Ludowika now remained in the room with her husband, and there was a
discreet movement in and out by various members of the household.
Isabel Penny remained for an hour, Caroline took her place, Myrtle
fluttered uncertainly in the doorway. Through the evening Felix
Winscombe lay propped on pillows, his head covered by a black gros de
Naples cap. His keen personality waned and revived on his long, yellow
countenance. At one side wigs stood in a row on blocks, a brilliant,
magenta coat lay in a huddle on a chair. At intervals he spoke, in a
thinner, higher voice than customary, petulantly uneasy, or with a
familiar, sardonic inflection. At the latter Ludowika would grow
immensely cheered. She entirely ignored Howat on the occasions when he
was in the room. He saw her mostly bent over leather boxes, into which
disappeared her rich store of silk and gold brocades, shoes of purple
morocco, soft white shifts. Howat watched her without an emotion visible
on his sombre countenance.
Occasionally Mr. Winscombe's tenuous fingers dipped into a snuff box of
black enamel and brilliants, and he lifted his hand languidly. The man's
vitality, his sheer determination, were extraordinary. Even now he was
far from impotence. He had, Howat had learned, completely dominated the
Provincial Councils, forced a mutual compromise and agreement on them.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149