not in truth of these things I was thinking; what was
uppermost in my mind was a matter which, though it had no sort of
keeping, insisted just then on coming out.

"Is it true, Miss Saunt," I suddenly demanded, "that you're so
unfortunate as to have had some warning about your beautiful eyes?"

I was startled by the effect of my words; the girl threw back her
head, changing colour from brow to chin. "True? Who in the world
says so?" I repented of my question in a flash;