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"There," she said, "take that note to Mr Lenorme. I have asked him to help you in the choice of a horse." "What price would you be willing to go to, my lady?" "I leave that to Mr Lenorme's judgment and your own," she added. "Thank you, my lady," said Malcolm, and was leaving the room, when Florimel called him back.
"You see, sir," Malcolm went on, encouraged by the simplicity of Lenorme's manner, "if they were nothing like us, how should we be able to get on with them at all, teach them anything, or come a hair nearer them, do what we might?
She positively must, she said, secure her father's portrait ere the ill tempered painter all men of genius were hasty and unreasonable should have destroyed it utterly, as he was certain to do before leaving and with that she showed her Lenorme's letter. Caley was all service, only said that this time she thought they had better go openly.
Florimel had had enough of horseback for several days to come indeed and would not ride. So he saddled Kelpie, and rode to Chelsea to look after his boat. To get rid of the mare, he rang the stable bell at Mr Lenorme's, and the gardener let him in. As he was putting her up, the man told him that the housekeeper had heard from his master.
"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.
That night she was merrier than usual at dinner; after it, sang ballad after ballad to please Liftore; then went to her room and told Caley to arrange for yet a visit, the next morning, to Mr Lenorme's studio.
"You did right to tell me, but it's of no consequence. Mr Lenorme's housekeeper and she must have been talking about something." But her eyebrows were now thoughtfully contracted over her eyes. "There had been no time for that, I think, my lady," said Malcolm. Florimel turned again and rode on, saying no more about the handkerchief. Malcolm saw that he had succeeded in warning her, and was glad.
The dark hue of Lenorme's cheek deepened; his brows lowered a little farther over the black wells of his eyes; and he painted on without answer. "By Jove!" he said at length. "Don't swear, Mr Lenorme," said Malcolm. " Besides, that's my Lord Liftore's oath. If you do, you will teach my lady to swear." "What do you mean by that?" asked Lenorme, with offence plain enough in his tone.
Nor was it hard to find, for near where he stood was a door opening into a small intermediate chamber, communicating with the drawing room, and by it he fled, intending to pass through to Lenorme's bedroom, and change his clothes.
"My lady!" she shrieked, "there's MacPhail, the groom, my lady, dressed up in your honoured father's bee-utiful clo'es as he always wore when he went to dine with the Prince! And, please, my lady, he's that rude I could 'ardly keep my 'ands off him." Florimel flashed a dagger of question in Lenorme's eyes. The painter drew himself up. "It was at my request, Lady Lossie," he said.
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