She was more stately, but the stateliness
had a little hardness mingled with it: and could it be that the
first of a cloud had already gathered on her forehead? Surely she
was not so happy as she had been at Lossie House. She was dressed
in black, with a white flower in her hair.
Beside her sat the bold faced countess, and behind them her nephew,
Lord Meikleham that was now Lord Liftore. A fierce indignation
seized the heart of Malcolm at the sight. Behind the form of the
earl, his mind's eye saw that of Lizzy, out in the wind on the
Boar's Tail, her old shawl wrapped about herself and the child of
the man who sat there so composed and comfortable. His features
were fine and clear cut, his shoulders broad, and his head well
set: he had much improved since Malcolm offered to fight him with
one hand in the dining room of Lossie House. Every now and then
he leaned forward between his aunt and Florimel, and spoke to the
latter. To Malcolm's eyes she seemed to listen with some haughtiness. Now
and then she cast him an indifferent glance. Malcolm was pleased:
Lord Liftore was anything but the Ferdinand to whom he could consent
to yield his Miranda. They would make a fine couple certainly, but for
any other fitness, knowing what he did, Malcolm was glad to perceive
none. The more annoyed was he when once or twice he fancied he caught
a look between them that indicated more than acquaintanceship--
some sort of intimacy at least.
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