“I have finished,” the Earl said, “and, as I have no wish for any port, we will go to the library and look at my books.”
Feeling that she had been rather rude, Alisa rose and walked a little nervously ahead of him towards the dining room door.
She remembered the way back to the library and, as she entered the room the sunshine was streaming in through the windows, seeming to envelop everything with its golden light and make it part of a Fairy story.
The books in their leather covers tooled with gold against the green walls made a picture that she wished she could paint on canvas.
Over the mantelpiece, instead of the usual mirror, there was a very fine picture of horses, which, although she was too shy to say so, she thought had been painted by Stubbs.
She stood looking round and reali
