. .
There was, however, one spark of consolation. It came from the
fact that Rodney Bayham, of Bayham, followed her always with
his eyes. It had been three years since she had tried her abortive
love-affair with him. Yet still, on the winter mornings he would
ride up to her shafts and just say: "Good day," and look at her with
eyes that were not imploring, but seemed to say: "You see, I am
still, as the Germans say, A. D.--at disposition."
It was a great consolation, not because she proposed ever to take
him up again, but because it showed her that there was in the
world one faithful soul in riding-breeches. And it showed her that
she was not losing her looks.
And, indeed, she was not losing her looks. She was forty, but she
was as clean run as on the day she had left the convent--as clear in
outline, as clear coloured in the hair, as dark blue in the eyes. She
thought that her looking-glass told her this; but there are always
the doubts. . . . Rodney Bayham's eyes took them away.
It is very singular that Leonora should not have aged at all. I
suppose that there are some types of beauty and even of youth
made for the embellishments that come with enduring sorrow.
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