Richard did not return until it was time to prepare for the rout, and on entering the house he went straight to his chamber, putting himself into the hands of his valet. He submitted to the delicate tinting of his finger-nails, the sprinkling of his linen with rosewater and the stencilling of his brows. He was arrayed in puce and gold, rings slipped on to his fingers, his legs coaxed into hose with marvellous clocks splashed on their sides, and a diamond buckle placed above the large black bow of his tie-wig. Then, powdered, painted and patched, he went slowly across to his wife's room.
Lavinia, who had by now quite forgotten the morning's contretemps, greeted him with a smile. She sat before the mirror in her undergown, with a loose déshabillé thrown over her shoulders. The coiffeur had departed, and her hair, thickly powdered, was dressed high above her head over cushions, twisted into curls over her ears and allowed to fall in more curls over her shoulders. On top of the creation were poised ostrich feathers, scarlet and white, and round her throat gleamed a great necklet of diamonds. The room was redolent of some heavy perfume; discarded ribbons, laces, slippers and gloves strewed the floor; over the back of a chair hung a brilliant scarlet domino, and tenderly laid out on the bed was her gown, a mass of white satin and brocade, with full ruffles over the hips and quantities of foaming lace falling from the corsage and from the short sleeves. Beside it reposed her fan, her soft lace gloves, her mask and her tiny reticule.
Carstares gingerly sat down on the extreme edge of a chair and watched the maid tint his wife's already perfect cheeks.
"I shall break hearts to-night, shall I not?" she asked gaily, over her shoulder.
"I do not doubt it," he answered shortly.
"And you, Dicky?" She turned round to look at him. "Puce . . . 'tis not the colour I should have chosen, but 'tis well enough. A new wig, surely?"
"Ay."
Her eyes questioned his coldness, and she suddenly remembered the events of the morning. So he was sulky? Very well! Monsieur should see!
Someone knocked at the door; the maid went to open it.
"Sir Douglas Faversham, Sir Gregory Markham, Moosso le Chevalier and Captain Lovelace are below, m'lady."
A little devil prompted Lavinia.
"Oh, la-la! So many? Well, I cannot see all, 'tis certain. Admit Sir Gregory and Captain Lovelace."
Louisa communicated this to the lackey and shut the door.
Richard bit his lip angrily.
"Are you sure I am not de trop?" he asked, savagely sarcastic.