So there was a radical 'move;' the two ladies staying at
Torquay as had been arranged, the vicar going to and fro.
Mrs. Swancourt considerably enlarged Elfride's ideas in an
aristocratic direction, and she began to forgive her father for
his politic marriage. Certainly, in a worldly sense, a handsome
face at three-and-forty had never served a man in better stead.
The new house at Kensington was ready, and they were all in town.
The Hyde Park shrubs had been transplanted as usual, the chairs
ranked in line, the grass edgings trimmed, the roads made to look
as if they were suffering from a heavy thunderstorm; carriages had
been called for by the easeful, horses by the brisk, and the Drive
and Row were again the groove of gaiety for an hour. We gaze upon
the spectacle, at six o'clock on this midsummer afternoon, in a
melon-frame atmosphere and beneath a violet sky. The Swancourt
equipage formed one in the stream.
Mrs. Swancourt was a talker of talk of the incisive kind, which
her low musical voice--the only beautiful point in the old woman--
prevented from being wearisome.
'Now,' she said to Elfride, who, like AEneas at Carthage, was full
of admiration for the brilliant scene, 'you will find that our
companionless state will give us, as it does everybody, an
extraordinary power in reading the features of our fellow-
creatures here. I always am a listener in such places as these--
not to the narratives told by my neighbours' tongues, but by their
faces--the advantage of which is, that whether I am in Row,
Boulevard, Rialto, or Prado, they all speak the same language.
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