“Then select one at once,” said Lady Marney; “I make no reservation, except that Watteau, for it was given me by your father before we were married. Shall it be this Cuyp?”
“I would rather choose this,” said Egremont, and he pointed to the portrait of a saint by Allori: the face of a beautiful young girl, radiant and yet solemn, with rich tresses of golden brown hair, and large eyes dark as night, fringed with ebon lashes that hung upon the glowing cheek.
“Ah! you choose that! Well, that was a great favourite of poor Sir Thomas Lawrence. But for my part I have never seen any one in the least like it, and I think I am sure that you have not.”
“It reminds me—” said Egremont musingly.
“Of what you have dreamed,” said Lady Marney.
“Perhaps so,” said Egremont; “indeed I think it must have been a dream.”
“Well, the vision shall still hover before you,” said his mother; “and you shall find this portrait to-morrow over your chimney in the Albany.”
Book 4 Chapter 3
“Strangers must withdraw.”