"If my friend Keston were to see her," he remarked, "he would be wild to paint her as Rebekah at the well—or Ruth in the harvest-fields. One does not often see a face like Miss Jacobi's." And then after a little more talk they reached the Manor House.
The following morning Malcolm spent on the river, and late in the afternoon they drove to Glebelands—where the Etheridges lived.
The beautiful grounds sloping to the river presented a most animated scene. A band was playing, and a gaily-dressed crowd streamed from the house on to the lawn. Canoes, punts, and a tiny steam-launch were ready for any guests who wished to enjoy the river; and the croquet, archery, and tennis grounds were well filled.
Tea and refreshments were served in a huge marquee just below the house. Malcolm, who met several people whom he knew, soon began to enjoy himself, and he was deep in conversation with a young artist when Miss Jacobi and her brother passed them; she bowed to Malcolm with rather a pleased smile of recognition.
"What, do you know la belle Jacobi?" observed his friend enviously. "What a lucky fellow you are! Look here, couldn't you do a good turn for a chap and introduce me?"
"My dear Rodney, I have not spoken a dozen words to Miss Jacobi myself. Get one of the Etheridge girls to do the job for you. You had better look sharp," he continued, "for there is quite a small crowd of men round her now;" and as Mr. Rodney speedily acted on this hint, Malcolm joined some more of his friends.
Later in the afternoon, as he was listening to the band, he saw Miss Jacobi opposite to him; she had still a little court round her, and seemed talking with great animation. She looked far handsomer than on the previous day, and her dress became her perfectly. She wore a cream-coloured transparent stuff over yellow silk, her Gainsborough hat was cream-colour and yellow too, and she carried a loosely-dropping posy of tea-roses, and two or three rosebuds of the same warm hue were nestled at her throat. The contrast of her dark eyes and hair and warm olive complexion was simply superb, and Malcolm secretly clapped his hands and murmured "bravo" under his breath. "She has the soul of the coquette and the artist too," he said to himself. "Oh, woman, woman, surely Solomon had you in his thoughts when he declared 'All is vanity;'" and then he remembered Elizabeth Templeton and felt ashamed of his cynicism. The next moment he noticed the coast was clear, and obeying an involuntary impulse he crossed the lawn.
Miss Jacobi welcomed him with a soft, flickering smile, but did not speak.
"Your court has deserted you, Miss Jacobi?"
"Not entirely," she returned. "Captain Fawcett has gone to fetch me an ice—it is so hot in the tent—and Mr. Dysart is looking for my fan; they will be back presently." She spoke in rather a weary tone.