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Updated: May 14, 2025
Caley had not fully betrayed her mistress to his lordship, and he had, entirely to his own satisfaction, explained the liking of Florimel for the society of the painter as the mere fancy of a girl for the admiration of one whose employment, although nothing above the servile, yet gave him a claim something beyond that of a milliner or hair dresser, to be considered a judge in matters of appearance.
Liftore let her go, with a muttered curse on the intruder, and she darted from the room into the arms of Caley, who had had her ear against the other side of the door. The same instant Malcolm received from his lordship a well planted blow between the eyes, which filled them with flashes and darkness. The next, the earl was on the floor.
Well, six or seven times Silver Star quit that way, and from the head of the stretch home the Cricket would lay into him, whip and spur both. Wouldn't make the slightest difference to the hoss, but everybody could see that Caley was doing his best to make him run. Folks got kind of sorry for him, sick that way, only one hoss and him such a dog.
"I'll see to them being well aired, my lady," said Caley, with sibilant indignation. Malcolm went to the study. The painter sat before the picture of the marquis, with his elbows on his knees, and his head between his hands. "Mr Lenorme," said Malcolm, approaching him gently. "Oh, go away," said Lenorme, without raising his head. "I can't bear the sight of you yet."
"Of course it will be all right," he reassured her hastily, making an effort to keep his impatience from his voice; "I never guessed you were so easy scared." "I'll try not," she returned obediently. "Mrs. Caley says it will be all right, too." She seemed, he thought, even younger than when he had married her. She was absurdly girlish.
The table was perpetually spread on a fringed red or blue cloth; the center occupied by a large silver-plated castor, its various rings filled with differently shaped bottles and shakers. At the end where Lettice sat heavy white cups and saucers were piled; at Gordon's place a knife and fork were propped up on their guards. On either side were the plates of Simeon and Mrs. Caley.
Malcolm turned from her and went to the window, taking a. newspaper from the breakfast table as he passed, and there sat down to read until the way should be clear. Carried beyond herself by his utter indifference, Caley darted from the room and went straight into the study. Lenorme led Florimel in front of the picture. She gave a great start, and turned and stared pallid at the painter.
Gordon supported Lettice to their room; then he stood on the porch without, waiting. The rugged horse, still hitched, snatched with coarse, yellow teeth at the grass. Suddenly Mrs. Caley appeared at a door: she spoke, breaking the irascible silence of months, dispelling the accumulating ill-will of her pent resentment, with hasty, disjointed words: "... quick as you can ... the doctor."
He waved toward the vehicle, toward the peacefully grazing horse, Mrs. Caley sitting upright and sallow. "And take him right along with you," Meta Beggs added; "your money's tight around his neck." Resentment at the implied ignominy penetrated his self-esteem. "We're going right on now, Lettice," he continued; "we must drive as careful as possible."
"That's a nice way to talk; that makes me out a fine figure of a man ... with Mrs. Caley in the kitchen there, laying right over every word; the old vinegar bottle." "Don't you say another word about Mrs. Caley," Lattice declared passionately; "she nursed my mother in her last sickness; and she took care of me for years, when there wasn't anybody else hardly knew if I was alive or not.
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