She had none at all, with
the exception of the Mrs Colonel Whelen, who had advised her
about the affair with La Dolciquita, and the one or two religious,
who had guided her through life. The Colonel's wife was at that
time in Madeira; the religious she now avoided. Her visitors' book
had seven hundred names in it; there was not a soul that she could
speak to. She was Mrs Ashburnham of Branshaw Teleragh.
She was the great Mrs Ashburnham of Branshaw and she lay all
day upon her bed in her marvellous, light, airy bedroom with the
chintzes and the Chippendale and the portraits of deceased
Ashburnhams by Zoffany and Zucchero. When there was a meet
she would struggle up--supposing it were within driving
distance--and let Edward drive her and the girl to the cross-roads
or the country house. She would drive herself back alone; Edward
would ride off with the girl. Ride Leonora could not, that
season--her head was too bad. Each pace of her mare was an
anguish.
But she drove with efficiency and precision; she smiled at the
Gimmers and Ffoulkes and the Hedley Seatons. She threw with
exactitude pennies to the boys who opened gates for her; she sat
upright on the seat of the high dog-cart; she waved her hands to
Edward and Nancy as they rode off with the hounds, and every
one could hear her clear, high voice, in the chilly weather, saying:
"Have a good time!"
Poor forlorn woman! .
Pages:
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285