It was more than Malcolm had expected. He ran: he might yet have a chance of trying to turn her in the right direction. He knew that Liftore was neither in the house nor at the stable. With the help of the earl’s groom, he was round in ten minutes. Florimel was all but ready: like some other ladies she could dress quickly when she had good reason. She sprang from Malcolm’s hand to the saddle, and led as straight northward as she could go, never looking behind her till she drew rein on the top of Hampstead Heath. When he rode up to her, “Malcolm,” she said, looking at him half ashamed, “I don’t think my father _would_ have minded you wearing his clothes.” “Thank you, my lady,” said Malcolm. “At least he would have forgiven anything meant for your pleasure.” “I was too hasty,” she said. “But the fact was, Mr Lenorme had irritated me, and I foolishly mixed you up with him.” “When I went into the studio, after you left it, this morning my lady,” Malcolm ventured, “he had his head between his hands and would not even look at me.” Florimel turned her face aside, and Malcolm thought she was sorry; but she was only hiding a smile: she had not yet got beyond the kitten stage of love, and was pleased to find she gave pain. “If your ladyship never had another true friend, Mr Lenorme is one,” added Malcolm. “What opportunity can you have had for knowing?” said Florimel. “I have been sitting to him every morning for a good many days,” answered Malcolm. “_He_ is something like a man!” Florimel’s face flushed with pleasure. She liked to hear him praised, for he loved her. “You should have seen, my lady, the pains he took with that portrait! He would stare at the little picture you lent him of my lord for minutes, as if he were looking through it at something behind it; then he would get up and go and gaze at your ladyship on the pedestal, as if you were the goddess herself able to tell him everything about your father; and then he would hurry back to his easel, and give a touch or two to the face, looking at it all the time as if he loved it. It must have been a cruel pain that drove him to smear it as he did!” Florimel began to feel a little motion of shame somewhere in the mystery of her being. But to show that to her servant, would be to betray herself--the more that he seemed the painter’s friend. “I will ask Lord Liftore to go and see the portrait, and if he thinks it like, I will buy it,” she said. “Mr Lenorme is certainly very clever with his brush.” Malcolm saw that she said this not to insult Lenorme, but to blind her groom, and made no answer. “I will ride there with you to-morrow morning,” she added in conclusion, and moved on. Malcolm touched his hat, and dropped behind. But the next moment he was by her side again. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but would you allow me to say one word more?” She bowed her head. “That woman Caley, I am certain, is not to be trusted. She does not love you, my lady.”