Page 460 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

Chapter 32

It was not of him, nevertheless, that she was thinking
while she stood at the window near which we found her a
while ago, and it was not of any of the matters I have rapidly
sketched. She was not turned to the past, but to the imme-
diate, impending hour. She had reason to expect a scene,
and she was not fond of scenes. She was not asking herself
what she should say to her visitor; this question had already
been answered. What he would say to her-that was the in-
teresting issue. It could be nothing in the least soothing-she
had warrant for this, and the conviction doubtless showed
in the cloud on her brow. For the rest, however, all clear-
ness reigned in her; she had put away her mourning and
she walked in no small shimmering splendour. She only felt
older-ever so much, and as if she were ‘worth more’ for it,
like some curious piece in an antiquary’s collection. She was
not at any rate left indefinitely to her apprehensions, for a
servant at last stood before her with a card on his tray. ‘Let
the gentleman come in,’ she said, and continued to gaze out
of the window after the footman had retired. It was only
when she had heard the door close behind the person who
presently entered that she looked round.
Caspar Goodwood stood there—stood and received a
moment, from head to foot, the bright, dry gaze with which
she rather withheld than offered a greeting. Whether his

460 The Portrait of a Lady