Lady Evelyn — page 150: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

‘The Rescue. 143 She glided uncomplainingly away into confirmed in- validism, without seeking to know what ailed_ her. Chronic melancholy was the chief of her disease, per- haps, and no physician in her day any more than in Lady Macbeth’s could minister to a mind diseased. But my Lady Clydesmore, an imperious young despot in petti- coats, came sometimes to these apartments and whisked the invalid peeress off, willy-nilly, for a drive in her own pony-phaeton. The pale, weak countess had little strength or energy left to resist the pretty, impetuous whirlwind, and yielded, because yielding was easier than resisting. She found presently that these enforced drives rather did her good, and so they grew to be a matter of course. In the yellow sunshine of the November afternoon, the phaeton, with a pair of high-stepping ponies, stood before the grand portico entrance, awaiting the coming of the two peeresses. . It was two days after that memorable interview on the marble terrace;and the weather had greatly changed since then. It was. what in America is called the “Indian sum- mer,’:and the sunshine was warm.and mellow, the sky blue and brilliant, anc the fresh, saline breath of old ocean, sleeping far off in golden ripples, deliciously in- vigorating. The two ladies came sweeping out presently, pretty Lady Clydesmore in the daintiest of driving costumes, the fragile Spanish countess robed in black from head to foot, her pallid, moonlight: beauty looking quite startling by contrast. She leaned on her companion’s arm, moving slowly and wearily. “Where's Evelyn?” she asked. — “EYvelyn.is not coming,” Lady Clydesmore answered. “Don’t you know she plays Lady Bountiful in the parish ? My duty, I suppose, but she does it; and she has gone to write a letter for some old Goody or Gaffer to a son in the United States. By the by, she has been as solemn as a church-yard the past two days. What do you suppose is the matter ?”’ Lady Clydesmore looked keenly at her companion as she asked the question; but the still, pale face of the countess told nothing. “Evelyn is never very gay,” she said, quictly. ‘“No—but - Well, perhaps it is only a fancy of or Be! comicbooks.co