Still
she must and would venture; and should anything be said, there at
least was the portrait. For some weeks it had been all but finished,
was never off its easel, and always showed a touch of wet paint
somewhere--he kept the last of it lingering, ready to prove
itself almost yet not altogether finished. What was to follow its
absolute completion, neither of them could tell. The worst of it
was that their thoughts about it differed discordantly. Florimel
not unfrequently regarded the rupture of their intimacy as a thing
not undesirable--this chiefly after such a talk with Lady Bellair
as had been illustrated by some tale of misalliance or scandal
between high or low, of which kind of provision for age the bold
faced countess had a large store: her memory was little better than
an ashpit of scandal. Amongst other biographical scraps one day
she produced the case of a certain earl's daughter, who, having
disgraced herself by marrying a low fellow--an artist, she
believed--was as a matter of course neglected by the man whom,
in accepting him, she had taught to despise her, and, before
a twelvemonth was over--her family finding it impossible to
hold communication with her--was actually seen by her late maid
scrubbing her own floor.
"Why couldn't she leave it dirty?" said Florimel.
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