More than have a lodged1 hate and a certain loathing2
I bear Antonio."
Merchant of Venice.
One morning, towards the middle of March, the sisters were much excited at receiving a letter containing an order to photograph a picture in a studio at St. John's Wood.
It was written in a small legible handwriting, was dated from The Sycamores, and signed, Sidney Darrell.
"I wonder how he came to hear of us?" said Lucy, who cherished a particular admiration3 for the works of this artist.
[Pg 109]
"Perhaps Mr. Jermyn knows him," answered Gertrude.
"He would probably have spoken of him to us, if he did."
"Here," said Gertrude, "is Mr. Jermyn to answer for himself."
Frank, who had been admitted by Matilda, came into the waiting-room, where the sisters stood, a look as of the dawning spring-time in his vivid face and shining eyes.
"I have brought the proofs from The Woodcut," he said, drawing a damp bundle from his painting-coat. The Lorimers always read the slips of the story he was illustrating5, and then a general council was held to decide on the best incident for illustration.
Lucy took the bundle and handed him the letter.
"Aren't you tremendously pleased?" he said.
"Do you know anything about this?" asked Lucy.
"How?"
"I mean, did you recommend us to him?"
"Not I. This letter is simply the reward of well-earned fame."
[Pg 110]
"Thank you, Mr. Jermyn; I really think you must be right. Do you know Sidney Darrell?"
"I have met him. But he is a great swell6, you know, Miss Lucy, and he is almost always abroad."
"Yes," put in Gertrude; "his exquisite7 Venetian pictures!"
"Oh, Darrell is a clever fellow. Too fond of the French school, perhaps, for my taste. And the curious thing is, that, though his work is every bit as solid as it is brilliant, there is something rather sensational8 about his reputation."
"All this," cried Gertrude, "sounds exciting."
"I think that must be owing to the man himself," went on Frank. "Oakley knows him fairly well; says you may meet him one night at dinner, and he will ask you up to his studio. The first thing next morning you get a note putting you off; he is very sorry, but he is starting that day for India."
"Does he paint Indian pictures?"
"No, but is bitten at times with the 'big game' craze; shoots tigers and sticks pigs, and so on. I believe his studio is quite a museum of trophies9 of the chase."
[Pg 111]
"By the by, Lucy, which of us is to go to The Sycamores to-morrow morning?"
"You must go, Gerty; I can't trust any one else to finish off those prints of little Jack10 Oakley, and they have been promised so long."
Gertrude consulted the letter.
"I shall have to take the big camera, which involves a cab."
"I wish I could have walked up with you," said Frank; "but, strange to say, I am very busy this week."
"I wish we were busy," answered Gertrude; "things are a little better, but it is slow work."
"I consider this letter of Darrell's a distinct move forward," cried hopeful Frank; "he will be able to recommend you to artists who are not a lot of out-at-elbow fellows," he added, holding out his hand in farewell, with a bright smile that belied11 the rueful words. "Now, please don't forget you are all coming to tea with Oakley and me on Sunday afternoon. And Miss Devonshire—you gave her my invitation?"
"Yes," said Lucy, promptly12; then added[Pg 112] after a pause: "May her brother come too; he says he would like to?"
Frank scanned her quickly with his bright eyes.
"Certainly, if you like; he is not a bad sort of cub13."
And then he departed abruptly14.
"That was quite rude, for Mr. Jermyn," said Gertrude.
Lucy turned away with a slight flush on her fair face.
"It would be quite rude for anybody," she said, and went over to the studio.
Phyllis was spending the day at the Devonshires, but came back for the evening meal, by which time her sisters' excitement on the subject of Darrell's letter had subsided15; and no mention was made of it while they were at table.
After the meal, Phyllis went over to the window, drew up the blind, and amused herself, as was her frequent custom, by looking into the street.
"I wish you wouldn't do that," said Lucy; "any one can see right into the room."
"Why do you waste your breath, Lucy? You know it is never any good telling me not to do things, when I want to."
[Pg 113]
Gertrude, who had herself a secret, childish love for the gas-lit street, for the sight of the hurrying people, the lamps, the hansom cabs, flickering16 in and out the yellow haze17, like so many fire-flies, took no part in the dispute, but set to work at repairing an old skirt of Phyllis's, which was sadly torn.
Meanwhile the spoilt child at the window continued her observations, which seemed to afford her considerable amusement.
"There is a light in Frank Jermyn's window—the top one," she cried; "I suppose he is dressing18. He told me he had an early dance in Harley Street. I wish I were going to a dance."
There was a look of mischief19 in Phyllis's eyes as she looked round at Lucy, who was buried in the proof-sheets from The Woodcut.
"Phyllis, you are coughing terribly. Do come away from that draughty place," cried Gertrude, with real anxiety.
"Oh, I'm all right, Gerty. Ah, there goes Master Frank. It is wet underfoot, and he has turned up his trousers, and his pumps are bulging20 from his coat-pocket. I wonder how many miles a week he walks on his way to dances?"
[Pg 114]
"It is quite delightful21 to see a person with such an enjoyment22 of every phase of existence," said Gertrude, half to herself.
"You poor, dear blasée thing. It is a pretty sight to see the young people enjoying themselves, as the little boy said in Punch, is it not? I wonder if Mr. Jermyn is going to walk all the way? Perhaps he will take the omnibus at the corner. He never 'soars higher than a 'bus,' as he expresses it."
Wearying suddenly of the sport, Phyllis dropped the blind, and, coming over to Gertrude, knelt on the floor at her feet.
"It is a little dull, ain't it, Gerty, to look at life from a top-floor window?"
A curious pang23 went through Gertrude, as she tenderly stroked the nut-brown head.
"You haven't heard our news," she said, irrelevantly24. "There, read that." And taking Mr. Darrell's note from her pocket, she handed it to Phyllis.
The latter read it through rather languidly.
"Yes, I suppose it is a good thing to be employed by such a person," she remarked. "Sidney Darrell?—Didn't I tell you I met[Pg 115] him last week at the Oakleys, the day I went to tea?"
* * * * *
The Sycamores was divided from the road by a high grey wall, beyond which stretched a neglected-looking garden of some size, and, on the March morning of which I write, this latter presented a singularly melancholy25 appearance.
The house itself looked melancholy also, as houses will which are very little lived in, and appeared to consist almost entirely26 of a large studio, built out like a disproportionate wing from the main structure.
Gertrude was led at once to the studio by a serious-looking manservant, who announced that his master would join her in a few minutes.
The apartment in which Gertrude found herself was of vast size, and bore none of the signs of neglect and disuse which marked the house and garden.
It was fitted up with all the chaotic27 splendour which distinguishes the studio of the modern fashionable artist; the spoils of many climes, fruits of many wanderings, being heaped, with more regard to [Pg 116]picturesqueness than fitness, in every available nook.
Going up to the carved fire-place, Gertrude proceeded to warm her hands at the comfortable wood-fire, a position badly adapted for taking stock of the great man's possessions, of which, as she afterwards confessed, she only carried away a prevailing29 impression of tiger-skins and Venetian lanterns.
The fire-light played about her slim figure and about the faded richness of a big screen of old Spanish leather, which fenced in the little bit of territory in the immediate30 neighbourhood of the fire-place; a spot in which had been gathered the most luxurious31 lounges and the choicest ornaments32 of the whole collection; and where, at the present moment, the air was heavy with the scent33 of tuberose, several sprays of which stood on a small table in a costly34 jar of Venetian glass.
In a few minutes the sound of footsteps outside, and of the rich, deep notes of a man's voice were audible.
"Et non, non, non,
Vous n'êtes plus Lisette,
Ne portez plus ce nom."
[Pg 117]
As the footsteps drew nearer the words of the song could be clearly distinguished35.
Gertrude turned towards the door, which fronted the fire-place, and as she did so the song ceased, the curtain was pushed aside, and a person, presumably the singer, came into the room.
He was a man of middle height, and middle age, with light brown hair, parted in the centre, and a moustache and Vandyke beard of the same colour. He was not, strictly36 speaking, handsome, but he wore that air of distinction which power and the assurance of power alone can confer. His whole appearance was a masterly combination of the correct and the picturesque28.
He advanced deliberately37 towards Gertrude.
"Allow me, Miss Lorimer, to introduce myself."
He spoke4 carelessly, yet with a note of disappointment in his voice, and a shade of moodiness38 in his heavy-lidded eyes.
Gertrude, looking up and meeting the cold, grey glance, became suddenly conscious that her hat was shabby, that her boots were patched and clumsy, that the wind had blown the wisps of hair about her[Pg 118] face. What was there in this man's gaze that made her, all at once, feel old and awkward, ridiculous and dowdy39; that made her long to snatch up her heavy camera and flee from his presence, never to return?
What, indeed? Gertrude, we know, had a vivid imagination, and that perhaps was responsible for the sense of oppression, defiance40, and self-distrust with which she followed Mr. Darrell across the room to one of the easels, on which was displayed a remarkable41 study in oils of a winter aspect of the Grand Canal at Venice.
There was certainly, superficially speaking, no ground for her feeling in the artist's conduct. With his own hands he set up and fixed42 the heavy camera on the tripod stand, questioned her, in his low, listless tones, as to her convenience, and observed, by way of polite conversation, that he had had the pleasure of meeting her sister the week before at the Oakleys.
To her own unutterable vexation, Gertrude found herself rather cowed by the man and his indifferent politeness, through which she seemed to detect the lurking43 contempt; and as his glance of cold irony44 fell upon her from time to time, from beneath[Pg 119] the heavy lids, she found herself beginning to take part not only against herself but also against the type of woman to which she belonged.
Having made the necessary adjustments, and given the necessary directions, Darrell went over to the fire-place, and cast himself into a lounge, where the leather screen shut out his well-appointed person from Gertrude's sight. She, on her part, set about her task without enjoyment, and was glad when it was over and she could pack up the dark-slides. As she was unscrewing the camera from the stand, the curtain before the doorway45 was pushed aside for the second time, and a man entered unannounced. At the same moment Darrell advanced from behind his screen, and the two men met in the middle of the room.
"Delighted to see you back, my dear fellow."
It seemed to Gertrude that a shade of deference46 had infused itself into the artist's manner, as he cordially clasped hands with the new comer.
This person was a tall, sinewy47 man of from thirty-five to forty years of age, with stooping shoulders and a brown beard. From her[Pg 120] corner by the easel Miss Lorimer could see his face, and her casual glance falling upon it was arrested by a sudden sense of recognition.
Where had she seen them before; the ample forehead, the clear, grey eyes, the rough yet generous lines of the features?
This man's face was sunburnt, cheery, smiling; the face which it recalled had been pale, haggard, worn with watching and sorrow. Then, as by a flash, she saw it all again before her eyes; the dainty room flooded with October sunlight; the dead woman lying there with her golden hair spread on the pillow; the bearded, averted48 face, and stooping form of the figure that crouched49 by the window.
"I only hope," she reflected, "that he will not recognise me. The recollections that the sight of me would summon up could scarcely be pleasant. I have no wish to enact50 the part of skeleton at the feast."
With a desponding sense that she had no right to her existence, Gertrude gathered up her possessions and made her way across the room.
Darrell came forward slowly, "Oh, put down those heavy things," he said.
[Pg 121]
Lord Watergate, for it was he, went over to the fire-place and stood there warming his hands.
"May I trouble you to have a cab called?"
Gertrude spoke in her most dignified51 manner.
"Certainly. But won't you come to the fire?"
Darrell rang a bell which stood on the mantelshelf, and indicated to Gertrude a chair by the screen.
Gertrude, however, preferred to stand, and for some moments the three people on the tiger-skin hearthrug stared into the fire in silence.
Then Darrell said in an offhand52 manner: "Miss Lorimer has been kind enough to photograph my 'Grand Canal' for me."
Lord Watergate, looking up suddenly, met Gertrude's glance. For a moment a puzzled expression came into his eyes, then changed to one of recognition and recollection. After some hesitation53, he said:
"It must be difficult to do justice in a photograph to such a picture."
She threw him back his commonplace:
"Oh, the gradations of tone often come out surprisingly well."
[Pg 122]
Inwardly she was saying, "How he must hate the sight of me."
Darrell looked from one to the other, dimly suspicious of their mutual54 consciousness, then rejected the suspicion as an absurd one.
"I will write to you about those sketches," he said, as the cab was announced.
Lucy and Phyllis were frisking about the studio, as young creatures will do in the spring, when Gertrude entered, weary and dispirited, from her expedition to The Sycamores.
The girls fell upon her at once for news.
She flung herself into the sitter's chair, which half revolved55 with the violence of the action.
"Say something nice to me," she cried. "Compliment me on my beauty, my talents, my virtues56. There is no flattery so gross that I could not swallow it."
Phyllis looked from her to Lucy and tapped her forehead in significant pantomime.
"You are everything that is most delightful," said Lucy; "only do tell us about the great man."
[Pg 123]
"He was odious," cried Gertrude.
"She has never been quarrelling, I will not say with her own, but with our bread-and-butter," said Phyllis, in affected57 dismay.
"I will never go there again, if that's what you mean."
"But what is the matter, Gerty? I found him quite polite."
"Polite? It is worse than rudeness, a politeness which says so plainly: 'This is for my own sake, not for yours.'"
"You are really cross, Gerty; what has the illustrious Sidney been doing to you?" said Lucy, who did not suffer from violent likes and dislikes.
"Oh," cried Gertrude, laughing ruefully; "how shall I explain? He is this sort of man;—if a woman were talking to him of—of the motions of the heavenly bodies, he would be thinking all the time of the shape of her ankles."
"Great heavens, Gerty, did you make the experiment?"
Phyllis opened her pretty eyes their widest as she spoke.
"We all know," remarked Lucy, with a twinkle in her eye, "that it is best to begin with a little aversion."
[Pg 124]
Phyllis struck an attitude:
"'Friends meet to part, but foes58 once joined——'"
"Girls, what has come over you?" exclaimed Gertrude, dismayed.
"Gerty is shocked," said Lucy; "one is always stumbling unawares on her sense of propriety59."
"She is like the Bishop60 of Rumtyfoo," added Phyllis; "she does draw the line at such unexpected places."
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1
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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11
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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12
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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cub
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| n.幼兽，年轻无经验的人 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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15
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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22
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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23
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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24
irrelevantly
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| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
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25
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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28
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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29
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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30
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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32
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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35
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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36
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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38
moodiness
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| n.喜怒无常；喜怒无常，闷闷不乐；情绪 | |
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dowdy
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| adj.不整洁的；过旧的 | |
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40
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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41
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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42
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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43
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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44
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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45
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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46
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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47
sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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48
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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49
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
enact
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| vt.制定(法律)；上演，扮演 | |
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51
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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52
offhand
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| adj.临时，无准备的；随便，马虎的 | |
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53
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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54
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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55
revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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56
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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58
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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59
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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