Mrs. Kestridge wrote a bitter-sweet letter, but Christina did not trouble to bestow much thought on her sister. She was occupied in trying to work a new element into her life.
Valentine was still in Dynechester. Go where he would, Valentine always seemed to be meeting her. But he never stopped to speak, and the longer he withheld, the stronger grew the longing in the woman’s heart to conquer him.
She remained on in the dullness of Sunstead wholly for this purpose, but her spirit began to grow disheartened as the days went by.
Sacha, who ran down one day for an hour or so to put the finishing touches to her portrait, found her fretful beyond description. He felt it a pleasure and a duty to warn her that matters were going seriously wrong with her husband.
“You must get him away from town for a while, at least. He looks positively awful, and is doing all sorts of foolish things.”
“My dear Sacha! do you think I have any influence? You should ask your sister to interfere.”
Sacha paid back this sneer in its own coin.
“Ah! yes. Grace always had great influence with Mark. She ought, of course, to have married him.”
Christina bit her lip at this, but bit it deeper still when Sacha went on to speak of Polly.
“Why did you not tell me you had such a lovely sister, Lady Wentworth? Why, she is simply a marvel of beauty. We are all mad about her. As for Val, dear old chap, he can’t sleep or eat for love of her. The first time he has been in love, and he has taken the disease very badly. I am painting her. I expect to make a sensation with her portrait.”