Esmeralda laughed.
“Barker might take me to take care of her,” she said; “and I don’t think Thomas, for all he’s tall as a lamp-post, would be much use in a row. He looks as if he’d break off if he bent too suddenly. Besides, there never is any row, is there? It always looks so quiet when we drive through. And those policemen—what are they for? No. I won’t have Barker or Thomas, and I’ll go alone—if you won’t come with me.”
Lady Wyndover almost shrieked.
“I go out before breakfast, walking in the park! My dear child! It would kill me, I really believe.”
“Don’t you believe it,” said Esmeralda. “Just try it, and risk it, some morning.” And she went out of the room with her clear, ringing laugh.
This was about a week after her arrival, and she sallied out next morning—much to the amazement of the house-maid, who was cleaning the steps—and made her way into the park.
It was a lovely spring day, and as she looked at the trees and listened to the birds, she thought, very naturally, of Three Star and the folk she had left behind her. She had already written to Varley Howard, and was wondering how soon she could get an answer. She wanted to know how they all were, and if they missed her. Twice in the curiously spelled letter she had reminded her old guardian of his promise to take her back if she should be unhappy.
She was not altogether unhappy yet; but she was feeling just a little dull, notwithstanding the novelty of her surroundings. She was getting used to the luxury and splendor of Lady Wyndover’s house, and just a tiny bit tired of driving to shops and buying endless things—dresses, hats, jackets, ornaments—which sometimes seemed to her downright ugly, but which Lady Wyndover assured her were the right things. Once or twice they had gone to a jeweler’s in Bond Street, and bought some jewels, which Esmeralda had admired, but anything but enthusiastically, and, of course, with no appreciation of their value. As she walked along the side of the Row, with her light, graceful gait, utterly unconscious of the admiring gaze of the few persons whom she passed, she was picturing to herself the camp, with its crowd of rough miners, and hearing the click of the pick and the rattle of the “cradle.”
There were one or two early riders on the tan-laid course, and after awhile, she stopped, and with her hand resting lightly on the iron rail, watched them as they rode by. Presently she saw, approaching the spot where she stood, a lady and gentleman, and something about them attracted her attention. The gentleman was tall and slim, and singularly handsome, but not with the beauty of the barber’s wax figure, though his features were almost as regular. He was dark, with grave and rather sad eyes; and he rode a hard-looking chestnut.
Esmeralda just glanced at him, and then, woman-like, transferred all her attention to the lady; and as she looked, a little thrill of admiration ran through her; that tribute to another woman’s beauty which a beautiful, generous woman is always ready to pay.