It was not probable
she would read in them much, he said to himself, but they wouldn't
make the boat heel, and who could tell when a drop of celestial
nepenthe might ooze from one or another of them! So there they
stood, in their lovely colours, of morocco, russia, calf or vellum
--types of the infinite rest in the midst of the ever restless--
the types for ever tossed, but the rest remaining.
By that time also he had arranged with Travers and Davy a code of
signals.
The day after Malcolm had his new hack, he rode him behind his
mistress in the park, and nothing could be more decorous than the
behaviour of both horse and groom. It was early, and in Rotten
Row, to his delight, they met the lady of rebuke. She and Florimel
pulled up simultaneously, greeted, and had a little talk. When
they parted, and the lady came to pass Malcolm, whom she had not
suspected, sitting a civilised horse in all serenity behind his
mistress, she cast a quick second glance at him, and her fair face
flushed with the red reflex of yesterday's anger. He expected her
to turn at once and complain of him to her mistress, but to his
disappointment, she rode on.
When they left the park, Florimel went down Constitution Hill, and
turning westward, rode to Chelsea. As they approached Mr Lenorme's
house, she stopped and said to Malcolm--"I am going to run in and
thank Mr Lenorme for the trouble he has been at about the horse.
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