This was indeed a pleasure, he said, blandly. He had been half afraid that Mrs. Despard had forgotten her kind promise.
That lady shook hands with him in a most friendly manner. She rather shared the universal tendency people had to admire the young man. Were not all young men extravagant? And at least this one had money enough to afford to be extravagant honestly, and attractions enough to render even conceit a legitimate article.
“You must thank Mr. Estabrook and his sister for bringing me,” she said. “They have been before and knew the way. We met them as they were coming here, and they asked us to come with them. Lisbeth would not get out of the carriage. She was either lazy or ill-humored. She was driven round to the library, and is to call for us in half an hour.”
Her eyes twinkled a little as she told him this. As I have said before, Lisbeth always interested her, and she was interested now in her mode of managing this old love affair. It was so plain that it rasped her to be brought in contact with him and that she would have preferred very much to keep out of his way, that the fact of her being thrown in his path against her will could not fail to have its spice, and afford Mrs. Despard a little malicious amusement. In secret, she was obliged to confess that, ill-natured as it seemed, she would not have been very sorry to see Lisbeth at bay. Of Anstruthers’ sentiments she was not quite sure, as yet, but she was very sure of Lisbeth’s. Lisbeth knew that she had acted atrociously in the past, and hating herself in private for her weak wickedness, hated Anstruthers too for his share in it. It was not Lisbeth’s way to be either very just or very generous. All her pangs of self-reproach were secret ones, of which she had taught herself to be ashamed, and which she would have died rather than confess. She let her caprices rule her wholly, and did her best to make them rule other people. If she was angry, she made vicious speeches; if she was pleased, she behaved like an angel, or an angelic creature without a fault. She did not care enough for other people to mold her moods to their taste. The person of most consequence to her was Lisbeth Crespigny.
Mrs. Despard found her visit to her young friend’s studio very entertaining. She saw things to admire, and things to be amused at. She discovered that his own efforts were really worth looking at, and that the fixtures he had collected were both valuable and exquisite. He had bought no costly lots of ugliness, he had bought beauty. As to the appurtenances of the room, a woman could not have chosen them better—most women would not have chosen them so well. Indeed, a touch of effeminate fancifulness in the general arrangement of things made her smile more than once. He had arranged a sort of miniature conservatory in a wide, deep bay-window, filled it with tiers of flowers growing in fanciful vases, and hanging baskets full of delicate, long vines, and bright bloom.
“What a dandy we are!” she said, smiling, when she drew aside the sweeping lace curtain which cut this pretty corner off from the rest of the apartment. “And what fine tastes we display!”
Anstruthers blushed a little. He had accompanied her on her tour of exploration, and had been secretly flattered by her evident admiration and surprise.
“Is that a compliment, or is it not?” he answered. “I like to hear that I have fine taste, but I don’t like to be called a dandy.”
“Isn’t it a trifle dandified to know how to do all these things so well?” she asked. “It is a man’s province to be clumsy and ignorant about the small graces.”
“Isn’t it better than doing them ill?” he said. “Pray let me give you two or three pale rosebuds and a few sweet violets.”