Rising from the sofa, Mahony inserted himself
between blind and window, and peeped out.
His first thought was: what a picture! Mary wore a pale pink cotton gown
which, over the light swellings of her crinoline, bulged and billowed
round her, and generously swept the ground. Collar and cuffs of spotless
lawn outlined neck and wrists. She bent low over her stitching, and the
straight white parting of her hair intensified the ebony of the glossy
bands. Her broad pure forehead had neither line nor stain. On the
trellis behind her a vine hung laden with massy bunches of muscatelles.
Purdy sat on the edge of the verandah, with his back to Mahony. Between
thumb and forefinger he idly swung a pair of scissors.
Urged by some occult sympathy, Mary at once glanced up and discovered
her husband. Her face was lightly flushed from stooping--and the least
touch of colour was enough to give its delicate ivory an appearance of
vivid health. She had grown fuller of late--quite fat, said Richard,
when he wished to tease her: a luxuriant young womanliness lay over and
about her. Now, above the pale wild-rose of her cheeks her black eyes
danced with a mischievous glee; for she believed her husband intended
swinging his leg noiselessly over the sill and creeping up to startle
Purdy--and this appealed to her sense of humour. But, as he remained
standing at the window, she just smiled slyly, satisfied to be in
communion with him over their unsuspecting friend's head.
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