Her hair, which had tried to turn
white and only succeeded in fading, was surmounted
by a Spanish comb and black lace scarf, and silk mittens,
visibly darned, covered her rheumatic hands.
Beside her, in a cloud of cigar-smoke, stood the
owners of the two overcoats, both in morning clothes
that they had evidently not taken off since morning. In
one of the two, Archer, to his surprise, recognised Ned
Winsett; the other and older, who was unknown to
him, and whose gigantic frame declared him to be the
wearer of the "Macfarlane," had a feebly leonine head
with crumpled grey hair, and moved his arms with
large pawing gestures, as though he were distributing
lay blessings to a kneeling multitude.
These three persons stood together on the hearth-
rug, their eyes fixed on an extraordinarily large bouquet
of crimson roses, with a knot of purple pansies at
their base, that lay on the sofa where Madame Olenska
usually sat.
"What they must have cost at this season--though of
course it's the sentiment one cares about!" the lady was
saying in a sighing staccato as Archer came in.
The three turned with surprise at his appearance,
and the lady, advancing, held out her hand.
"Dear Mr. Archer--almost my cousin Newland!"
she said. "I am the Marchioness Manson."
Archer bowed, and she continued: "My Ellen has
taken me in for a few days. I came from Cuba, where I
have been spending the winter with Spanish friends--
such delightful distinguished people: the highest nobility
of old Castile--how I wish you could know them!
But I was called away by our dear great friend here,
Dr.
Pages:
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180