Now, however, it was wiser, even in the early morning, to seek the
shade, and breakfast was served within the quadrangle, under a
trellis of vine supported in the Portuguese manner by rough-hewn
granite columns. It was a delicious spot, cool and fragrant,
secluded without being enclosed, since through the broad archway
it commanded a view of the Tagus and the hills of Alemtejo.
Here O'Moy found himself impatiently awaited that morning by his
wife and her cousin, Sylvia Armytage, more recently arrived from
England.
"You are very late," Lady O'Moy greeted him petulantly. Since she
spent her life in keeping other people waiting, it naturally fretted
her to discover unpunctuality in others.
Her portrait, by Raeburn, which now adorns the National Gallery,
had been painted in the previous year. You will have seen it, or
at least you will have seen one of its numerous replicas, and you
will have remarked its singular, delicate, rose-petal loveliness
- the gleaming golden head, the flawless outline of face and
feature, the immaculate skin, the dark blue eyes with their look
of innocence awakening.
Thus was she now in her artfully simple gown of flowered muslin
with its white fichu folded across her neck that was but a shade
less white; thus was she, just as Raeburn had painted her, saving,
of course, that her expression, matching her words, was petulant.
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