Florimel thought for a moment, and concluded it would be less awkward, would indeed tend rather to her advantage with Lenorme, should he really be there, to have Malcolm with her.
“Very well,” she answered. “I see no objection. I will ride round with you to the stable, and we can go in the back way.”
They did so. The gardener took the horses, and they went up to the study. Lenorme was not there, and everything was just as when Malcolm was last in the room. Florimel was much disappointed, but Malcolm talked to her about the portrait, and did all he could to bring back vivid the memory of her father. At length with a little sigh she made a movement to go.
“Has your ladyship ever seen the river from the next room?” said Malcolm, and, as he spoke, threw open the door of communication, near which they stood.
Florimel, who was always ready to see, walked straight into the drawing-room, and went to a window.
“There is that yacht lying there still!” remarked Malcolm. “Does she not remind you of the Psyche, my lady?”
“Every boat does that,” answered his mistress. “I dream about her. But I couldn’t tell her from many another.”
“People used to boats, my lady, learn to know them like the faces of their friends.—What a day for a sail!”
“Do you suppose that one is for hire?” said Florimel.
“We can ask,” replied Malcolm; and with that went to another window, raised the sash, put his head out, and whistled. Over tumbled Davy into the dinghy at the Psyche’s stern, unloosed the painter, and was rowing for the shore ere the minute was out.