Nugent Uffington then made a long inspection of the box, and at its conclusion said, I can now recognise many traces of her mother in Lady Forestfield. She is the same [Greek: Boôpis `'Eze], and seems to have the same splendid hair. What is her husband like?'
'Forestfield is a cool cynical sensualist, the type of a race very common in the present day, who is always very quiet and apparently unimpassioned, and yet I believe that a wickeder little wretch does not walk.'
'He doesn't treat his wife well, then?'
'My dear fellow, no one treats his wife well nowadays; it isn't the fashion. I suppose, if anything, Forestfield may be looked upon as rather an exemplary person, as he doesn't care to beat his wife or afficher his infidelities as many of these youths do; but he is notoriously unfaithful for all that, and I have sometimes seen my lady looking very sad indeed.'
'She cares for him, then?'
'She--well, she did; most people would say she does--but I have my own ideas on that point.'
'Poor child!' said Uffington, with a sigh; then added quickly, 'Who is that just come into the box?'
Tom Lydyeard looked up, and saw a gentlemanly-looking young man, with fair curling hair, fresh complexion, blue eyes, and white teeth, talking to Lady Forestfield's companion, the Duchess of Melrose.
After his inspection, Lydyeard put down his glass, and commencing with 'Gad,' given with a peculiarly rich smack, continued, 'that's Gustave de Tournefort, a young Frenchman of good birth, who has been over here, off and on, for the last two years; he sings well, and that sort of thing, and, what is odd for a Frenchman, rides very straight to hounds. He had rooms at Leamington last winter near Forestfield's place, and they say his going was very good indeed.'
'Poor child!' repeated Uffington, with his glasses still upon Lady Forestfield.