"
"Why should it be nearly the last?" Guy asked, contemplating the varying
expression of her face and the somewhat careless _pose_ of her
magnificent figure with more than admiration in his eyes.
"_On se range,_" Flora answered, demurely. "And the first step in the
right direction will be to give up one's favorite partners."
He sat down by her with a short laugh that was rather forced.
"Bah! do you think, because we are virtuous, there shall be no more
cakes and ale?"
"Of course I do. I could sketch your future so easily. It will be so
intensely respectable. You will become a model country squire. You will
hunt a good deal, but never _ride_ any more. (You must sell the Axeine,
you know.) You will go to magistrates' meetings regularly, and breed
immense cattle; and you will grow very fat yourself. That's the worst of
all. I don't like to fancy you stout and unwieldy, like Athelstan."
She ended, pensively. The languor of reaction seemed stealing over her,
but it only made her more charming as she leaned still farther back on
the soft cushions, watching the point of her tiny foot tracing the
pattern of the carpet.
"What a brilliant horoscope!" said Guy; "and so benevolently sketched,
too! Now your own, Improvisatrice.
Pages:
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198