CHAPTER V.
FORTY YEARS AFTER.
'What a horrid day!' said Lady Mary, throwing down her book with a yawn, and looking out of the deep bay window into a world of mountain and lake which was clouded over by a dense veil of rain and dull grey mist; such rain as one sees only in a lake district, a curtain of gloom which shuts off sky and distance, and narrows the world to one solitary dwelling, suspended amidst cloud and water, like another ark in a new deluge.
Rain--such rain as makes out-of-door exercise impossible--was always an affliction to Lady Mary Haselden.

Her delight was in open air and sunshine--fishing in the lake and rivers--sitting in some sheltered hollow of the hills more fitting for an eagle's nest than for the occupation of a young lady, trying to paint those ever-varying, unpaintable mountain peaks, which change their hues with every change of the sky--swimming, riding, roving far and wide over hill and heather--pleasures all more or less masculine in their nature, and which were a subject of regret with Lady Maulevrier.
Lady Lesbia was of a different temper.

She loved ease and elegance, the gracious luxuries of life.

She loved art and music, but not to labour hard at either.

She played and sang a little--excellently within that narrow compass which she had allotted to herself--played Mendelssohn's 'Lieder' with finished touch and faultless phrasing, sang Heine's ballads with consummate expression.