But then Blakeney was really too stupid to notice the ridicule
with which his wife covered him, and if his matrimonial relations with
the fascinating Parisienne had not turned out all that his hopes and
his dog-like devotion for her had pictured, society could never do
more than vaguely guess at it.
In his beautiful house at Richmond he played second fiddle to
his clever wife with imperturbable BONHOMIE; he lavished jewels and
luxuries of all kinds upon her, which she took with inimitable grace,
dispensing the hospitality of his superb mansion with the same
graciousness with which she had welcomed the intellectual coterie of
Paris.
Physically, Sir Percy Blakeney was undeniably handsome--always
excepting the lazy, bored look which was habitual to him. He was
always irreproachable dressed, and wore the exaggerated "Incroyable"
fashions, which had just crept across from Paris to England, with the
perfect good taste innate in an English gentleman. On this special
afternoon in September, in spite of the long journey by coach, in
spite of rain and mud, his coat set irreproachably across his fine
shoulders, his hands looked almost femininely white, as they emerged
through billowy frills of finest Mechline lace: the extravagantly
short-waisted satin coat, wide-lapelled waistcoat, and tight-fitting
striped breeches, set off his massive figure to perfection, and in
repose one might have admired so fine a specimen of English manhood,
until the foppish ways, the affected movements, the perpetual inane
laugh, brought one's admiration of Sir Percy Blakeney to an abrupt close.
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