“I am quite well now, thank you, my lady,” he returned. “I thought your ladyship would like to hear something I happened to come to the knowledge of the other day.”
“Yes? What was that?”
“I called at Mr Lenorme’s to learn what news there might be of him. The housekeeper let me go up to his painting-room; and what should I see there, my lady, but the portrait of my lord marquis more beautiful than ever, the brown smear all gone, and the likeness, to my mind, greater than before!”
“Then Mr Lenorme is come home!” cried Florimel, scarce attempting to conceal the pleasure his report gave her.
“That I cannot say,” said Malcolm. “His housekeeper had a letter from him a few days ago from Newcastle. If he is come back, I do not think she knows it. It seems strange, for who would touch one of his pictures but himself?—except, indeed, he got some friend to set it to rights for your ladyship. Anyhow, I thought you would like to see it again.”
“I will go at once,” Florimel said, rising hastily. “Get the horses, Malcolm, as fast as you can.”
“If my Lord Liftore should come before we start?” he suggested.
“Make haste,” returned his mistress, impatiently.
Malcolm did make haste, and so did Florimel. What precisely was in her thoughts who shall say, when she could not have told herself? But doubtless the chance of seeing Lenorme urged her more than the desire to see her father’s portrait. Within twenty minutes they were riding down Grosvenor Place, and happily heard no following hoof-beats. When they came near the river, Malcolm rode up to her and said,
“Would your ladyship allow me to put up the horses in Mr Lenorme’s stable? I think I could show your ladyship a point or two that may have escaped you.”