Her wide straw hat tied with black velvet under her round chin threw half her face into transparent shadow; her stiff blue lutestring dress embroidered with silver stars, spread over the dark green grass and glimmered in the sunlight.
Faint clouds floated across the pearly sky and lay reflected among the water-lilies; the gold fish darted through the leaves like jewels and from the urn held by Hylas, sparkled the clear stream of water.
It was perfectly still, far-removed from the noises of the city; now and then a little breeze rose stirring the perfume from the roses and gently bending the hollyhocks.
Lord Stair stopped at last in his pacing to and fro, stopped so close to his wife that his shadow fell over her and the fountain brim.
She looked up, then down again at the water. “I think my ruin is assured,” said Lord Stair in a hard voice.
“You have no trust in the King?” she asked quietly.
He answered in a proud bitterness:
“The King! He has not shown himself strong enough to withstand a faction—he, the same as the others, will cast the odium on me.”
Lady Stair again looked up.
“What do you mean by ruin?” she asked steadily.