'I have not decided,' said the Countess. 'Anywhere, so that it will
not annoy you.'
'Oh, it won't annoy me,' says he.
When it had been unpacked in a back room of the house, they went to
examine it. The statue was a full-length figure, in the purest
Carrara marble, representing Edmond Willowes in all his original
beauty, as he had stood at parting from her when about to set out on
his travels; a specimen of manhood almost perfect in every line and
contour. The work had been carried out with absolute fidelity.
'Phoebus-Apollo, sure,' said the Earl of Uplandtowers, who had never
seen Willowes, real or represented, till now.
Barbara did not hear him. She was standing in a sort of trance
before the first husband, as if she had no consciousness of the
other husband at her side. The mutilated features of Willowes had
disappeared from her mind's eye; this perfect being was really the
man she had loved, and not that later pitiable figure; in whom love
and truth should have seen this image always, but had not done so.
It was not till Lord Uplandtowers said roughly, 'Are you going to
stay here all the morning worshipping him?' that she roused herself.
Her husband had not till now the least suspicion that Edmond
Willowes originally looked thus, and he thought how deep would have
been his jealousy years ago if Willowes had been known to him.
Returning to the Hall in the afternoon he found his wife in the
gallery, whither the statue had been brought.
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