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LIBRARY

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

SANTA BARBARA

PRESENTED BY

MRS. ALFRED W. INGALLS

..•y

■iT'

Love Among the Artists

LOVE AMONG THE ARTISTS
BY GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

BRENTANO'S NEW YORK
MCMX

COPYRIGHT, 190O' ^^
HERBERT S. STONE & CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1907. «^
O. BERNARD SHAW

LOVE AMONG THE ARTISTS

THE AUTHOR TO THE READER.

Dear Sir or Madam:

Will you allow me a word of personal explanation
now that I am, for the second time, offering you a
novel which is not the outcome of my maturer experi-
ence and better sense? If you have read my "Irra-
tional Knot' ' to the bitter end, you will not accuse me
of mock modesty when I admit that it was very long ;
that it did not introduce you to a single person you
could conceivably have been glad to know; and that
your knowledge of the world must have forewarned
you that no satisfactory ending was possible. You
may, it is true, think that a story teller should not let
a question of mere possibility stand between his audi-
ence and the satisfaction of a happy ending. Yet
somehow my conscience stuck at it; for I am not a
professional liar : I am even ashamed of the extent to
which in my human infirmity I have been an amateur
one. No: my stories were meant to be \xxi'& ex hypo-
thesi: the persons were fictitious ; but had they been
real, they must (or so I thought at the time) have acted
as I said. For, if you can believe such a prodigy, I
was but an infant of twenty-four when, being at that
time one of the unemployed, I sat down to mend my

VI Love Among the Artists

straitened fortunes by writing "The Irrational Knot."
I had done the same thing once before ; and next year,
still unemployed, I did it again. That third attempt
of mine is about to see the light in this volume.
And now a few words of warning to you before you
begin it.

I, Though the wisdom of the book is the fruit of a
quarter century's experience, yet the earlier years of
that period were much preoccupied with questions of
bodily growth and nutrition ; so that it may be as well
to bear in mind that "even the youngest of us may be
wrong sometimes." 2. "Love among the Artists" is
what is called a novel with a purpose. I will not
undertake to say at this distance of time what the main
purpose was; but I remember that I had a notion of
illustrating the difference between that enthusiasm for
the fine arts which people gather from reading about
them, and the genuine artistic faculty which cannot
help creating, interpreting, or at least unaffectedly
enjoying music and pictures. 3. This book has no
winding-up at the end. Mind: it is not, as in "The
Irrational Knot," a case of the upshot being unsatis-
factory! There is absolutely no upshot at all. The
parties are married in the middle of the book ; and they
do not elope with or divorce one another, or do any-
thing unusual or improper. When as much is told
concerning them as seemed to me at the time germane
to my purpose, the novel breaks off. But if you pre-
fer something more conclusive, pray do not scruple to
add a final chapter of your own invention. 4. If you
find yourself displeased with my story, remember that
it is not I, but the generous and appreciative publisher
of the book, who puts it forward as worth reading.

Love Among the Artists vii

I shall polish it up for you the best way I can, and
here and there remove some absurdity out of which I
have grown since I wrote it, but I cannot substan-
tially improve it, much less make it what a novel ought
to be ; for I have given up novel writing these many
years, during which I have lost the impudence of the
apprentice without gaining the skill of the master.

There is an end to all things, even to stocks of
unpublished manuscript. It may be a relief to you to
know that when this "Love among the Artists" shall
have run its course, you need apprehend no more fur-
bished-up early attempts at fiction from me. I have
written but five novels in my life ; and of these there
will remain then unpublished only the first — a very
remarkable work, I assure you, but hardly one which
I should be well advised in letting loose whilst my
livelihood depends on my credit as a literary workman,

I can recall a certain difficulty, experienced even
whilst I was writing the book, in remembering what it
was about. Twice I clean forgot the beginning, and
had to read back, as I might have read any other
man's novel, to learn the story. If I could not remem-
ber then, how can I presume on my knowledge of the
book now so far as to make promises about it? But I
suspect you will find yourself in less sordid company
than that into which "The Irrational Knot" plunged
you. And I can guarantee you against any plot. You
will be candidly dealt with. None of the characters
will turn out to be somebody else in the last chapter:
no violent accidents or strokes of pure luck will divert
events from their normal course: forger, long lost
heir, detective, nor any commonplace of the police
court or of the realm of romance shall insult your

viii Love Among the Artists

•understanding-, or tempt you to read on when you
might better be in bed or attending to your business.
By this time you should be eager to be at the story.
Meanwhile I must not forget that it is only by your
exceptional indulgence that I have been suffered to
detain you so long about a personal matter ; and so I
thank you and proceed to business.

29, Fitzroy Square, London, W.

BOOK I

CHAPTER I

One fine afternoon during the Easter holidays, Ken-
sington Gardens were in their freshest spring green,
and the steps of the Albert Memorial dotted with
country visitors, who alternately conned their guide-
books and stared up at the golden gentleman under
the shrine, trying to reconcile the reality with the des-
cription, whilst their Cockney friends, indifferent to
shrine and statue, gazed idly at the fashionable drive
below. One group in particular was composed of an
old gentleman intent upon the Memorial, a young lady
intent upon her guide-book, and a young gentleman
intent upon the young lady. She looked a woman of
force and intelligence ; and her boldly curved nose and
chin, elastic step, upright carriage, resolute bearing,
and thick black hair, secured at the base of the neck
by a broad crimson ribbon, made those whom her
appearance pleased think her strikingly handsome.
The rest thought her strikingly ugly; but she would
perhaps have forgiven them for the sake of the implied
admission that she was at least not commonplace ; for
her costume, consisting of an ample black cloak lined
with white fur, and a broad hat with red feather and
underbrim of sea green silk, was of the sort affected
by women who strenuously cultivate themselves, and
insist upon their individuality. She was not at all like
her father, the grey-haired gentleman who, scanning
the Memorial with eager watery eyes, was uttering
occasional ejaculations of wonder at the sum it must

5

6 Love Among the Artists

have cost. The younger man, who might have been
thirty or thereabout, was slight and of moderate
stature. His fine hair, of a pale golden color, already
turning to a silvery brown, curled delicately over his
temples, where it was beginning to wear away. A
short beard set off his features, which were those of a
man of exceptional sensitiveness and refinement. He
was the Londoner of the party; and he waited with
devoted patience whilst his companions satisfied their
curiosity. It was pleasant to watch them, for he was
not gloating over her, nor she too conscious that she
-was making the sunshine brighter for him; and yet
they were quite evidently young lovers, and as happy
as people at their age know how to be.

At last the old gentleman's appetite for the Memorial
yielded to the fatigue of standing on the stone steps
and looking upwards. He proposed that they should
find a seat and examine the edifice from a little distance.

*'I think I see a bench down there with only one
person on it, Mary," he said, as they descended the
steps at the west side. "Can you see whether he is
respectable?"

The young lady, who was shortsighted, placed a pair
of glasses on her salient nose, lifted her chin, and
deliberately examined the person on the bench. He
was a short, thick-chested young man, in an old
creased frock coat, with a worn-out hat and no linen
visible. His skin, pitted by smallpox, seemed grained
with black, as though he had been lately in a coal-
mine, and had not yet succeeded in towelling the
coal-dust from his pores. He sat with his arms folded,
staring at the ground before him. One hand was con-
cealed under his arm : the other displayed itself, thick

Love Among the Artists 7

in the palm, with short fingers, and nails bitten to the
quick. He was clean shaven, and had a rugged, reso-
lute mouth, a short nose, marked nostrils, dark eyes,
and black hair, which curled over his low, broad
forehead.

"He is certainly not a handsome man," said the
lady; "but he will do us no harm, I suppose?"

"Of course not," said the younger gentleman seri-
ously. "But I can get some chairs, if you prefer
them."

"Nonsense! I was only joking." As she spoke, the
man on the bench looked up at her; and the moment
she saw his eyes, she began to stand in some awe of
him. His vague stare changed to a keen scrutiny,
which she returned hardily. Then he looked for a
moment at her dress; glanced at her companions;
and relapsed into his former attitude.

The bench accommodated four persons easily. The
old gentleman sat at the unoccupied end, next his
daughter. Their friend placed himself between her
and the man, at whom she presently stole another look.
His attention was again aroused: this time he was
looking at a child who was eating an apple near him.
His expression gave the lady an uncomfortable sensa-
tion. The child, too, caught sight of him, and stopped
eating to regard him mistrustfully. He smiled with
grim good humor, and turned his eyes to the gravel
once more.

"It is certainly a magnificent piece of work, Her-
bert," said the old gentleman. "To you, as an artist,
it must be a treat indeed. I don't know enough about
art to appreciate it properly. Bless us! And are all
those knobs made of precious stones?"

8 Love Among the Artists

"More or less precious: yes, I believe so, Mr. Suth-
erland," said Herbert, smiling.

"I must come and look at it again," said Mr. Suth-
erland, turning from the memorial, and putting his
spectacles on the bench beside him. " It is quite a study.
I wish I had this business of Charlie's off my mind."

"You will find a tutor for him without any diffi-
culty," said Herbert. "There are hundreds to choose
from in London."

"Yes; but if there were a thousand, Charlie would
find a new objection to every one of them. You see
the difficulty is the music."

Herbert, incommoded by a sudden movement of the
strange man, got a little nearer to Mary, and replied,
"I do not think the music ought to present much diffi-
culty. Many young men qualifying for holy orders
are very glad to obtain private tutorships; and nowa-
days a clergyman is expected to have some knowledge
of music."

"Yes," said the lady; "but what is the use of that
when Charlie expressly objects to clergymen? I sym-
pathize with him there, for once. Divinity students
are too narrow and dogmatic to be comfortable to live
with."

"There !" exclaimed Mr. Sutherland, suddenly
indignant: ^''yoii are beginning to make objections.
Do you expect to get an angel from heaven to teach
Charlie?"

"No, papa; but I doubt if anything less will satisfy
him."

' ' I will speak to some of my friends about it, ' ' said
Herbert. "There is no hurry for a week or two, I
suppose?"

Love Among the Artists 9

"Oh, no, none whatever," said Mr, Sutherland,
ostentatiously serene after his outbreak: "there is no
hurry certainly. But Charlie must not be allowed to
contract habits of idleness ; and if the matter cannot
be settled to his liking, I shall exert my authority, and
select a tutor myself. I cannot understand his objec-
tion to the man we saw at Archdeacon Downes's. Can
you, Mary?"

"I can understand that Charlie is too lazy to work,"
said Mary. Then, as if tired of the subject, she turned
to Herbert, and said, "You have not yet told us when
we may come to your studio and see The Lady of
Shalott. I am very anxious to see it. I shall not mind
its being unfinished."

"But I shall," said Herbert, suddenly becoming
self-conscious and nervous. "I fear the picture will
disappoint you in any case ; but at least I wish it to be
as good as I can make it, before you see it. I must
ask you to wait until Thursday. ' '

"Certainly, if you like," said Mary earnestly. She
was about to add something, when Mr. Sutherland,
who had become somewhat restive when the conversa-
tion turned upon pictures, declared that he had sat
long enough. So they rose to go; and Mary turned to
get a last glimpse of the man. He was looking at
them with a troubled expression; and his lips were
white. She thought he was about to speak, and invol-
untarily retreated a step. But he said nothing: only
she was struck, as he composed himself in his old
attitude, by his extreme dejection.

"Did you notice that man sitting next you?" she
whispered to Herbert, when they had gone a little
distance.

lo Love Among the Artists

"Not particularly."

"Do you think he is very poor?'*

"He certainly does not appear to be very rich," said
Herbert, looking back.

' ' I saw a very odd look in his eyes. I hope he is
not hungry."

They stopped. Then Herbert walked slowly on.
"I should think not so bad as that," he said. "I don't
think his appearance would justify me in offering
him ' '

"Oh, dear, dear me!" said Mr. Sutherland. "I am
very stupid."

"What is the matter now, papa?"

"I have lost my glasses. I must have left them on
that seat. Just wait one moment whilst I go back for
them. No, no, Herbert: I will go back myself. I
recollect exactly where I laid them down. I shall be
back in a moment. ' '

"Papa always takes the most exact notes of the
places in which he puts things ; and he always leaves
them behind him after all," said Mary. "There is
that man in precisely the same position as when we
first saw him."

' ' No. He is saying something to your father. Beg-
ging, I am afraid, or he would not stand up and lift his
hat."

"How dreadful!"

Herbert laughed. "K, as you suspected, he is
hungry, there is nothing very dreadful in it, poor
fellow. It is natural enough. * '

"I did not mean that. I meant that it was dreadful
to think of his being forced to beg. Papa has not
given him anything — I wish he would. He evidently

Love Among the Artists ii

wants to get rid of him, and, of course, does not know
how to do it. Let us go back. "

"If you wish," said Herbert, reluctantly. "But I
warn you that London is full of begging impos-
tors."

Meanwhile Mr. Sutherland, finding his spectacles
where he had left them, took them up; wiped them
with his handkerchief; and was turning away, when
he found himself confronted by the strange man, who
had risen.

"Sir," said the man, raising his shabby hat, and
speaking in a subdued voice of remarkable power: "I
have been a tutor ; and I am a musician, I can con-
vince you that I am an honest and respectable man.
I am in need of employment. Something I overheard
just now leads me to hope that you can assist me. I
will" Here the man, though apparently self-
possessed, stopped as if his breath had failed him.

Mr. Sutherland's first impulse was to tell the
stranger stiffly that he had no occasion for his services.
But as there were no bystanders, and the man's gaze
was impressive, he became nervous, and said hastily,
"Oh, thank you: I have not decided what I shall do as
yet." And he attempted to pass on.

The man immediately stepped aside, saying, "If
you will favor me with your address, sir, I can send
you testimonials which will prove that I have a right
to seek such a place as you describe. If they do not
satisfy you, I shall trouble you no further. Or if you
will be so good as to accept my card, you can consider
at your leisure whether to communicate with me or
not"

"Certainly, I will take your card," said Mr. Suther-

12 Love Among the Artists

land, flurried and conciliatory, "Thank you. I can
write to you, you, know, if I "

"I am much obliged to you." Here he produced
an ordinary visiting card, with the name "Mr. Owen
Jack" engraved, and an address at Church Street,
Kensington, written in a crabbed but distinct hand in
the corner. Whilst Mr. Sutherland was pretending to
read it, his daughter came up, purse in hand, hurrying
before Herbert, whose charity she wished to forestall.
Mr. Owen Jack looked at her; and she hid her purse
quickly. "I am sorry to have delayed you, sir," he
said. "Good morning." He raised his hat again, and
walked away.

' ' Good morning, sir, ' ' said Mr. Sutherland. ' ' Lord
bless me! that's a cool fellow," he added, recovering
himself, and beginning to feel ashamed of having been
so courteous to a poorly dressed stranger.

"What did he want, papa?"

"Indeed, my dear, he has shown me that we cannot
be too careful of how we talk before strangers in Lon-
don. By the purest accident — the merest chance, I
happened, whilst we were sitting here five minutes
ago, to mention that we wanted a tutor for Charlie.
This man was listening to us; and now he has offered
himself for the place. Just fancy the quickness of
that. Here is his card. "

"Owen Jack!" said Mary, "What a name!"

"Did he overhear anything about the musical diffi-
culty?" said Herbert. "Nature does not seem to have
formed Mr. Jack for the pursuit of a fine art."

"Yes: he caught up even that. According to his
own account, he understands music — in fact he can do
everything. ' '

Love Among the Artists 13

Mary looked thoughtful. "After all," she said
slowly, "he might suit us. He is certainly not hand-
some; but he does not seem stupid; and he would
probably not want a large salary. I think Archdeacon
Downes's man's terms are perfectly ridiculous."

' ' I am afraid it would be rather a dangerous experi-
ment to give a responsible post to an individual whom
we have chanced upon in a public park," said Herbert,

"Oh! out of the question," said Mr, Sutherland.
"I only took his card as the shortest way of getting
rid of him. Perhaps I was wrong to do even that. ' '

"Of course we should have to make inquiries," said
Mary. "Somehow, I cannot get it out of my head
that he is in very bad circumstances. He might be a
gentleman. He does not look common."

"I agree with you so far," said Herbert. "And I
am not sorry that such models are scarce. But of
course you are quite right in desiring to assist this
man, if he is unfortunate."

"Engaging a tutor is a very commonplace affair,"
said Mary; "but we may as well do some good by it if
we can. Archdeacon Downes's man is in no immedi-
ate want of a situation: he has dozens of offers to
choose from. Why not give the place to whoever is
in the greatest need of it?"

"Very well," cried Mr. Sutherland. "Send after
him and bring him home at once in a carriage and
pair, since you have made up your mind not to hear to
reason on the subject."

"After all," interposed Herbert, "it will do no harm
to make a few inquiries. If you will allow me, I will
take the matter in hand, so as to prevent all possibility
of his calling on or disturbing you. Give me his card.

14 Love Among the Artists

I will write to him for his testimonials and references,
and so forth ; and if anything comes of it, I can then
hand him over to you. ' '

Mary looked gratefully at him, and said, "Do, papa.
Let Mr. Herbert write. It cannot possibly do any
harm ; and it will be no trouble to you. ' '

"I do not object to the trouble," said Mr. Suther-
land. "I have taken the trouble of coming up to
London, all the way from Windsor, already, solely for
Charlie's sake. However, Herbert, perhaps you could
manage the affair better than I, In fact, I should
prefer to remain in the background. But then your
time is valuable "

"It will cost me only a few minutes to write the
necessary letters — minutes that would be no better
spent in any case. I assure you it will be practically
no trouble to me. ' '

"There, papa. Now we have settled that point, let
us go on to the National Gallery. I wish we were
going to your studio instead."

"You must not ask for that yet," said Herbert
earnestly. "I promise you a special private view of
•The Lady of Shalotf on Thursday next at latest."

CHAPTER II

Alton Colleg-e, Lyvem.
Sir, — In answer to your letter of the 12th instant, I
am instructed by Miss Wilson to inform you that Mr.
Jack was engaged here for ten months as professor of
music and elocution. At the end of that period he
refused to impart any further musical instruction to
three young ladies who desired a set of finishing
lessons. He therefore considered himself bound to
vacate his post, though Miss Wilson desires me to
state expressly that she did not insist on that course.
She has much pleasure in testifying to the satisfactory
manner in which Mr. Jack maintained his authority
in the school. He is an exacting teacher, but a patient
and thoroughly capable one. During his stay at
Alton College, his general conduct was irreproachable,
and his marked personal influence gained for him the
respect and good wishes of his pupils.

I am, sir, your obedient servant,

Phillis Ward, F.C.P., etc.

14 West Precinct, Lipport Cathedral,
South Wales.
Sir, — Mr, Owen Jack is a native of this town, and
was, in his boyhood, a member of the Cathedral Choir.
He is respectably connected, and is personally known
to me as a strictly honorable young man. He has
musical talent of a certain kind, and is undoubtedly
qualified to teach the rudiments of music, though he
never, whilst under our guidance, gave any serious
consideration to the higher forms of composition —
more, I should add, from natural inaptitude than from
want of energy and perseverance. I should be glad to
hear of his obtaining a good position.
Yours truly,

John Burton, Mus. Doc, Ox.

IS

1 6 Love Among the Artists

These were the replies to the inquiries about Mr.
Jack.

On Thursday afternoon Herbert stood before his
easel, watching the light changing on his picture as
the clouds shifted in the wind. At moments when the
effect on the color pleased him, he wished that Mary
would enter and see it so at her first glance. But as
the afternoon wore, it became duller; and when she at
last arrived, he felt sorry he had not appointed one
o'clock instead of three. She was accompanied by a
tall lad of sixteen, with light blue eyes, fair hair, and
an expression of irreverent good humor.

"How do you do?" said Herbert. "Take care of
those sketches, Charlie, old fellow. They are wet."

"Papa felt very tired: he thought it best to lie down
for a little," said Mary, throwing off her cloak and
appearing in a handsome dress of marmalade-colored
silk. "He leaves the arrangements with Mr. Jack to
you. I suspect the dread of having to confront that
mysterious stranger again had something to do with
his fatigue. Is the Lady of Shalott ready to be seen?"

"The light is bad, I am sorry to say," said Herbert,
lingering whilst Mary made a movement towards the
easel.

"Don't push into the room like that, Mary," said
Charlie, "Artists always have models in their studios.
Give the young lady time to dress herself."

"There is a gleam of sunshine now," said Herbert,
gravely ignoring the lad. "Better have your first
look at it while it lasts."

Mary placed herself before the easel, and gazed
earnestly at it, finding that expression the easiest mask
for a pang of disappointment which followed her first

Love Among the Artists 17

glance at the canvas. Herbert did not interrupt her
for some moments. Then he said in a low voice : "You
understand her action, do you not?"

"Yes. She has just seen the reflexion of Lancelot's
figure in the mirror ; and she is turning round to look
at the reality."

"She has a deuce of a scraggy collar-bone," said
Charlie.

"Oh, hush, Charlie," cried Mary, dreading that her
brother might roughly express her own thoughts.
"It seems quite right to me."

"The action of turning to look over her shoulder
brings out the clavicle," said Herbert, smiling. "It
is less prominent in the picture than it would be in
nature : I had to soften it a little. ' '

"Why didn't you paint her in some other attitude?"
said Charlie.

"Because I happened to be aiming at the seizure of
a poetic moment, and not at the representation of a
pretty bust, my critical young friend," said Herbert
quietly. "I think you are a little too close to the can-
vas. Miss Sutherland. Remember: the picture is not
quite finished."

"She can't see anything unless she is close to it,"
said Charlie. "In fact, she never can get close enough,
because her nose is longer than her sight. I don't
understand that window up there above the woman's
head. In reality there would be nothing to see
through it except the sky. But there is a river, and
flowers, and a man from the Lord Mayor's show. Are
they up on a mountain?"

"Charlie, please stop. How can you be so rude?"

"Oh, I am accustomed to criticism, " said Herbert.

1 8 Love Among the Artists

"You are a born critic, Charlie, since you cannot
distinguish a mirror from a window. Have you never
read your Tennyson?"

"Read Tennyson! I should think not. What
sensible man would wade through the adventures of
King Arthur and his knights? One would think that
Don Quixote had put a stop to that style of nonsense.
Who was the Lady of Shalott? One of Sir Lancelot's,
or Sir Galahad's, or Sir Somebodyelse's young women,
I suppose."

"Do not mind him, Mr. Herbert. It is pure affec-
tation. He knows perfectly well."

"I don't," said Charlie; "and what's more, I don't
believe you know either. ' '

"The Lady of Shalott," said Herbert, "had a task
to perform ; and whilst she was at work upon it, she
was, on pain of a curse, only to see the outer world as
it was reflected by a mirror which hung above her
head. One day. Sir Lancelot rode by ; and when she
saw his image she forgot the curse and turned to look
at him."

"Very interesting and sensible," said Charlie.
"Why mightn't she as well have looked at the world
straight off out of the window, as seen it left handed
in a mirror? The notion of a woman spending her life
making a Turkey carpet is considered poetic, I sup-
pose. What happened when she looked round?"

"Ah, I see you are interested. Nothing happened,
except that the mirror broke and the lady died. ' '

"Yes, and then got into a boat; rowed herself down
to Hampton Court into the middle of a water party ;
and arranged her corpse in an attitude for the benefit
of Lancelot. I've seen a picture of that."

Love Among the Artists 19

"I see you do know something about Tenny-
son. Now, Miss Sutherland, what is your honest
opinion?"

"I think it is beautiful. The coloring seemed rather
dull to me at first, because I had been thinking of the
river bank, the golden grain, the dazzling sun, the
gorgeous loom, the armor of Sir Lancelot, instead of
the Lady herself. But now that I have grasped your
idea, there is a certain sadness and weakness about
her that is very pathetic. ' '

"Do you think the figure is weak?" said Herbert
dubiously.

"Not really weak," replied Mary hastily. "I mean
that the weakness proper to her story is very touch-
ingly expressed."

"She means that it is too sober and respectable for
her," said Charlie. "She likes screaming colors. If
you had dressed the lady in red and gold ; painted the
Turkey carpet in full bloom ; and made Lancelot like
a sugar stick, she would have liked it better. That
armor, by the bye, would be the better for a rub of
emery paper. ' '

"Armor is hard to manage, particularly in distance,"
said Herbert. "Here I had to contend with the
additional difficulty of not making the reflexion in the
mirror seem too real."

"You seem to have got over that pretty success-
fully," said Charlie.

"Yes," said Mary. "There is a certain unreality
about the landscape and the figure in armor that I
hardly understood at first. The more I strive to
exercise my judgment upon art, the more I feel my
ignorance. I wish you would always tell me when I

20 Love Among the Artists

make foolish comments. There is someone knocking,
I think."

"It is only the housekeeper," said Herbert, opening
the door.

"Mr. Jack, sir," said the housekeeper,

"Dear me! we must have been very late," said
Mary. "It is four o'clock. Now Charlie, pray
behave like a gentleman."

"I suppose he had better come in here," said
Herbert. "Or would you rather not meet him?"

"Oh, I must meet him. Papa told me particularly
to speak to him myself."

Mr. Jack was accordingly shewn in by the house-
keeper. This time, he displayed linen — a clean collar;
and he carried a new hat. He made a formal bow,
and looked at the artist and his guests, who became a
little nervous.

"Good evening, Mr. Jack," said Herbert. "I see
you got my letter. ' '

"You are Mr. Herbert?" said Jack, in his resonant
voice, which, in the lofty studio, had a bright, close
quality like the middle notes of a trumpet. Herbert
nodded. "You are not the gentleman to whom I
spoke on Saturday .f""

"No. Mr. Sutherland is not well; and I am acting
for him. This is the young gentleman whom I
mentioned to you."

Charlie blushed, and grinned. Then, seeing a
humorous wrinkling in the stranger's face, he
stepped forward and offered him his hand. Jack
shook it heartily. "I shall get on very well with
you," he said, "if you think you will like me as a
tutor."

Love Among the Artists 21

"Charlie never works," said Mary: "that is his
great failing, Mr. Jack."

"You have no right to say that," said Charlie,
reddening. "How do you know whether I work or
not? I can make a start with Mr. Jack without being
handicapped by your amiable recommendation."

"This is Miss Sutherland," said Herbert, interposing
quickly. "She is the mistress of Mr. Sutherland's
household; and she will explain to you how you will
be circumstanced as regards your residence with the
family. ' '

Jack bowed again. "I should like to know, first,
at what studies this young gentleman requires my
assistance."

"I want to learn something about music — about the
theory of music, you know," said Charlie; "and I can
grind at anything else you like."

"His general education must not be sacrificed to the
music," said Mary anxiously.

"Oh! don't you be afraid of my getting off too
easily," said Charlie. "I dare say Mr. Jack knows his
business without being told it by you."

"Pray don't interrupt me, Charlie. I wish you
would go into the next room and look at the sketches.
I shall have to arrange matters with Mr. Jack which
do not concern you. ' '

"Very well," said Charlie, sulkily. "I don't want
to interfere with your arrangements; but don't you
interfere with mine. Let Mr. Jack form his own
opinion of me; and keep yours to yourself." Then
he left the studio.

"If there is to be any serious study of music — I
understood from Mr. Herbert that your young brother

22 Love Among: the Artists

t>

desires to make it his profession — other matters must
give place to it," said Jack bluntly. "A little ex-
perience will shew us the best course to take with him. ' '

"Yes," said Mary. After hesitating a moment she
added timidly, "Then you are willing to undertake
his instruction?"

"I am willing, so far," said Jack.

Mary looked nervously at Herbert, who smiled, and
said, "Since we are satisfied on that point, the only
remaining question, I presume, is one of terms."

"Sir," said Jack abruptly, "I hate business and
know nothing about it. Therefore excuse me if I put
my terms in my own way. If I am to live with Mr.
Sutherland at Windsor, I shall want, besides food and
lodging, a reasonable time to myself every day, with
permission to use Miss Sutherland's piano when I can
do so without disturbing anybody, and money enough
to keep me decently clothed, and not absolutely
penniless. I will say thirty-five pounds a year. ' '

"Thirty-five pounds a year" repeated Herbert. "To
confess the truth, I am not a man of business myself ;
but that seems quite reasonable."

"Oh, quite," said Mary. "I think papa would not
mind giving more. ' '

"It is enough for me," said Jack, with something
like a suppressed chuckle at Mary's simplicity. "Or,
I will take a church organ in the neighborhood, if
you can procure it for me, in lieu of salary."

"I think we had better adhere to the usual arrange-
ment," said Herbert. Jack nodded, and said, "I have
no further conditions to make. ' '

"Do you wish to say anything?" said Herbert, look-
ing inquiringly at Mary.

Love Among the Artists 23

"No, I — I think not. I thought Mr. Jack would like
to know something of our domestic arrangements. ' '

"Thank you," said Jack curtly, "I need not trouble
you. If your house does not suit me, I can complain,
or leave it." He paused, and then added more
courteously, "You may reassure yourself as to my
personal comfort, Miss Sutherland. I am well used to
greater privation than I am likely to suffer with you."

Mary had nothing more to say. Herbert coughed
and turned his ring round a few times upon his
finger. Jack stood motionless, and looked very ugly.

"Although Mr. Sutherland has left this matter
altogether in my hands," said Herbert at last, "I
hardly like to conclude it myself. He is staying close
by, in Onslow Gardens, Would you mind calling on
him now? If you will allow me, I will give you a
note to the effect that our interview has been a
satisfactory one." Jack bowed. "Excuse me for
one moment. My writing materials are in the next
room. I will say a word or two to Charlie, and send
him in to you. ' *

There was a mirror in the room, which Herbert had
used as a model. It was so placed that Mary could see
the image of the new tutor's face, as, being now alone
with her, he looked for the first time at the picture.
A sudden setting of his mouth and derisive twinkle
in his eye shewed that he found something half
ludicrous, half contemptible, in the work; and she,
observing this, felt hurt, and began to repent having
engaged him. Then the expression softened to one of
compassion; he sighed as he turned away from the
easel. Before she could speak Charlie entered, say-
ing;

24 Love Among the Artists

"I am to go back with you to Onslow Gardens, Mr.
Jack, if you don't mind."

"Oh, no, Charlie: you must stay with me," said
Mary.

"Don't be alarmed: Adrian is going- on to the
Museum with you directly; and the housekeeper is
here to do propriety, I have no particular fancy for
lounging about that South Kensington crockery shop
with you; and, besides, Mr. Jack does not know his
way to Jermyn's. Here is Adrian."

Herbert came in, and handed a note to the tutor,
who took it; nodded briefly to them; and went out
with Charlie.

"That is certainly the ugliest man I ever saw," said
Herbert. "I think he has got the better of us, too.
We are a pretty pair to transact business."

"Yes," said Mary, laughing. "He said he was not
a man of business; but I wonder what he thinks of
us."

"As of two young children whom fate has delivered
into his hand, doubtless. Shall we start now for
South Kensington?"

"Yes. But I don't want to disturb my impression
of the Lady of Shalott by any more art to-day. It is
so fine this afternoon that I think it would be more
sensible for us to take a walk in the Park than to shut
ourselves up in the Museum."

Herbert agreeing, they walked together to Hyde
Park. "Now that we are here," said he, "where
shall we go to? The Row?"

"Certainly not. It is the most vulgar place in
London. If we could find a pleasant seat, I should
like to rest."

Love Among the Artists 25

"We had better try Kensington Gardens, then."

"No," said Mary, remembering Mr. Jack. "I do
not like Kensington Gardens. ' '

"I have just thought of the very thing," exclaimed
Herbert. "Let us take a boat. The Serpentine is not
so pretty as the Thames at Windsor ; but it will have
the charm of novelty for you. Will you come?"

"I should like it of all things. But I rely upon you
as to the propriety of my going with you. "

Herbert hesitated. "I do not think there can be
any harm "

"There: I was only joking. Do you think I allow
myself to be influenced by such nonsense as that? Let
us go."

So they went to the boat-house and embarked.
Herbert sculled aimlessly about, enjoying the spring
sunshine, until they found themselves in an unfre-
quented corner of the Serpentine, when he half
shipped his sculls, and said, "Let us talk for a while
now. I have worked enough, I think."

"By all means," said Mary, "May I begin?"

Herbert looked quickly at her, and seemed a little
disconcerted. "Of course," said he.

"I want to make a confession," she said. "It con-
cerns the Lady of Shalott, of which I have been busily
thinking since we started."

"Have you reconsidered your good opinion of it?'

"No. Better and yet worse than that. I have
reconsidered my bad impression of it — at least, I do
not mean that — I never had a bad impression of it,
but my vacant, stupid first idea. My confession is that
I was disappointed at the first sight of it. Wait: let
me finish. It was different from what I imagined, as

26 Love Among the Artists

it ought to have been; for I am not an artist, and
therefore do not imagine things properly. But it has
grown upon me since ; and now I like it better than if
it had dazzled my ignorant eyes at first. I have been
thinking that if it had the gaudy qualities 1 missed in
it, I should not have respected you so much for paint-
ing it, nor should I have been forced to dwell on the
poetry of the conception as I have been. I remember
being secretly disappointed the first time we went to
the National Gallery; and, as to my first opera, I
suffered agonies of disenchantment. It is a comfort
to me — a mean one, I fear — to know that Sir Joshua
Reynolds was disappointed at his first glimpse of
Raphael's frescoes in the Vatican, and that some of
the great composers thought Beethoven's music
hideous before they became familiar with it."

"You find that my picture improves on ac-
quaintance?"

"Oh, yes! Very much. Or rather I improve."

"But are you sure you are not coaxing yourself into
a false admiration of it for my — to avoid hurting me?"

"No, indeed," said Mary vehemently, trying by
force of assertion to stifle this suspicion, which had
come into her own mind before Herbert mentioned it.

"And do you still feel able to sympathize with my
aims, and willing to encourage me, and to keep the
highest aspects of my art before me, as you have done
hitherto?"

"I feel willing, but not able. How often must I
remind you that I owe all my feeling for art to you,
and that I am only the faint reflexion of you in all
matters concerning it?"

** Nevertheless without your help I should long ago

Love Among the Artists ^7

have despaired. Are you quite sure — I beg you to
answer me faithfully — that you do not despise me?"

"Mr. Herbert! How can you think such a thing of
me? How can you think it of yourself?"

"I am afraid my constant self-mistrust is only too
convincing a proof of my weakness. I sometimes
despise myself."

"It is a proof of your artistic sensibility. You do
not need to learn from me that all the great artists
have left passages behind them proving that they have
felt sometimes as you feel now. Take the oars again ;
and let us spin down to the bridge. The exercise will
cure your fancies."

"Not yet. I have something else to say. Has it
occurred to you that if by any accident — by the
forming of a new tie, for instance — your sympathies
came to be diverted from me, I should lose the only
person whose belief in me has helped me to believe in
myself? How utterly desolate I should be!"

"Desolate! Nonsense. Some day you will exhaust
the variety of the sympathy you compliment me so
highly upon. You will find it growing shallow and
monotonous ; and then you will not be sorry to be rid
of it."

"I am quite serious. Mary: I have felt for some
time past that it is neither honest nor wise in me to
trifle any longer with my only chance of happiness.
Will you become engaged to me? You may meet
many better and stronger men than I, but none who
will value you more highly — perhaps none to whose
life you can be so indispensable. ' '

There was a pause, Mary being too full of the
responsibility she felt placed upon her to reply at once.

28 Love Among the Artists

Of the ordinary maidenly embarassment she shewed
not a trace.

"Why cannot we go on as we have been doing so
happily?" she said, thoughtfully.

"Of course, if you wish it, we can. That is, if you
do not know your own mind on the subject. But such
happiness as there may be in our present indefinite
relations will be all on your side. ' '

"It seems so ungrateful to hesitate. It is doubt of
myself that makes me do so. You have always
immensely overrated me ; and I should not like you to
feel at some future day that you had made a mistake.
When you are famous, you will be able to choose
whom you please, and where you please."

"If that is the only consideration that hinders you,
I claim your consent. Do you think that I, too, do
not feel how little worthy of your acceptance my offer
is? But if we can love one another, what does all that
matter? It is not as though we were strangers: we
have proved one another. It is absurd that we two
should say 'Mr. Herbert' and 'Miss Sutherland', as if
our friendship were an acquaintance of ceremony."

"I have often wished that you would call me Mary.
At home we always speak of you as Adrian. But I
could hardly have asked you to, could I?"

"I am sorry you did not. And now, will you give
me a definite answer? Perhaps I have hardly made
you a definite offer ; but you know my position. I am
too poor with my wretched ^300 a year to give you a
proper home at present. For that I must depend on
my brush. You can fancy how I shall work when
every exertion will bring my wedding day nearer;
though, even at the most hopeful estimate, I fear I am

Love Among the Artists 29

condemning you to a long engagement. Are you
afraid to venture on it?"

"Yes, I am afraid; but only lest you should find out
the true worth of what you are waiting for. If you
will risk that, I consent,"

CHAPTER III

On one of the last days of July, Mary Sutherland
was in her father's house at Windsor, copying a sketch
signed A, H. The room had a French window open-
ing on a little pleasure ground and shrubbery, far
beyond which, through the swimming summer atmos-
phere, was the river threading the distant valley.
But Mary did not look that way. With her attention
concentrated on a stained scrap of paper, she might
have passed for an aesthetic daughter of the Man with
the Muck Rake. At last a shadow fell upon the draw-
ing board. Then she turned, and saw a tall, hand-
some lady, a little past middle age, standing at the
window.

"Mrs. Herbert!" she exclaimed, throwing down her
brush, and running to embrace the new comer. "I
thought you were in Scotland."

"So I was, until last week. The first person I saw
in London was your Aunt Jane ; and she has persuaded
me to stay at Windsor with her for a fortnight. How
well you are looking! I saw your portrait in Adrian's
studio; and it is not the least bit like you."

"I hope you did not tell him so. Besides, it must
be like me. All Adrian's artistic friends admire it. "

"Yes; and he admires their works in return. It is a
well understood bargain. Poor Adrian! He did not
know that I was coming back from Scotland; and I
gave him a very disagreeable surprise by walking into
his studio on Monday afternoon."

30

Love Among the Artists 31

"Disagreeable! I am sure he was delighted."

"He did not even pretend to be pleased. His
manners are really getting worse and worse. Who is
the curious person that opened the shrubbery gate for
me? — a sort of Cyclop with a voice of bronze."

"It is only Mr. Jack, Charlie's tutor. He has noth-
ing to do at present, as Charlie is spending a fortnight
at Cambridge."

"Oh, indeed! Your Aunt Jane has a great deal to
say about him. She does not like him; and his
appearance rather confirms her, I must say, though he
has good eyes. Whose whim was Mr. Jack, pray?"

"Mine, they say; though I had no more to do with
his being engaged than papa or Charlie had."

"I am glad Adrian had nothing to do with it. Well,
Mary, have you any news for me? Has anything
wonderful happened since I went to Scotland?"

"No. At least, I think not. You heard of papa's
aunt Dorcas's death."

"That was in April, just before I went away. I
heard that you left London early in the season. It is
childish to bury yourself down here. You must get
married, dear."

Mary blushed. "Did Adrian tell you of his new
plans?" she said.

"Adrian never tells me anything. And indeed I do
not care to hear of any plans of his until he has, once
for all, given up his absurd notion of becoming a
painter. Of course he will not hear of that: he has
never forgiven me for suggesting it. All that his fine
art has done for him as yet is to make him dislike his
mother; and I hope it may never do worse."

"But, Mrs. Herbert, you are mistaken: I assure you

32 Love Among the Artists'

you are quite mistaken. He is a little sore, perhaps,
because you do not appreciate his genius ; but he loves
you very dearly, ' '

"Do not trouble yourself about my not appreciating
his genius, as you call it, my dear. I am not one bit
prejudiced against art; and if Adrian had the smallest
chance of becoming a good painter, I would share my
jointure with him and send him abroad to study. But
he will never paint. I am not what is called an
aesthete ; and pictures that are generally understood to
be the perfection of modern art invariably bore me,
because I do not understand them. But I do under-
stand Adrian's daubs; and I know that they are
invariably weak and bad. All the Royal Academy
could not persuade me to the contrary — though,
indeed, they are not likely to try. I wish I could make
you understand that anyone who dissuades Adrian
from pursuing art will be his best friend. Don't you
feel that yourself when you look at his pictures, Mary?"

"No," said Mary, fixing her glasses and looking
boldly at her visitor. "I feel just the contrary."

"Then you must be blind or infatuated. Take his
portrait of you as an example! No one could
recognize it. Even Adrian told me that he would
have destroyed it, had you not forbidden him ; though
he was bursting with suppressed resentment because
I did not pretend to admire it."

"I believe that Adrian will be a great man yet, and
that you will acknowledge that you were mistaken in
him."

"Well, my dear, you are young, and not very wise,
for all your cleverness. Besides, you did not know
Adrian's father."

Love Among the Artists 33

•'No; but I know Adrian — very well, I think. I
have faith in the entire worthiness of his conceptions ;
and he has proved that he does not grudge the hard
work which is all that is requisite to secure the power
of executing what he conceives. You cannot expect
him to be a great painter without long practice and
study."

"I do not understand metaphysics, Mary, Con-
ceptions and executions are Greek to me. But I know
very well that Adrian will never be happy until he is
married to some sensible woman. And married he
never can be whilst he remains an artist."

"Why?"

"What a question! How can he marry with only
three hundred a year? He would not accept an allow-
ance from me, even if I could afford to make him one ;
for since we disagreed about this wretched art, he has
withdrawn himself from me in every possible way,
and with an ostentation, too, which — natural feeling
apart — is in very bad taste. He will never add a penny
to his income by painting : of that I am certain ; and
he has not enterprise enough to marry a woman with
money. If he persists in his infatuation, you will find
that he will drag out his wife waiting for a success
that will never come. And he has no social talents.
If he were a genius, like Raphael, his crotchets would
not matter. If he were a humbug, like his uncle John
he would flourish as all humbugs do in this wicked
world. But Adrian is neither: he is only a duffer,
poor fellow."

Mary reddened, and said nothing.

"Have you any influence over him?" said Mrs.
Herbert, watching her.

34 Love Among the Artists

"If I had," replied Mary "I would not use it to
discourage him."

"I am sorry for that. I had some hope that you
would help me to save him from wasting his opportu-
nities. Your Aunt Jane has been telling me that you
are engaged to him ; but that is such an old story now
that I never pay any attention to it. ' '

"Has Adrian not told you "

"My dear, I have already said a dozen times that
Adrian never tells me anything. The more important
his affairs are, the more openly and purposely he
excludes me from them. I hope you have not been so
silly as to rely on his visions of fame for your future
support. ' '

"The truth is that we have been engaged since last
April. I v/anted Adrian to write to you ; but he said
he preferred to speak to you about it. I thought he
would have done so the moment you returned. How-
ever, I am sure he had good reasons for leaving me to
tell you; and I am quite content to wait until he reaps
the reward of his labor. We must agree to differ
about his genius. I have perfect faith in him."

"Well, Mary, I am very sorry for your sake. I am
afraid, if you do not lose patience and desert him in
time, you will live to see all your own money spent,
and to try bringing up a family on three hundred a
year. If you would only be advised, and turn him
from his artistic conceit, you would be the best wife
in England for him. You have such force of character
— just what he wants."

Mary laughed. "You are so mistaken in everything
concerning Adrian!" she said. "It is he who has all
the force of character: I am only his pupil. He has

Love Among the Artists 35

imposed all his ideas on me, more, perhaps, by dint of
their purity and truth than of his own assertiveness ;
for he is no dogmatist. I am always the follower : he
the leader. ' '

"All very fine, Mary; but my old-fashioned common-
sense is better than your clever modern nonsense.
However, since Adrian has turned your head, there is
nothing for it but to wait until you both come to your
senses. That must be your Aunt Jane at the door.
She promised to follow me within half an hour."

Mary frowned, and recovered her serenity with an
effort as she rose to greet her aunt, Mrs. Beatty, an
elderly lady, with features like Mr. Sutherland's but
fat and imperious. She exclaimed, "I hope I've not
come too soon, Mary. How surprised you must have
been to see Mrs. Herbert!"

"Yes. Mr. Jack let her into the shrubbery; and
she appeared to me at the window without a word of
warning. ' '

"Mr. Jack is a nice person to have in a respectable
house," said Mrs. Beatty scornfully. "Do you know
where I saw him last?"

"No," said Mary impatiently; "and I do not want
to know. I am tired of Mr. Jack's misdemeanors."

"Misdemeanors! I call it scandal, Mary. A per-
fect disgrace!"

"Dear me! What has he done now?'

"You may well ask. He is at present shewing him-
self in the streets of Windsor in company with
common soldiers, openly entering the taverns with
them."

"O Aunt Jane! Are you sure?"

"Perhaps you will allow me to believe my own

36 Love Among the Artists

senses. I drove through the town on my way here — •
you know what a small town is, Mrs. Herbert, and how
everybody knows everybody else by sight in it, let
alone such a remarkable looking person as this Mr.
Jack; and the very first person I saw was Private
Charles, the worst character in my husband's regiment,
conversing with my nephew's tutor at the door of the
'Green Man.' They went into the bar together
before my eyes. Now, what do you think of your Mr.
Jack?"

"He may have had some special reason "

"Special reason! Fiddlestick! What right has any
servant of my brother's to speak to a profligate soldier
in broad daylight in the streets? There can be no
excuse for it. If Mr. Jack, had a particle of self-respect
he would maintain a proper distance between himself
and even a full sergeant. But this Charles is such a
drunkard that he spends half his time in cells. He
would have been dismissed from the regiment long
since, only he is a bandsman; and the bandmaster
begs Colonel Beatty not to get rid of him, as he can-
not be replaced."

"If he is a bandsman," said Mary, "that explains it,
Mr. Jack wanted musical information from him, I
suppose."

"I declare, Mary, it is perfectly wicked to hear you
defend such conduct. Is a public house the proper
place for learning music? Why could not Mr. Jack
apply to your uncle? If he had addressed himself
properly to me. Colonel Beatty could have ordered the
man to give him whatever information was required
of him."

"I must say, aunt, that you are the last person I

Love Among the Artists 37

should expect Mr/ Jack to ask a favor from, judging
by your usual manner towards him. "

"There!" said Mrs. Beatty, turning indignantly to
Mrs. Herbert. "That is the way I am treated in this
house to gratify Mr. Jack. Last week I was told that
I was in the habit of gossiping with servants, because
Mrs, Williams' housemaid met him in the Park
on Sunday — on Sunday, mind — whistling and sing-
ing and behaving like a madman. And now,
when Mary's favorite is convicted in the very act of
carousing with the lowest of the low, she turns it off
by saying that I do not know how to behave myself
before a tutor. ' '

"I did not say so, aunt; and you know that very
well. "

"Oh, well, of course if you are going to fly out at
me "

"I am not flying at you, aunt; but you are taking
offence without the least reason; and you are making
Mrs. Herbert believe that I am Mr. Jack's special
champion — you called him my favorite. The truth is,
Mrs. Herbert, that nobody likes this Mr. Jack ; and we
only keep him because Charlie makes some progress
with him, and respects him. Aunt Jane took a violent
dislike to him ' '

"I, Mary! What is Mr. Jack to me that I should
like or dislike him, pray?"

" and she is always bringing me stories of his

misdoings, as if they were my fault. Then, when I
try to defend him from obvious injustice, I am accused
of encouraging and shielding him."

**So you do," said Mrs. Beatty.

**I say whatever I can for him," said Mary sharply,

38 Love Among the Artists

"because I dislike him too much to condescend to join
in attacks made on him behind his back. And I am
not afraid of him, though you are, and so is Papa."

**0h, really you are too ridiculous," said Mrs.
Beatty. "Afraid!"

"I see," said Mrs. Herbert smoothly, "that my
acquaintance the Cyclop has made himself a bone of
contention here. Since you all dislike him, why not
dismiss him and get a more popular character in his
place? He is really not an ornament to your establish-
ment. Where is your father, Mary?"

"He has gone out to dine at Eton; and he will not
be back until midnight. He will be so sorry to have
missed you. But he will see you to-morrow, of course. ' '

"And you are alone here?"

"Yes, Alone with my work. "

"Then what about our plan of taking you back with
us and keeping you for the evening?"

"I think I would rather stay and finish my work."

"Nonsense, child," said Mrs. Beatty. "You can-
not be working always. Come out and enjoy
yourself. ' '

Mary yielded with a sigh, and went for her hat.

"I am sure that all this painting and poetry reading
is not good for a young girl, ' ' said Mrs. Beatty, whilst
Mary was away. "It is very good of your Adrian to
take such trouble to cultivate Mary's mind; but so
much study cannot but hurt her brain. She is very
self-willed and full of outlandish ideas. She is not
under proper control. Poor Charles has no more
resolution than a baby. And she will not listen to
me, alth "

"I am ready," said Mary, returning.

Love Among the Artists 39

"You make me nervous — you do everything so
quickly," said Mrs. Beatty, querulously. "I wish
you would take shorter steps," she added, looking dis-
paragingly at her niece's skirts as they went out
through the shrubbery. "It is not nice to see a girl
striding like a man. It gives you quite a bold
appearance when you swing along, peering at people
through your glasses. ' '

"That is an old crime of mine, Mrs. Herbert," said
Mary. "I never go out with Aunt Jane without being
lectured for not walking as if I had high heeled boots.
Even the Colonel took me too task one evening here.
He said a man should walk like a horse, and a woman
like a cow. His complaint was that I walked like a
horse; and he said that you, aunt, walked properly,
like a cow. It is not worth any woman's while to gain
such a compliment as that. It made Mr. Jack laugh
for the first and only time in our house."

Mrs. Beatty reddened, and seemed about to make
an angry reply, when the tutor came in at the shrub-
bery gate, and held it open for them to pass. Mrs.
Herbert thanked him. Mrs. Beatty, following her,
tried to look haughtily at him, but quailed, and made
him a slight bow, in response to which he took off his
hat.

"Mr. Jack," said Mary, stopping: "i^ papa comes
back before I am in, will you please tell him that I
am at Colonel Beatty' s."

"At what hour do you expect him?"

"Not until eleven, at soonest. I am almost sure to
be back first; but if by any chance I should not
be "

"I will tell him," said Jack. Mary passed on; and

40 Love Among the Artists

he watched them until Mrs, Beatty's carriage disap-
peared. Then he hurried indoors, and brought a heap
of manuscript music into the room the ladies had just
left. He opened the pianoforte and sat down before
it ; but instead of playing he began to write, occasion-
ally touching the keys to try the effect of a progression,
or rising to walk up and down the room with puckered
brows.

He labored in this fashion until seven o'clock, when,
hearing someone whistling in the road, he went out
into the shrubbery, and presently came back with a
soldier, not perfectly sober, who carried a roll of music
paper and a case containing three clarionets.

**Now let us hear what you can make of it," said
Jack, seating himself at the piano,

"It's cruel quick, that allagrow part is," said the
soldier, trying to make his sheet of music stand
properly on Mary's table easel, "Just give us your B
flat, will you, Mister," Jack struck the note; and
the soldier blew. "Them ladies' singin' pianos is
always so damn low," he grumbled. "I've drom the
slide as far as it'll come. Just wait while I stick a
washer in the bloomin' thing,"

"It seems to me that you have been drinking instead
of practising, since I saw you," said Jack.

"S' help me, governor, I've been practising all the
a'ternoon, I on'y took a glass on my way here to set
me to rights. Now, Mister, I'm ready," Jack
immediately attacked Mary's piano with all the vigor
of an orchestra ; and the clarionet soon after made its
entry with a brilliant cadenza. The soldier was a
rapid executant; his tone was fine; and the only
varieties of expression he was capable of, the spirited

Love Among the Artists 41

and the pathetic, satisfied even Jack, who, on other
points, soon began to worry the soldier by his
fastidiousness.

"Stop," he cried. "That is not the effect I want at
all. It is not bright enough. Take the other clar-
ionet. Try it in C."

"Wot! Play all them flats on a clarionet in C! It
can't be done. Leastways I'm damn'd if I can —
Hello! 'Ere's a gent for you, sir."

Jack turned. Adrian Herbert was standing on the
threshold, astonished, holding the handle of the open
door. "I have been listening outside for some time,"
he said politely. ' ' I hope I do not disturb you. ' '

"No," replied Jack. "Friend Charles here is worth
listening to. Eh, Mr. Herbert?"

Private Charles looked down modestly; jingled his
spurs; coughed; and spat through the open window.
Adrian did not appreciate his tone or his execution ;
but he did appreciate his sodden features, his weak
and husky voice, and his barrack accent. Seeing a
clarionet and a red handkerchief lying on a satin
cushion which he had purchased for Mary at a bazaar,
the looked at the soldier with disgust, and at Jack
with growing indignation.

"I presume there is no one at home," he said
coldly.

"Miss Sutherland is at Mrs. Beatty's, and will not
return until eleven," said Jack, looking at Adrian
with his most rugged expression, and not subduing his
powerful voice, the sound of which always afflicted
the artist with a sensation of insignificance, "Mrs.
Beatty and a lady who is visiting her called and
brought her out with them. Mr. Sutherland is at

42 Love Among the Artists

Eton, and will not be back till midnight. My pupil
is still at Cambridge. ' '

"H'm!" said Adrian. "I shall go on to Mrs.
Beatty's. I should probably disturb you by re-
maining."

Jack nodded and turned to the piano without further
ceremony. Private Charles had taken one of Mary's
paint-brushes and fixed it upon the desk against his
sheet of music, which was rolling itself up. This was
the last thing Herbert saw before he left. As he
walked away he heard the clarionet begin the slow
movement of the concerto, a melody which, in spite of
his annoyance, struck him as quite heavenly. He
nevertheless hastened out of earshot, despising the
whole art of music because a half-drunken soldier
could so affect him by it.

Half a mile from the Sutherlands' house was a gate,
though which he passed into a flower-garden, in which
a tall gentleman with sandy hair was smoking a cigar.
This was Colonel Beatty, from whom he learnt that
the ladies were in the drawing-room. There he found
his mother and Mrs. Beatty working in colored wools,
whilst Mary, at a distance from them, was reading a
volume of Browning. She gave a sigh of relief as he
entered.

"Is this your usual hour for making calls?" said
Mrs. Herbert, in response to her son's cool "Good
evening, mother."

"Yes," said he. "I cannot work at night." He
passed on and sat down beside Mary at the other end
of the room. Mrs. Beatty smiled significantly at Mrs.
Herbert, who shrugged her shoulders and went on
with her work.

Love Among the Artists 43

"What is the matter, Adrian?" said Mary, in a low
voice.

"Why?"

"You look annoyed."

"I am not annoyed. But I am not quite satisfied
with the way in which your household is managed in
your absence by Mr. Jack."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Mary, "you too! Am
I never to hear the last of Mr. Jack? It is bad enough
to have to meet him every day, without having his
misdeeds dinned into my ears from morning till night. "

"I think an end should be put to such a state of
things, Mary. I have often reproached myself for
having allowed you to engage this man with so little
consideration. I thought his mere presence in the
house could not affect you — that his business would be
with Charlie only. My experience of the injury that
can be done by the mere silent contact of coarse
natures with fine ones should have taught me better.
Mr. Jack is not fit to live with you, Mary."

"But perhaps it is our fault. He has no idea of the
region of thought from which I wish I never had to
descend ; but, after all, we have no fault to find with
him. We cannot send him away because he does not
appreciate pictures."

"No. But I have reason to believe that he is not
quite so well-behaved in your absence as he is when
you are at home. When I arrived to-night, for
instance, I, of course, went straight to your house.
There I heard a musical entertainment going forward.
When I went in I was greeted with a volley of oaths
which a drunken soldier was addressing to Jack. The
two were in the drawing-room and did not perceive me

44 Love Among the Artists

at first, Jack being seated at your pianoforte,
accompanying the soldier, who was playing a flageolet.
The fellow was using your table easel for a desk, and
your palette knife as a paper weight to keep his music
flat. Has Jack your permission to introduce his
military friends whenever you are out?"

"Certainly not," said Mary, reddening. "I never
heard of such a thing. I think Mr. Jack is excessively
impertinent. ' '

"What is the matter?" said Mrs. Beatty, perceiving
that her niece was vexed.

"Nothing, aunt," said Mary hastily. "Please do
not tell Aunt Jane," she added in an undertone to
Adrian.

"Why not?"

"Oh, she will only worry about it. Pray do not
mention it. What ought we to do about it, Adrian?"

"Simply dismiss Mr. Jack forthwith?"

"But Yes, I suppose we should. The only

difficulty is " Mary hesitated, and at last added,

' ' I am afraid he will think that it is out of revenge for
his telling Charlie not to take his ideas of music from
my way of playing it, and because he despises my
painting."

"Despises your painting! Do you mean to say that
he has been insolent to you? You should dismiss him
at once. Surely such fears as you expressed just now
have no weight with you, Mary?"

Mary reddened again, and said, a little angrily, "It
is very easy for you to talk of dismissing people,
Adrian ; but if you had to do it yourself, you would
feel how unpleasant it is. ' '

Adrian looked grave and did not reply. After a

Love Among the Artists 45

short silence Mary rose; crossed the room carelessly;
and began to play the piano. Herbert, instead of
sitting- by her and listening, as his habit was, went out
and joined the Colonel in the garden.

"What have you quarrelled about, dear?" said Mrs.
Herbert.

"We have not quarrelled," said Mary. "What
made you think that, ' '

"Adrian is offended."

"Oh, no. At least I cannot imagine why he should
be."

"He is. I know what Adrian's slightest shrug
signifies. ' '

Mary shook her head and went on playing. Adrian
did not return until they went into another room to
sup. Then Mary said she must go home ; and Herbert
rose to accompany her. ' '

"Good-night, mother," he said. "I shall see you
to-morrow. I have a bed in the town, and will go
there directly when I have left Mary safely at
home." He nodded; shook hands with Mrs. Beatty
and the Colonel; and went out with Mary. They
walked a hundred yards in silence. Then Mary
said:

"Are you offended, Adrian? Mrs. Herbert said you
were. ' '

He started as if he had been stung. "I do not
believe I could make a movement, ' ' he replied indig-
nantly, "for which my mother would not find some
unworthy motive. She never loses an opportunity to
disparage me and to make mischief."

' ' She does not mean it, Adrian. It is only that she
does not quite understand you. You sometimes say

46 Love Among the Artists

hard things of her, although I know you do not mean
to speak unkindly."

"Pardon me, Mary, I do. I hate hypocrisy of all
kinds ; and you annoy me when you assume any tender-
ness on my part towards my mother. I dislike her. I
believe I should do so even if she had treated me
well, and shewed me the ordinary respect which I have
as much right to from a parent as from any other
person. Our natures are antagonistic, our views of
life and duty incompatible: we have nothing in
common. That is the plain truth ; and however much
it may shock you, unless you are willing to accept it
as unalterable, I had rather you would drop the
subject."

"Oh, Adrian, I do not think it is right to "

"I do not think, Mary, that you can tell me anything
concerning what is called filial duty that I am not
already familiar with. I cannot help my likes and dis-
likes: I have to entertain them when they come to me,
without regard to their propriety. You may be quite
tranquil as far as my mother's feelings are concerned.
My undutiful sentiments afford her her chief delight
— a pretext for complaining of me. "

Mary looked wistfully at him, and walked on, down-
cast. He stopped; turned towards her gravely; and
resumed :

"Mary: I suspect from one or two things you have
said, that you cherish a project for reconciling me to
my mother. You must relinquish that idea. I myself
exhausted every effort to that end long ago. I dis-
guised the real nature of my feeling towards her until
even self-deception, the most persistent of all forms of
illusion, was no longer possible. In those days I

Love Among the Artists 47

should have hailed your good offices with pleasure.
Now I have not the least desire to be reconciled to
her. As I have said, we have nothing- in common:
her affection would be a burden to me. Therefore
think no more of it. Whenever you wish to see me in
my least amiable mood, re-open the subject, and you
will be gratified."

"I shall avoid it since you wish me to. I only
wished to say that you left me in an awkward position
to-day by not telling her of our engagement. ' '

"True. That was inconsiderate of me. I intended
to tell her; but 1 got no opportunity. It matters
little ; she would only have called me a fool. Did you
tell her?"

"Yes, when I found that Aunt Jane had told her
already. ' '

"And what did she say?"

"Oh, nothing. She reminded me that you were not
rich enough to marry. ' '

"And proclaimed her belief that I should never
become so unless I gave up painting?"

"She was quite kind to me about it. But she is a
little prejudiced "

"Yes, I know. For heaven's sake let us think and
talk about something else. Look at the stars. What
a splendid dome they make of the sky now that there
is no moon to distract attention from them. And yet
a great artist, with a miserable yard of canvas, can
move us as much as that vast expanse of air and fire. "

"Yes. — I am very uncomfortable about Mr. Jack,
Adrian. If he is to be sent away, it must be done
before Charlie returns, or else there will be a quarrel
about it. But then, who is to speak to him? He is a

48 Love Among the Artists

very hard person to find fault with; and very likely
papa will make excuses for him sooner than face him
with a dismissal. Or, worse again, he might give him
some false reason for sending him away, in order to
avoid an explosion ; and somehow I would rather do
anything than condescend to tell Mr. Jack a story. If
he were anyone else I should not mind so much."

"There is no occasion to resort to untruth, which is
equally odious, no matter to whom it is addressed. It
was agreed that his engagement should be terminable
by a month's notice on either side. Let Mr. Suther-
land write him a letter giving that notice. No reason
need be mentioned ; and the letter can be courteously
worded, thanking him for his past services, and simply
saying that Charlie is to be placed in other hands. "

"But it will be so unpleasant to have him with us
for a month under a sentence of dismissal."

"Well, it cannot be helped. There is no alternative
but to turn him out of the house for misconduct. * '

"That is impossible. A letter will be the best. I
wish we had never seen him, or that he were gone
already. Hush. Listen a moment. "

They stopped. The sound of a pianoforte came to
their ears.

"He is playing still," said Mary. "Let us go back
for Colonel Beatty. He will know how to deal with
the soldier. ' '

"The soldier must have left long ago," said Adrian.
"I can hear nothing but the piano. Let us go in. He
is within his bargain as far as his own playing goes.
He stipulated for that when we engaged him. ' '

They went on. As they neared the house, grotesque
noises mingled with the notes of the pianoforte, Mary

Love Among the Artists 49

hesitated, and would have stopped again ; but Adrian,
with a stern face, walked quickly ahead. Mary had a
key of the shrubbery ; and they went round that way,
the noise becoming deafening as they approached.
The player was not only pounding the keyboard so
that the window rattled in its frame, but was making
an extraordinary variety of sounds with his own
larynx. Mary caught Adrian's arm as they advanced
to the window and looked in. Jack was alone, seated
at the pianoforte, his brows knitted, his eyes glisten-
ing under them, his wrists bounding and rebounding
upon the keys, his rugged countenance transfigured
by an expression of extreme energy and exaltation.
He was playing from a manuscript score, and was
making up for the absence of an orchestra by imita-
tions of the instruments. He was grunting and
buzzing the bassoon parts, humming when the violon-
cello had the melody, whistling for the flutes, singing
hoarsely for the horns, barking for the trumpets,
squealing for the oboes, making indesciibable sounds
in imitation of clarionets and drums, and marking each
sforzando by a toss of his head and a gnash of his
teeth. At last, abandoning this eccentric orchestra-
tion, he chanted with the full strength of his formi-
dable voice until he came to the final chord, which he
struck violently, and repeated in every possible
inversion from one end of the keyboard to the other.
Then he sprang up, and strode excitedly to and fro
in the room. At the second turn he saw Herbert and
Mary, who had just entered, staring at him. He
started, and stared back at them, quite disconcerted.

"I fear I have had the misfortune to disturb you a
second time," said Herbert, with suppressed anger.

50 Love Among the Artists

"No, said Jack, in a voice strained by his recent
abuse of it, "I was playing by myself. The soldier
whom you saw here has gone to his quarters. " As he
mentioned the soldier, he looked at Mary.

"It was hardly necessary to mention that you were
playing," said Adrian. "We heard you at a con-
siderable distance."

Jack's cheek glowed like a sooty copper kettle, and
he looked darkly at Herbert for a moment. Then, with
some signs of humor in his eye, he said, "Did you
hear much of my performance?"

"We heard quite enough, Mr. Jack," said Mary,
approaching the piano to place her hat on it. Jack
quickly took his manuscript away as she did so. "I
am afraid you have not improved my poor spinet,"
she added, looking ruefully at the keys.

"That is what a pianoforte is for," said Jack
gravely. "It may have suffered; but when next you
touch it you will feel that the hands of a musician have
been on it, and that its heart has beaten at last." He
looked hard at her for a moment after saying this, and
then turned to Herbert, and continued, "Miss Suther-
land was complaining some time ago that she had
never heard me play. Neither had she, because she
usually sits here when she is at home; and I do not
care to disturb her then. I am glad she has been
gratified at last by a performance which is, I assure
you, very characteristic of me. Perhaps you thought
it rather odd?"

"I did think so," said Herbert, severely.

"Then," said Jack, with a perceptible surge of his
subsiding excitement, "I am fortunate in having
escaped all observation except that of a gentleman

Love Among the Artists 51

who understands so well what an artist is. If I cannot
compose as you paint, believe that it is because the
art which I profess lies nearer to a strong man's soul
than one which nature has endowed you with the
power of — appreciating. Good-night." He looked
for a moment at the two; turned on his heel; and left
the room. They stared after him in silence, and heard
him laugh subduedly as he ascended the stairs.

"I will make papa write to him to-morrow," said
Mary, when she recovered herself. "No one shall
have a second chance of addressing a sarcasm to you,
Adrian, in my father's house, whilst I am mistress of it. ' *

"Do not let that influence you, Mary. I am not
disposed to complain of the man's conceited ignorance.
But he was impertinent to you."

"I do not mind that."

"But I do. Nothing could be more grossly insolent
than what he said about your piano. Many of his
former remarks have passed with us as the effect of a
natural brusguerie, which he could not help. I believe
now that he is simply ill-mannered and ill-conditioned.
That sort of thing is not to be tolerated for one
moment."

"I have always tried to put the best construction on
his actions, and to defend him from Aunt Jane," said
Mary. "I am very sorry now that I did so. The idea
of his calling himself an artist!"

"Musicians often arrogate that title to themselves,"
said Herbert; "and he does not seem overburdened
with modesty. I think I hear Mr. Sutherland letting
himself in at the hall door. If so, I need not stay any
longer, unless you wish me to speak to him about
what has occurred."

52 Love Among the Artists

"Oh no, not to-night: it would only spoil his rest.
I will tell him in the morning."

Herbert waited only to bid Mr. Sutherland good-
night. Then he kissed his betrothed, and went to his
lodging.

CHAPTER IV

Two days later, Mary was finishing the sketch which
Mrs. Herbert had interrupted. Something was wrong
with her: at every sound in the house she changed
color and stopped to listen. Suddenly the door was
opened ; and a housemaid entered, rigid with indigna-
tion.

"Oh Clara, you frightened me. What is it?"

*'If you please, Miss, is it my place to be called
names and swore at by the chootor?"

' ' Why ? What has happened ? ' '

* ' Master gave me a note after breakfast to give Mr.
J ack, Miss. He was not in his room then ; so I left it
on the table. As soon as I heard him moving about, I
went and asked him had he got it. The answer I
got — begging your pardon. Miss — was, 'Go to the
devil, you jade.' If. I am expected to put up with
that from the likes of him, I should wish to give
warning. ' '

"I am very sorry, Clara. Why did he behave so?
Did you say anything rude to him?"

"Not likely, Miss, I hope I respect myself more
than to stop and bandy words. His door was wide
open; and he had his portmanteau in the middle of
the floor, and was heaping his things into it as fast as
he could. He was grinding his teeth, too, and looked
reg'lar wicked."

"Well, Clara, as Mr. Jack will be leaving very soon,
I think you had better pass it over. "

S3

54 Love Among the Artists

"Indeed, Miss? Is Mr. Jack going?"

"Yes," said Mary, turning to her easel.

"Oh!" said the housemaid slowly. After lingering
a moment in vain for further information, she hastened
to the kitchen to tell the news. She had closed the
door; but it did not fasten, and presently a draught
from an open window in the hall blew it softly open.
Though Mary wanted it shut, so that Jack should not
see her if he passed on his way out, she was afraid to
stir. She had never been so unreasonably nervous
in her life before; and she sat there helplessly pre-
tending to draw until she heard the dreaded footstep
on the stairs. Her heart beat in a terrible crescendo
as the steps approached; passed; stopped; returned;
and entered the room. When she forced herself to
look up, he was standing there eyeing her, with her
father's letter in his hand.

"What does this mean?" he said.

Mary glanced round as if to escape from his eyes,
but had to look at him as she replied faintly, "You
had better ask Mr. Sutherland."

"Mr. Sutherland has nothing to do with it. You
are mistress here. ' '

He waited long enough for an answer to shew that
she had none to make. Then, shaking his head, he
deliberately tore the letter into fragments. That
stung her into saying:

"I do not wish to pursue the subject with you."

"I have not asked your leave," he replied. "I give
you a lesson for the benefit of the next wretch that
v/ill hold my position at the mercy of your ignorant
caprice. You have spoiled the labor of the past three
months for me ; upset my plans ; ruined me, for

Love Among the Artists 55

aught I know. Tell your father, who wants to dis-
charge me at the end of the month, that I discharge
myself now. I am not a dog, to sit at his table after
the injustice he has done me."

"He has done you no injustice, Mr. Jack, He has
a perfect right to choose who shall remain in his house-
hold. And I think he has acted rightly. So does Mr.
Herbert."

Jack laughed gruffly. **Poor devil!" he said, "he
fancies he can give ideas to the world because a few
great men have given some to him. I am sorry I let
his stiff manners put me out of temper with him the
other night. He hates me instinctively because he
feels in me what he misses in himself. But you ought
to know better. Why, he hated that drunken rascal
I had here, because he could handle his clarinet like
a man with stuff in him. I have no more time for
talking now. I have been your friend and have
worked hard with your brother for your sake, because
I thought you helped me to this place when I was
desperately circumstanced. But now I shall not easily
forgive you." He shook his head again at her, and
walked out, shutting the door behind him. The house-
maid was in the hall. "My portmanteau and a couple
of other things are on the landing outside my door,"
he said, stopping as he passed her. "You will please
give them to the man I send."

"And by whose orders am I to trouble myself about
your luggage, pray?"

Jack turned and slowly advanced upon her until she,
retreating, stood against the wall. "By my orders,
Mrs. Boldface," he said, "Do as you are bid — and
paid for, you hussy."

56 Love Among the Artists

"Well, certainly," began the housemaid, as he
turned away, "that's "

Jack halted and looked round wickedly at her. She
retired quickly, grumbling-. As he left the house,
Herbert, coming in at the gate, was surprised to see
him laughing heartily ; for he had never seen him in
good humor before.

"Good morning, Mr. Jack," said Adrian as they
passed.

"Goodbye," said Jack, derisively. And he went on.
Before Adrian reached the doorstep, he heard the
other roaring with laughter in the road.

Jack, when he had had his laugh out, walked quickly
away, chuckling, and occasionally shaking his fist at
the sky. When he came to Colonel Beatty's house, he
danced fantastically past the gate, snapping his fingers.
He laughed boisterously at this performance at inter-
vals until he came into the streets. Here, under the
eye of the town, he was constrained to behave himself
less remarkably; and the constraint made him so
impatient that he suddenly gave up an intention he
had formed of taking a lodging there, and struck off to
the railway station at Slough.

"When is there a train to London?" he said, pre-
senting himself at the booking-office.

"There's one going now," replied the clerk coolly.

"Now!" exclaimed Jack. "Give me a ticket — third
class — single."

"Go to the other window. First class only here."

"First class, then," cried Jack, exasperated.
"Quick." And he pushed in a half sovereign.

The clerk, startled by Jack's voice, hastily gave him
a ticket and an instalment of the change. Jack left

Love Among the Artists 57

the rest, and ran to the platform just in time to hear
the engine whistle.

"Late, sir. You're late," said a man in the act of
slamming the barrier. By way of reply, Jack dragged
it violently back and rushed after the departing train.
There was a shout and a rush of officials to stop him ;
and one of them seized him, but, failing to hold him,
was sent reeling by the collision. The next moment
Jack opened the door of a first-class carriage, and
plunged in in great disorder. The door was shut
after him by an official, who stood on the footboard to
cry out, "You will be summonsd for this, sir, so you
shall. You shall be sum "

"Go to the deuce," retorted Jack, in a thundering
voice. As the man jumped off, he turned from the
door, and found himself confronted by a tall thin old
gentleman, sprucely dressed, who cried in a high
voice :

"Sir, this is a private compartment. I have
engaged this compartment. You have no business
here."

"You should have had the door locked then," said
Jack, with surly humor, seating himself, and folding
his arms with an air of concentrated doggedness.

"I — I consider your intrusion most unwarrantable
— most unjustifiable," continued the the gentleman.

Jack chuckled too obviously, at the old gentleman's
curious high voice and at his discomfiture. Then,
deferring a little to white hairs, he said, "Well, well:
I can get into another carriage at the next station, ' '

"You can do nothing of the sort, sir," cried the
gentleman, more angrily than before. "This is an
express train. It does not stop."

58 Love Among the Artists

"Then I do — where I am," said Jack curtly, with a
new and more serious expression of indignation ; for
he had just remarked that there was one other person
in the carriage — a young lady.

"I will not submit to this, sir. I will stop the
train."

"Stop it then," said Jack, scowling at him. "But
let me alone."

The gentleman, with flushes of color coming and
going on his withered cheek, turned to the alarum and
began to read the printed instructions as to its use.

"You had better not stop the train, father," said the
young lady. "You will only get fined. The half
crown you gave the guard does not "

"Hold your tongue," said the gentleman. "I
desire you not to speak to me, Magdalen, on any pre-
text whatsoever." Jack, who had relented a little on
learning the innocent relationship between his fellow
travelers, glanced at the daughter. She was a tall
young lady with chestnut hair, burnished by the rays
which came aslant through the carriage window. Her
eyes were bright hazel ; her mouth small, but with full
lips, the upper one, like her nose, tending to curl
upward. She was no more than twenty ; but in spite
of her youth and trivial style of beauty, her manner
was self-reliant and haughty. She did not seem to
enjoy her journey, and took no pains to conceal her
ill-humor, which was greatly increased by the rebuke
which her father had addressed to her. Her costume
of maize color and pale blue was very elegant, and
harmonized admirably with her fine complexion.
Jack repeated his glance at short intervals until he
discovered that her face was mirrored in the window

Love Among the Artists 59

next which he sat. He then turned away from her,
and studied her appearance at his ease.

Meanwhile the g-entleman, grumbling in an under-
tone, had seated himself without touching the alariim,
and taken up a newspaper. Occasionally he looked
over at his daughter, who, with her cheek resting on
her glove, was frowning at the landscape as they
passed swiftly through it. Presently he uttered an
exclamation of impatience, and blew off some dust and
soot which had just settled on his paper. Then he
rose, and shut the window.

"Oh, pray don't close it altogether, father," said
the lady. "It is too warm. I am half suffocated as
it is."

"Magdalen: I forbid you to speak to me." Mag-
dalen pouted, and shook her shoulders angrily. Her
father then went to the other door of the carriage, and
closed the window there also. Jack instantly let it
down with a crash, and stared truculently at him.

"Sir," said the gentleman: "if, you — if sir — had
you politely requested me not to close the window, I
should not have — I would have respected your
objection."

"And if you, sir," returned Jack, "had politely
asked my leave before meddling with my window, I
should, with equal politeness, have conveyed to you
my invincible determination to comply with the lady's
reasonable request."

"Ha! Indeed!" said the gentleman loftily. "I
shall not — ah — dispute the matter with you." And he
resumed his seat, whilst his daughter, who had looked
curiously at Jack for a moment, turned again to the
landscape with her former chagrined expression.

6o Love Among the Artists

For some time after this they travelled in peace:
the old gentleman engaged with his paper: Jack
chuckling over his recent retort. The speed of the
train now increased ; and the musician became exhil-
arated as the telegraph poles shot past, hardly visible.
When the train reached a part of the line at which the
rails were elevated on iron chairs, the smooth grinding
of the wheels changed to a rhythmic clatter. The
racket became deafening; and Jack's exhilaration had
risen to a reckless excitement, when he was recalled
to his senses by the gentleman, whom he had forgot-
ten, calling out:

"Sir: will you oblige me by stopping those in-femsil
noises."

Jack, confused, suddenly ceased to grind his teeth
and whistle through them. Then he laughed and
said good-humoredly, "I beg your pardon: I am a
composer."

"Then have the goodness to remember that you are
not now in a printing office," said the gentleman,
evidently supposing him to be a compositor. "You
are annoying this lady, and driving me distracted with
your hissing."

"I do not mind it in the least," said the lady
stubbornly.

"Magdalen: I have already desired you twice to be
silent. ' '

"I shall speak if I please," she muttered. Her
father pretended not to hear her, and sat still for the
next ten minutes, during which he glanced at Jack
several times, with an odd twinkle in his eye. Then
he said:

"What did you say you were, sir, may I ask?"

Love Among the Artists 6i

*t>

•*A composer."

"You are a discom poser, sir," cried the old gentle-
man promptly. "You are a discomposer. " And he
began a chirping laughter, which Jack, after a pause
of wonder, drowned with a deeptoned roar of merri-
ment. Even the lady, determined as she was to be
sulky, could not help smiling. Her father then took
up the newspaper, and hid his face with it, turning his
back to Jack, who heard him occasionally laughing to
himself.

"I wish I had something to read," said the young
lady after some time, turning discontentedly from the
window.

"A little reflexion will do you no harm," said her
parent. "A little reflexion, and, I will add, Mag-
dalen, a little repentance perhaps."

"I have nothing but disappointment and misery to
reflect about, and I have no reason to be repentant.
Please get me a novel at the next station — or give me
some money, and I will get one myself."

"Certainly not. You are not to be trusted with
money. I forbid you ever to open a novel again. It
is from such pestilential nonsense that you got the
ideas which led to your present disgraceful escapade.
Now, I must beg of you not to answer me, Magdalen.
I do not wish to enter into a discussion with you, par-
ticularly before strangers."

"Then do not make strangers believe that "

"Hold your tongue, Magdalen. Do you disobey me
intentionally? You should be ashamed to speak to
me."

The young lady bit her lip and reddened. "I think
— " she began.

62 Love Among the Artists

' * Be silent, ' ' cried her father, seizing his umbrella and
rapping it peremptorily on the floor. Jack sprang up.

"Sir," he said: "how dare you behave so to a lady?"

"This lady is my daughter, k — k — confound your
impertinence," replied the other irascibly.

"Then don't treat her as if she were your dog,"
retorted Jaclc. "I am an artist, sir — an artist — a
poet; and I will not permit a young and beautiful
woman to be tyrannized over in my presence."

"If I were a younger man," began the gentleman,
grasping his umbrella

"If you were," shouted Jack, "you would have
nothing but tenderness and respect for the lady; or
else, by the power of sound, I would pulverize you —
allegro martellatissimo — on the spot."

"Do not threaten me, sir," said the old gentleman
spiritedly, rising and confronting his adversary.
"What right have you to interfere with the affairs of
strangers — perfect strangers? Are you mad, sir; or
are you merely ignorant?"

"Neither. I am as well versed in the usages of the
world as you ; and I have sworn not to comply with
them when they demand a tacit tolerance of oppres-
sion. The laws of society, sir, are designed to make
the world easy for cowards and liars. And lest by the
infirmity of iny nature I should become either the
one or the other, or perhaps both, I never permit
myself to witness tyranny without rebuking it, or to
hear falsehood without exposing it. If more people
were of my mind, you would never have dared to take
it for granted that I would witness your insolence to-
wards your daughter without interfering to protect her. ' '

To this speech the old gentleman could find no reply.

Love Among the Artists 63

He stared at Jack a few moments, and then, saying,
"I request you to mind your own business, sir. I
have nothing to say to you," went back in dudgeon to
his seat. The lady then leaned forward and said
haughtily, "Your interference is quite unnecessary,
thank you. I can take care of myself. ' '

"Aye," retorted Jack, frowning at her: "you are
like other children. I was not such a fool as to expect
gratitude from you." The girl blushed and looked
away towards the landscape. Her father again stared
at Jack, who resumed his seat with a bounce ; folded
his arms; and glowered. Five minutes later the train
stopped ; and the guard came for their tickets.

"I relied on you," said the gentleman to him, for
an empty carriage. Instead of that, I have had a most
unpleasant journey. I have been annoyed — damnably
annoyed."

"Ha! ha!" roared Jack. "Ha! ha! ha!"

The guard turned sternly to him, and said, "Ticket,
sir, please," as though he expected the ticket to prove
a third class one. When he received it he held it
between his lips, whilst he opened a memorandum and
then continued, "I want your name and address, sir,
please."

"What for?"

"Forgetting in when the train was in motion, sir,
at Slough. The Company's orders are strict against
it. You might have been killed, sir."

"And what the devil is it to the Company whether
I am killed or not?"

"Be quick, sir, please," said the guard, uncertain
whether to coax or be peremptory. "Our time is up. "

Jack looked angry for a moment; then shrugged his

64 Love Among the Artists

shoulders and said, **My name is Jack; and I live
nowhere."

The man let his book fall to his side, and mutely-
appealed to the old gentleman to witness the treat-
ment he was enduring. "Come, sir," he said, "what's
the use in this? We'll only have to detain you; and
that won't be pleasant for either of us."

"Is that a threat?" said Jack fiercely.

"No, sir, no. There's no one threatening you.
We're all gentlemen here. I only do my duty, as
you understand, sir — none better. What is your
name, sir?"

"My name is Jack, I tell you. Mr. Owen Jack,"

"Oh! I didn't take it rightly at first. Now your
address, sir, please."

"I have none. Did you never hear of a man with-
out any home? If the place where I slept last night,
and where my property is, will do you, you can put
down care of Mr. Charles Sutherland, Beulah,
Windsor. Here's a card for you. "

"I know Mr. Sutherland well, sir," said the guard,
putting up his book. "Thank you."

"And by Heaven," said Jack vehemently, "if I hear
another word of this, I will complain of you for taking
half-a-crown from this gentleman and then shutting
me and a lady in with him for a whole journey. I
believe him to be insane."

"Guard," screamed the old gentleman, quite beside
himself. But the guard, disconcerted at Jack's allusion
to the half-crown, hurried away and started the train.
Nevertheless the gentleman would not be silenced.
"How dare you, sir, speak of me as being insane?"
he said.

Love Among the Artists 65

"How dare you, sir, grumble at a journey which has
only been marred by your own peevishness? I have
enjoyed myself greatly. I have enjoyed the sunshine,
the scenery, the rhythm of the train, and the company
of my fellow travellers — except you, sir; and even
your interruptions are no worse than untimely
pleasantries, I never enjoyed a journey more in my
life."

'*You are the most impertinent man I ever met,
sir."

"Precisely my opinion of you, sir. You commenced
hostilities ; and if you have caught a Tartar you have
only yourself to thank."

"You broke into my carriage "

"Your carriage, sir! My carriage just as much as
yours — more so. You are an unsocial person, sir. ' '

"Enough said, sir," said the gentleman. "It does
not matter. Enough said, if you please. ' '

"Well, sir," said Jack, more good humoredly, "I
apologize. I have been unnaturally repressed for the
last three months ; and I exploded this morning like a
bombshell. The force of the explosion was not quite
spent when I met you; and perhaps I had less regard
for your seniority than I might have shewn at another
time."

"My seniority has nothing to do with the question,
sir. My age is no concern of yours."

"Hush, father, " whispered the lady. "Do not reply
to him. It is not dignified. "

The old gentleman was about to make some angry
reply, when the train ran alongside the platform at
Paddington, and a porter opened the door, crying,
"Ensom or foa' w'eol, sir,"

66 Love Among the Artists

*'Get me a hansom, porter."

"Right, sir. Luggage, sir?"

"There is a tin box," said the lady, "a brown one
with the initials M. B. on it."

The porter touched his cap and went away. The
gentleman got out, and waited with his daughter at the
carriage door, awaiting the return of the porter. Jack
slowly followed, and stood, irresolute, near them, the
only person there without business or destination.

"I wonder what is delaying that fellow with our
cab," said the old gentleman, after about fifteen
seconds. "The vagabond has been picked up by
someone else, and has forgotten us. Are we to stand
here all day?"

"He will be here presently," said Magdalen. "He
has not had time "

"He has had time to call twenty cabs since. Remain
here until I return, Madge. Do you hear?"

"Yes," said the girl. He looked severely at her,
and walked away towards the luggage van. Her
color rose as she looked after him. Meanwhile the
porter had placed the box on a cab; and he now
returned to Magdalen.

"This way. Miss. W'ere's the gen'lman?"

She looked quickly at the porter; then towards the
crowd in which her father had disappeared; then,
after a moment of painful hesitation, at Jack, who was
still standing near.

"Never mind the gentleman," she said to the
porter: "he is not coming with me." And as he
turned to lead the way to the cab, she pulled off her
glove; took a ring from her finger; and addressed Jack
with a burning but determined face.

Love Among the Artists d'j

"I have no money to pay for my cab. Will you
give me some in exchange for this ring — a few shil-
lings will be enough? Pray do not delay me. Yes or
no?"

Jack lost only a second in staring amazedly at her
before he thrust his hand in his pocket, and drew out
a quantity of gold, silver and bronze coin, more than
she could grasp with ease. "Keep the ring," he said.
"Away with you."

"You must take it," she said impatiently. "And I
do not need all this mon "

"Thousand thunders!" exclaimed Jack with sudden
excitement, "here is your father. Be quick."

She looked round, scared; but as Jack pushed her
unceremoniously towards the cab, she recovered her-
self and hurried into the hansom.

"Here, porter: give this ring to that gentleman,"
she said, giving the man a shilling and the ring.
"Why doesn't he drive on?" she added, as the cab
remained motionless, and the porter stood touching
his cap.

"Where to, Miss?"

"Bond Street," she cried. "As fast as possible.
Do make him start at once."

"Bond Street," shouted Jack commandingly to the
driver. "Make haste. Double fare. Prestissimo!"
And the cab dashed out of the station as if the horse
had caught Jack's energy.

"The lady gev me this for you, sir," said the porter.

"Yes," said Jack, "Thank you." It was an old-
fashioned ring, with a diamond and three emeralds, too
small for his little finger. He pocketed it, and was
considering what he should do next, when the old

68 Love Among the Artists

o

gentleman, no longer impatient and querulous, but
pale and alarmed, came by, looking anxiously about
him. When he saw Jack he made a movement as
though to approach him, but checked himself and
resumed his search in another direction. Jack began
to feel some compunction; for the gentleman's
troubled expression was changing into one of grief and
fear. The crowd and bustle were diminishing. Soon
there was no difficulty in examining separately all the
passengers who remained on the platform. Jack
resolved to go, lest he should be tempted to betray
the young lady's destination to her father; but he had
walked only a few yards, when, hearing a voice behind
him say, "This is him, sir," he turned and found
himself face to face with the old gentleman. The
porter stood by, saying, "How could I know, sir? I
see the gen'lman in the carriage with you; an' I see
the lady speakin' to him arterwards. She took money
off him, and gev him a ring, as I told you. If you'd
left the luggage to me, sir, 'stead of going arter it to
the wrong van, you wouldn't ha' lost her."

"Very well: that will do." The porter made a
pretence of retiring, but remained within hearing.
"Now, sir," continued the gentleman, addressing
Jack, "I know what you are. If you don't tell me at
once — at once, the name and address of the theatrical
scoundrels to whom you are spy and kidnapper: by —
by — by God! I'll give you to the nearest policeman."

"Sir," said Jack sternly: "if your daughter has run
away from you, it is your own fault for not treating
her kindly. The porter has told you what happened
between us. I know no more of the matter than he
does."

Love Among the Artists 69

"I don't believe you. You followed her from
Windsor. The porter saw you give her" (here the
old gentleman choked) — "saw what passed here just
now. ' '

"Yes, sir. You leave your daughter penniless, and
compel her to offer her ornaments for sale to a
stranger at a railway station. By my soul, you are
a nice man to have charge of a young girl."

My daughter is incapable of speaking to a stranger.
You are in the pay of one of those infernal theatrical
agents with whom she has been corresponding. But
I'll unmask you, sir. I'll unmask you."

"If you were not an inveterately wrongheaded old
fool," said Jack hotly, "you would not mistake a
man of genius for a crimp. You ought to be ashamed
of your temper. You are collecting a crowd too. Do
you want the whole railway staff to know that you
have driven your daughter away?"

"You lie, you villain," cried the gentleman, seizing
him by the collar, "you lie. How dare you, you — you
— pock-marked ruffian, say that I drove away my
daughter? I have been invariably kind to her — no
parent more so. She was my special favorite. If

you repeat that slander, I'll — I'll " He shook his

fist in Jack's face, and released him. Jack, who had
suffered the grasp on his collar without moving,
turned away deeply offended, and buttoned his coat.
Then, as the other was about to recommence, he
interrupted him by walking away. The gentleman
followed him promptly.

"You shall not escape by running off," he said,
panting.

"You have insulted me, sir," said Jack. "If you

70 Love Among the Artists

address another word to me, I'll hand you to the
police. As I cannot protect myself against a man of
your years, I will make the law protect me."

The gentleman hesitated. Then his eyes bright-
ened; and he said, "Then call the police. Call them
quickly. You have a ring of mine about you — an
heirloom of my family. You shall acount for it. Ah!
I have you now, you vagabond. ' '

"Pshaw!" said Jack, recovering from a momentary
check, "she sent me the ring by the hands of that
porter, although I refused it. I might as well accuse
her of stealing my money."

"It shall be refunded at once," said the gentleman,
reddening and pulling out his purse. "How much did
you give her?"

"How should I know?" said Jack with scorn. "I
do not count what I give to women who are in need.
I gave her what I found in my pocket. Are you will-
ing to give me what you find in yours?"

"By heaven, you are an incredibly impudent
swindler," cried the gentleman, looking at him with
inexpressible feelings.

"Come, gentlemen," said an official, advancing
between them, "couldn't you settle your little
difference somewhere else?"

"I am a passenger," said Jack; "and am endeavor-
ing to leave the station. If it is your business to keep
order here, T wish you would rid me of this gentle-
man. He has annoyed me ever since the train started
from Slough."

"I am in a most painful position," said the old
gentleman, with emotion. "I have lost my child here;
and this man knows her whereabouts. He will tell

Love Among the Artists 71

me nothing; and I — I don't know what to do."
Then, turning to Jack with a fresh explosion of
wrath, he cried, "Once for all, you villain, will you
tell me who your emplo5'-ers are?"

"Once for all," replied Jack, "I will tell you noth-
ing, because I have nothing to tell you. You refuse
to believe me; you are infernally impertinent to me;
you talk about my employers and of spying and
kidnapping: I think you are mad."

"Are you not a theatrical agent? Answer that."

"No. I am not a theatrical agent. As I told you
before, I am a composer and teacher of music. If you
have any pupils for me, I shall be glad to teach them :
if not, go your way, and let me go mine. I am tired
of you. ' '

"There, sir," said the official, "the gentleman can't
answer you no fairer nor that. If you have a charge
to make against him, why, charge him. If not, as he
says, you had better move on. Let me call you a cab,
and you can follow the young lady. That's the best
thing you can do. She might run as far as Scotland
while you're talking. Send down a 'ansom there, Bill,
will you?"

The man laid his hand persuasively on the arm of
the old gentleman, who hesitated, with his lip
trembling.

"Sir," said Jack, with sudden dignity: "on my
honor I am a perfect stranger to your daughter and
her affairs. You know all that passed between us. If
you do not wish to lose sight of me, give me your
card; and I will send you my address as soon as I
have one."

"I request — I — I implore you not to trifle with me

72 Love Among the Artists

in this matter," said the gentleman, slowly taking out
his card case. "It would be a — a heartless thing to
do. Here is my card. If you have any information,
or can acquire any, it shall be liberally paid for — most
liberally paid for. ' '

Jack, offended afresh, looked at him with scorn ;
snatched the card, and turned on his heel. The
gentleman looked wistfully after him; sighed;
shivered; and got into the cab.

The card was inscribed, "Mr. Sigismund Brails-
ford, Kensington Palace Gardens."

CHAPTER V

A fortnight later the Sutherlands, accompanied by
Mrs. Beatty, were again in London, on their way to
the Isle of Wight. It had been settled that Herbert
should go to Ventnor for a month with his mother, so
that Mary and he might sketch the scenery of the
island together. He had resisted this arrangement at
first on the ground that Mrs. Herbert's presence would
interfere with his enjoyment; but Mary, who had lost
her own mother when an infant, had ideas of maternal
affection which made Adrian's unfilial feeling shock-
ing to her. She entreated him to come to Ventnor;
and he yielded, tempted by the prospect of working
beside her, and foreseeing that he could easily avoid
his mother's company whenever it became irksome to
him.

One day, whilst they were still in London at the
hotel in Onslow Gardens, Mr. Sutherland, seeing his
daughter with her hat and cloak on, asked whither she
was going.

"I am going to the Brailsfords', to see Madge," she
replied.

"Now what do you want to go there for?" grumbled
Mr. Sutherland. "I do not like your associating with
that girl."

"Why, papa? Are you afraid that she will make me
run away and go on the stage?"

"I didn't say anything of the kind. But she can't
be a very right-minded young woman, or she

73

74 Love Among the Artists

wouldn't have done so herself. However, I have no
objection to your calling- on the family. They are
very nice people — well connected; and Mr. Brailsford
is a clever man. But don't go making a companion
of Madge."

"I shall not have the opportunity, I am sorry to
say. Poor Madge! Nobody has a good word for
her."

Mr. Sutherland muttered a string of uncomplimen-
tary epithets; but Mary went out without heeding
him. At Kensington Palace Gardens she found Mag-
dalen Brailsford alone.

"They are all out," said Magdalen when Mary had
done kissing her. "They are visiting, or shopping,
or doing something else equally intellectual. I am
supposed to be in disgrace ; so I am never asked to go
with them. As I would not go if they begged me on
their knees, I bear the punishment with fortitude."

"But what have you done, Madge? Won't you tell
me? Aunt Jane said that her conscience would not
permit her to pour such a story into my young ears ;
and then of course I refused to hear it from anybody
but yourself, much to Aunt Jane's disgust; for she
was burning to tell me. Except that you ran away
and went on the stage, I know nothing.

"There is nothing else to know; for that is all that
happened. "

"But how did it come about?"

"Will you promise not to tell?"

"I promise faithfully."

"You must keep your promise; for I have accom-
plices who are not suspected, and who will help me
when I repeat the exploit, as I fully intend to do the

Love Among the Artists 75

very instant I see my way to success. Do you know
where we lived before we came to this house?"

"No. You have lived here ever since I knew you."

"We had lodgings in Gower Street. Mary, did you
ever ride in an omnibus?"

"No. But I should not be in the least ashamed to
do so if I had occasion. ' *

"How would you like to have to make five pounds
worth of clothes last you for two years?"

"I should not like that."

"Lots of people have to do it. We had, when we
lived in Gower Street, Father wrote for the papers;
and we never had any money, and were always in
debt. But we went to the theatres — with orders, of
course — much oftener than we do now; and we either
walked home or took our carriage, the omnibus. We
were recklessly extravagant, and thought nothing of
throwing away a shilling on flowers and paper fans to
decorate the rooms. I am sure we spent a fortune on
three-penny cretonne, to cover the furniture when its
shabbiness became downright indecent. We were
very fond of dwelling on the lavish way we would
spend money if father ever came into the Brailsford
property, which seemed the most unlikely thing in
the world. But it happened, as unlikely things often
do. All the rest of the family — I mean all of it that
concerned us — were drowned in the Solent in a yacht
accident; and we found ourselves suddenly very rich,
and, as I suppose you have remarked — especially in
Myra — very stingy. Poor father, whom we used to
revile as a miser in Gov/er Street, is the only one of
us who spends money as if he was above caring about
it. But the worst of it is that we have got respect-

76 Love Among the Artists

able, and taken to society — at least, society has taken
to us; and we have returned the compliment. I
haven't, though. I can't stand these Kensington
people with their dances and at-homes. It's not what
I call living really. In Gower Street we used to know
a set that had some brains. We gave ourselves airs
even then; but still on Sunday evenings we used to
have plenty of people with us to supper whom you are
not likely to meet here. One of them was a man
named Tarleton, who made money as a theatrical
agent and lost it as a manager alternately."

"And you fell in love with him, of course," said
Mary.

"Bosh! Fell in love with old Tommy Tarleton!
This is not a romance, but a prosaic Gower Street
narrative. I never thought about him after we came
here until a month ago, when I saw that he was
taking a company to Windsor. I always wanted to go
on the stage, because nowadays a woman must be
either an actress or nothing. So I wrote to him for
an engagement, and sent him my photograph."

"Oh Madge!"

"Why not? His company was playing opera bouffe;
and I knew he wanted good looks as much as talent.
You don't suppose I sent it as a love token. He wrote
back that he had no part open that I could take, but
that if I wished to accustom myself to the stage and
would find my own dresses, he would let me walk on
every night in the chorus, and perhaps find me a small
part to understudy."

"Very kind, indeed. And what did you say to his
noble offer?"

"I accepted it, and was very glad to get it. It was

Love Among the Artists ^^

better than sitting here quarrelling with the girls,
and going over the same weary argument with father
about disgracing the family. I managed it easily
enough, after all. There is a woman who keeps a
lodging house in Church Street here, who is a sister
of the landlady at Gower Street, and knows all about
us. She has a second sister whose daughter is a ballet
girl, and who is used to theatres. I ran away to
Church Street — five minutes' walk; told Polly what
I had done; and made her send for Mrs. Wilkins, the
other sister, whom I carried off to Windsor as chaperon
that evening. But the company turned out to be a
third-rate one; and I wasn't comfortable with them:
they were rather rowdy. However, I did not stay
long. I was recognized on the very first night by
someone — I don't know whom — who told Colonel
Beatty. He wrote to my father; and I was captured
on the third day. You can imagine the scene when
the poor old governor walked suddenly into our lodg-
ing. He tried to be shocked and stern, and of course
only succeeded in being furious. I was stubborn — I
can be very mulish when I like; but I was getting
tired of walking on in the chorus at night and spend-
ing the day with Mrs. Wilkins ; so I consented to go
back with him. He took my purse, which I was
foolish enough to leave within his reach whilst I was
putting on my bonnet, and so left me without a far-
thing, helplessly dependent on him. He would not
give it me back ; and to revenge myself I became very
uncivil to him ; and then he forbade me to speak. I
took him at his word, and made him still madder by
taking no notice of the homilies on duty and respect-
ability which he poured forth as we drove to the train. "

78 Love Among the Artists

"Yes: I can quite imagine that. And so you came
home and returned to the ways of well conducted girls. "

"Not at all. You have only heard the prologue to
my real adventure. When we got to the railway
station, father, who intended to preach at me during
the whole journey, bribed the guard to prevent people
from coming into our compartment. The train
started, and I had just been requested to attend to
something very serious that must be said to me,
when there was an uproar on the platform, and a man
burst headlong into the carriage ; sat down ; folded his
arms; and stared majestically at father, who began to
abuse him furiously for intruding on us. They
quarrelled all the way up to London. When they had
exhausted the subject of our carriage being private,
the man objected to the window being shut — I think
because I had done so just before, though perhaps it
was more from love of contradiction. Then father
objected to his grinding his teeth. Then I interfered
and was bidden to hold my tongue. Up jumped the
man and asked father what he meant by speaking so
to me. He even said — you will not repeat this,
please, Mary."

"No. Why? What did he say?"

"He said — it sounded ridiculous — that he would not
permit a young and beautiful woman to be tyrannized
over. ' '

"Oh! Was he very handsome?"

"N — no. He was not conventionally handsome;
but there was something about him that I cannot very
well describe. It was a sort of latent power. How-
ever, it does not matter, as I suppose I shall never see
him again."

Love Among the Artists 79

"I think I can understand what you mean," said
Mary thoughtfully. "There are some men who are
considered quite ugly, but who are more remark-
able than pretty people. You often see that in
artists. ' '

"This man was not in the least like your Adrian,
though, Mary. No two people could be more
different."

"I know. I was thinking of a very different
person."

"Father speaks of him as though he were a monster;
but that is perfect nonsense. ' '

"Well, what was the upshot of this interference?"

"Oh, I thought they would have come to blows at
first. Father would fight duels every day if they
were still in fashion. But the man made an admirable
speech which shewed me that his opinions were exactly
the same as mine; and father could say nothing in
reply. Then they accused each other of being insane,
and kept exchanging insults until we came to Padding-
ton, where the guard wanted to give the man to the
police for getting into the train after it had started.
At last we all got out; and then I committed my
capital crime — it really was a dreadful thing to do.
But ever since father had taken my purse and made a
prisoner of me, I had been thinking of how I could
give him the slip and come home just how and when
I pleased. Besides, I was quite resolved to apply to a
London agent for a regular engagement in some
theatre. So when father got into a passion about my
box not being found instantly, and went off to look for
it, leaving me by myself, the idea of escaping and
going to the agent at once occurred to me. I made

8o Love Among the Artists

up my mind and unmade it again, twenty times in
every second. I should not have hesitated a moment
if I had had my purse ; but as it was, I had only my
ring, so that I should have had to stop the cab at the
nearest pawnbrokers; and I was ashamed to go into
such a place — although we sometimes used to send
Mrs. Wilkins there, without letting father know, in
the Gower Street days. Then the porter came up
and said that the cab was waiting; and I knew he
would expect something then and there from me if I
went off by myself. What do you think I did? I
went straight up to the man who had travelled with us
— he was standing close by, watching me, I think — and
asked him to buy my ring."

"Well, Madge: really— V

"It was an impulse. I don't know what put it into
my head; but the desperate necessity of paying the
porter hurried me into obeying it. I said I had no
money, and asked for a little in exchange for the
ring. The man looked at me in the most terrifying
way; and just as I was expecting him to seize me and
deliver me up to father, he plunged into his pocket
and gave me a handful of money. He would not
count it, nor touch the ring. I was insisting on his
taking either the ring or the money, when he suddenly
shouted at me that father was coming, and bundled
me into the cab before I had collected my wits. Then
he startled the driver with another shout; and away
went the cab. But I managed to give the ring to the
porter for him. I drove to the agents in Bond Street,
and on my way counted the money: two sovereigns,
three half-sovereigns, thirteen and sixpence in silver,
and seven pennies. "

Love Among the Artists 8i

"Four pounds, four, and a penny," said Mary.
"He ..^ust have been mad. But there was something
chivalrous about it, especially for a nineteenth century
incident at Paddington."

"I think it was sheer natural nobility of heart,
Mary. Father enrages me by saying that he was a
thief, and made fifty pounds profit out of my inno-
cence. As if his refusing the ring was not an abso-
lute proof to the contrary. He got our address from
father afterwards, and promised to send us his; but
he has never done so."

' ' I wonder why. He certainly ought to. Your ring
is worth a great deal more than four pounds."

"He might not wish to give it up to my father, as
it was mine. If he wishes to keep it he is welcome.
I am sure he deserves it. Mind : he refused it after
giving me the money."

"If you had a nose like mine, and wore a pince-nez^
I doubt whether you would have found him so
generous. I believe he fell in love with you."

"Nonsense. Who ever knew a man to sacrifice all
his money — all he had in the world, perhaps — for the
sake of love? I know what men are too well. Besides,
he was quite rude to me once in the carriage. ' '

"Well, since he has the ring, and intends to keep
it, he has the best of the bargain. Go on with your
own adventures. What did the agents say?"

"They all took half-crowns from me, and put my
name on their books. They are to write to me if they
can procure me an engagement; but I saw enough to
convince me that there is not much chance. They
are all very agreeable — that is, they thought them-
selves so — except one grumpy old man, who asked ms

82 Love Among the Artists

what I expected when I could neither walk nor speak.
That, and my sensations on the stage at Windsor, con-
vinced me that I need some instruction ; and I have
set Mrs. Simpson, the woman in Church Street, to
find somebody who can teach me. However, to finish
my story, when I saw that there was nothing more to
be done that day, or the next either, I told the cabman
to drive me home, where I found father nearly in
hysterics. As soon as the family recovered from their
amazement at seeing me, we began to scold and abuse
one another. They were so spiteful that father at last
took my part; and poor mother vainly tried to keep
the peace. At last they retreated one by one crying,
and left me alone with father. I fancy we gave them
as good as they brought; for no allusion has been
made to my escapade since."

Mary looked at her friend for a while. Then she
said, "Madge: you are quite mad. There is not a
doubt of it: that episode of the ring settles the ques-
tion finally. I suppose you regard this bedlamite
adventure as the most simple and natural thing in the
world. ' '

"When I have my mind made up to do something,
it seems the most natural thing in the world to go and
do it. I hope you are not going to lecture me for
adopting- a profession, after all your rhapsodies about
high art and so forth."

"But opera bouffe is not high art, Madge. If you
had appeared in one of Shakspere's characters, I
should sympathize with you."

"Yes, make a fool of myself as a lady amateur! I
have no more ambition to play Shakspere than you
have to paint Transfigurations. Now, don't begin to

Love Among the Artists 83

argue about Art. I have had enough of argument
lately to last me for life. "

"And you mean to persist?"

"Yes. Why not?"

"Of course, if you have talent "

"Which you don't believe, although you can see
nothing ridiculous in your own dreams of being
another Claude Lorraine. You are just like Myra,
with her pet formula of, 'Well, Madge, the idea oi yo7i
being able to act!' Why should I not be able to act
as well as anybody else? I intend to try, at any rate."

"You need not be angry with me, Madge. I don't
doubt your cleverness; but an actress's life must be
a very queer one. And I never said I could paint
better than Claude. If you knew how wretched my
own productions seem to me, you "

"Yes, yes: I know all that stuff of Adrian's by
heart. If you don't like your own pictures, you may
depend upon it no one else will. I am going to be an
actress because I think I can act. You are going to
be a painter because you think you can't paint. So
there's an end of that. Would you mind coming over
to Polly's with me?"

"Who is Polly?"

"Our old landlady's sister — my accomplice — the
woman who keeps the lodging house in Church Street,
Mrs. Simpson."

"You don't mean to run away again?"

"No. At least not yet. But she has a lodger who
teaches elocution; and as he is very poor, Mrs.
Wilkins — Polly's other sister and my late chaperon —
thinks he would give me some cheap lessons. And I
must have them very cheap, or else go without; for

84 Love Among the Artists

father will hardly trust me with a shilling now. He
has never even given me back my purse. I have
only the remainder of the man's money, and ten
pounds that I had laid up."

"And are you going to take a lesson to-day?"

"No, no. I only want to see the man and ask his
terms. If I try to go alone, I shall be watched and
suspected. With you I shall be safe : they regard you
as a monument of good sense and propriety. If we
meet any of the girls, and they ask where we are
going, do not mention Church Street."

"But how can we evade them if they ask us?"

"We won't evade them. We will tell them alia."

"I certainly will not, Madge."

"I certainly will. If people interfere with my
liberty, and ask questions that they have no business
to ask, I will meet force with fraud, and fool them to
the top of their bent, as your friend Shakspere says.
You need not look shocked. You, who are mistress
of your house, and rule your father with a rod of iron,
are no judge of my position. Put on your hat, and
come along. We can walk there in five minutes."

"I will go with you; but I shall not be a party to
any deception."

Madge made a face, but got her bonnet without
further words. They went out together, and traversed
the passage from Kensington Palace Gardens to
Church Street, where Magdalen led the way to a
shabby house, with a card inscribed Furnished
Apartments in the window.

"Is Mrs. Simpson in her room?" said Magdalen,
entering unceremoniously as soon as the door was
opened.

Love Among the Artists 85

**Yes, ma'am," said the servant, whose rule it was
to address women in bonnets as ma'am, and women in
hats as Miss. "She 'ave moved to the second floor
since you was here last. The parlors is let."

"I will go up," said Magdalen. "Come on, Mary."
And she ran upstairs, followed more slowly by Mary,
who thought the house close and ill kept, and gathered
her cloak about her to prevent it touching the
banisters. When they reached the second floor, they
knocked at the door; but no one ansvv^ered. Above
them was a landing, accessible by a narrow uncarpeted
stair. They could hear a shrill voice in conversation
with a deep one on the third floor. Whilst they
waited, the shrill voice rose higher and higher; and
the deep voice began to growl ominously.

"A happy pair," whispered Mary. "We had better
go downstairs and get the servant to find Mrs.
Simpson."

"No: wait a little. That is Polly's voice, I am sure.
Hark!"

The door above was opened violently ; and a power-
ful voice resounded, saying, "Begone, you Jezebel."

"The man!" exclaimed Madge.

"Mr. Jack!" exclaimed Mary. And they looked
wonderingly at one another, and listened.

"How dare you offer me sich language, sir? Do you
know whose 'ouse this is?"

"I tell you once for all that I am neither able nor
willing to pay you one farthing. Hold your tongue
until I have finished." This command was empha-
sized by a stamp that shook the floor. "I have eaten
nothing to-day; and I cannot afford to starve. Here
is my shirt. Here is my waistcoat. Take them—

86 Love Among the Artists

t>

come! take them, or I'll stuflE them down your throat
— and give them to your servant to pawn: she has
pawned the shirt before; and let her get me some-
thing to eat with the money. Do you hear?"

"I will not have my servant go to the pawnshop for
you, and get my house a bad name."

"Then go and pawn them yourself. And do not
come to this room again with your threats and
complaints unless you wish to be strangled."

"I'd like to see you lay a finger on me, a married
woman. Do you call yourself a gentleman "

Here there was a growl, a sound of hasty footsteps,
an inarticulate remonstrance, a checked scream, and
then a burst of sobbing and the words, "You're as
hard as a stone, Mr. Jack. My poor little Rosie.
Ohoo!"

"Stop that noise, you crocodile. What is the matter
with you now?"

"My Rosie."

"What is the matter with your Rosie? You are
snivelling to have her back because she is happier in
the country than stifling in this den with you, you
ungovernable old hag. ' *

"God forgive you for that word — ohoo! She ain't in
the country."

"Then where the devil is she; and what did you
mean by telling me she was there?"

"She's in the 'ospittle. For the Lord's sake don't
let it get out on me, Mr. Jack, or I should have my
house empty. The poor little darling took the scarlet
fever; and — and "

"And you deserve to be hanged for letting her catch
it. Why did't you take proper care of her?"

Love Among the Artists 87

"How could I help it, Mr. Jack? I'm sure if I could
have took it myself instead ' '

"I wish to Heaven you had, and the unfortunate
child and everybody else might have been well rid of
you."

"Oh, don't say that, Mr. Jack. I may have spoke
hasty to you ; but its very hard to be owed money, and
not be able to get the things for my blessed angel to
be sent to the country in, and she going to be dis-
charged on Friday. You needn't look at me like that,
Mr. Jack. I wouldn't deceive you of all people."

"You would deceive your guardian angel — if you
had one — for a shilling. Give me back those things.
Here is a ring which you can pawn instead. It is
worth something considerable, I suppose. Take what
money you require for the child, and bring me the
rest. But mind! Not one farthing of it shall you
have for yourself, nor should you if I owed you ten
years' rent. I would not pawn it to save you from
starvation. And get me some dinner, and some music
paper — the same you used to get me, twenty-four
staves to the page. Off with you. What are you
gaping at?"

"Why, wherever did you get this ring, Mr. Jack?"

"That's nothing to you. Take it away; and make
haste with my dinner. ' '

"But did you buy it? Or was it " The voice

abruptly broke into a smothered remonstrance; and
the landlady appeared on the landing, apparently
pushed out by the shoulders. Then the lodger's door
slammed.

"Polly," cried Magdalen impatiently. "Polly."

"Lor', Miss Madge!"

88 Love Among the Artists

"Come down here. We have waited ten minutes
for you."

Mrs. Simpson came down, and brought her two
visitors into her sitting room on the second floor.
"Won't )^ou sit down, Miss," she said to Mary.
"Don't pull out that chair from the wall, Miss Madge:
its leg is broke. Oh dear! I'm greatly worrited,
what with one thing and another."

"We have been listening to a battle between you
and the lodger upstairs," said Magdalen; "and you
seemed to be getting the worst of it."

"No one knows what I've gone through with that
man," said Mrs. Simpson, wiping her eyes. "He
walked into the room a fortnight ago when I was out,
without asking leave. Knocks at the door at one
o'clock in the day, and asks the girl if the garret is
let to anyone. "No, sir," says she. So up he goes
and plants himself as if he owned the house. To be
sure she knew him of old ; but that was all the more
reason for keeping him out ; for he never had a half-
penny. The very first thing he sent her to do was to
pawn his watch. And the things I have to put up
with from him! He thinks no more of calling me
every name he can lay his tongue to, and putting me
out of my own room than if he was a prince, and me
his kitchen maid. He's as strong as a bull, and cares
for nothing nor nobody but himself."

"What is he?" said Magdalen. "His name is Jack,
isn't it?"

"Yes; and a fit name it is for him. He came here
first, to my sorrow, last December, and took the
garret for half-a-crown a week. He had a port-
manteau then, and some little money; and he was

Love Among the Artists 89

quiet enough for almost a month. But he kept very
much to himself except for letting poor little Rosie
play about his room, and teaching her little songs.
You can't think what a queer child she is, Miss
Sutherland. I'm sure you'd say so if you saw Mr.
Jack, the only lodger she took any fancy to. At last
he sent the servant to pawn his things; and I, like a
fool, was loth to see him losing his clothes, and offered
to let the rent run if he could pay at the end of the
month. Then it came out that he was in the music
profession, and akshally expected to get pupils while
he was living in a garret. I did a deal for him,
although he was nothing to me. I got him a station-
er's daughter from High Street to teach. After six
lessons, if you'll believe it. Miss, and she as pleased as
anything with the way she was getting along, he told
the stationer that it was waste of mone)^ to have the
girl taught, because she had no qualification but van-
ity. So he lost her; and now she has lessons at four
guineas a dozen from a lady that gets all the credit for
what he taught her. Then Simpson's brother-in-law
got him a place in a chapel in the Edgeware Road to
play the harmonium and train the choir. But they
couldn't stand him. He treated them as if they were
dogs; and the three richest old ladies in the congrega-
tion, who had led the singing for forty-five years,
walked out the second night, and said they wouldn't
enter the chapel till he was gone. When the minister
rebuked him, he up and said that if he was a God and
they sang to him like that, he'd scatter 'em with light-
ning. That's his notion of manners. So he had to
leave ; but a few of the choir liked him and got him
occasionally to play the piano at a glee club on the

90 Love Among the Artists

first floor of a public house. He got five shillings
once a fortnight or so for that ; and not another half-
penny had he to live on except pawning his clothes bit
by bit. You may imagine all the rent I got. At last
he managed someway to get took on as tutor by a
gentleman at Windsor. I had to release his clothes
out of my own money before he could go. I was five
pound out of pocket by him, between rent and other
things."

"Did he ever pay you?" said Mary.

"Oh, yes. Miss. He certainly sent me the money.
I am far from saying that he is not honorable when he
has the means."

"It is a funny coincidence," said Mary. "It was
to us that Mr. Jack came as tutor. He taught
Charlie."

"To you!" said Magdalen, surprised and by no
means pleased. "Then you know him?"

"Yes. He left us about a fortnight ago."

"Just so," said Mrs. Simpson, "and was glad enough
to come straight back here without a penny in his
pocket. And here he is like to be until some other
situation drops into his lap. If I may ask, Miss, why
did he leave you?"

"Oh, for no particular reason," said Mary uneasily.
"That is, my brother had left Windsor; and we did
not require Mr. Jack any more."

"So he was the tutor of whom Mrs. Beatty told
mother?" said Magdalen significantly.

"Yes."

"I hope he was pleasanter in your house, Miss, than
he is in mine. However, that's not my business. I
have no wish to intrude. Except the letter he wrote

Love Among the Artists gt

me with the money, not a civil word have I ever had
from him."

"A lady whom I know," said Mary, "employed him,
whilst he was with us, to correct come songs which she
wrote. Perhaps I conld induce her to give him some
more. I should like to get him something to do.
But I am afraid she was offended by the way he
altered her composition last time. ' '

"Well, Polly," said Magdalen, "we are forgetting
my business. Where is the professor that Mrs.
Wilkins told me of? I wish Mr. Jack gave lessons in
elocution. I should like to have him for a master."

"Why, Miss Madge, to tell you the honest truth, it
is Mr. Jack. But wait till I show you something.
He's given me a ring to pawn; and it's the very
moral of your own that you used to wear in Gower
Street."

"It is mine, Polly. I owe Mr. Jack four guineas;
and I must pay him to-day. Don't stare: I will tell
you all about it afterwards. I have to thank him too,
for getting me out of a great scrape, Mary: do you
wish to see him?"

"Well, I would rather not, " said Mary slowly: "at
least, I think it would be better not. But after all it
can do no harm; and I suppose it would not be right
for you to see him alone. ' '

"Oh, never mind that," said Magdalen suspiciously.
"I can have Polly with me."

"If you had rather not have me present, I will go."

"Oh, I don't care. Only you seemed to make some
difficulty about it yourself. ' '

"There can be no real difficulty, now that I come to
consider it. Yet — I hardly know what I ought to do."

92 Love Among the Artists

"You had better make up your mind," said
Magdalen impatiently.

"Well, Madge, I have made up my mind," said
Mary, perching her spectacles, and looking composedly
at her friend. "I will stay."

"Very well," said Madge, not with a very good
grace: "I suppose we must not go to Mr. Jack, so he
had better come to us. Polly: go and tell him that
two ladies wish to see him."

"You had better say on business," added Mary.

"And don't mention our names. I want to see
whether he will know me again," said Magdalen.
Mary looked hard at her.

"D'ye really mean it. Miss Madge?"

"Good gracious, yes!" replied Magdalen angrily.

The landlady, after lingering a moment in doubt
and wonder, went out. Silence ensued. Magdalen's
color brightened; and she moved her chair to a place
whence she could see herself in the mirror. Mary
closed her lips, and sat motionless and rather pale.
Not a word passed between them until the door
opened abruptly, and Jack, with his coat buttoned up
to his chin, made a short step into the room. Recog-
nizing Mary, he stopped and frowned.

"How do you do, Mr. Jack?" she said, bowing
steadily to him. He bowed slightly, and looked round
the room. Seeing Magdalen, he was amazed. She
bowed too ; and he gave her a scared nod.

"Won't you sit down, Mr. Jack?" said the landlady,
assuming the manner in which she was used to receive
company.

"Have you pawned that ring yet?" he said, turning
suddenly to her.

Love Among the Artists 93

"No," she retorted, scandalized.

"Then give it back to me." She did so; and he
looked at Magdalen, saying, "You have come just in
time."

"I came to thank you "

*'You need not thank me. I was sorry afterwards
for having helped a young woman to run away from
her father. If I were not the most hotheaded fool in
England, I should have stopped you. I hope no harm
came of it."

"I am sorry to have caused you any uneasiness,"
said Magdalen, coloring. "The }^oung woman drove
straight home after transacting some business that she
wished to conceal from her father. That was all."

"So much the better. If I had known you were at
home, I should have sent you your ring."

"My father expected you to write,"

"I told him I would; but I thought better of it. I
had nothing to tell him."

"You must allow me to repay you the sum you so
kindly lent me that day, Mr. Jack," said Magdalen in
a lower voice, confusing herself by an unskilled effort
to express gratitude by her tone and manner.

' ' It will be welcome, ' ' he replied moodily. Magdalen
slowly took out a new purse. "Give it to Mrs. Simp-
son," he added, turning away. The movement
brought him face to face with Mary, before whom his
brow gathered portentiously. She bore his gaze
steadily, but could not trust herself to speak.

"I have some further business, Mr. Jack," said
Magdalen.

"I beg your pardon," said he, turning again towards
ber.

94 Love Among the Artists
"Mrs. Simpson told me "

"Ah!" said he, interrupting her, and casting a
threatening glance at the landlady. "It was she who
told you where I was to be found, was it?"

"Well, I don't see the harm if I did," said Mrs.
Simpson. "If you look on it as a liberty on my part
to recommend you, Mr. Jack, I can easily stop doing it. ' '

"Recommend me! What does she mean. Miss
Brailsford? — you are Miss Brailsford, are you not?"

"Yes. I was about to say that Mrs. Simpson told

me that you gave — that is . I should perhaps

explain first that I intend to go on the stage."

"What do you want to go on the stage for?"

"The same as anybody else, I suppose," said Mrs.
Simpson indignantly.

"I wish to make it my profession," said Magdalen.

"Do you mean make your living by it?"

"I hope so."

"Humph!"

"Do you think I should have any chance of
success?"

"I suppose, if you have intelligence and persever-
ance, and can drudge and be compliant, and make
stepping stones of your friends — but there! I know
nothing about success. What have I got to do with
it? Do you think, as your father did, that I am a
theatrical agent?"

"Well I must say, Mr. Jack," exclaimed the land-
lady, "that those who try to befriend you get very
little encouragement. I am right sorry, so I am, that
I brought Miss Madge to ask you for lessons."

"Lessons!" said Jack. "Oh! I did not understand.
Lessons in what? Music?"

Love Among the Artists 95

*'No," said Magdalen. "I wanted lessons in elocu-
tion and so forth. At least, I was told the other day
that I did not know how to speak."

"Neither do you. That is true enough," said Jack
thoughtfully. "Well, I don't profess to prepare
people for the stage ; but I can teach you to speak, if
you have anything to say or any feeling for what
better people put into your mouth,"

"You are not very sanguine as to the result, I fear."

"The result, as far as it goes, is certain, if you
practice. If not, I shall give you up. After all, there
is no reason why you should not do something better
than be a fine lady. Your appearance is good : all the
rest can be acquired — except a genius for tomfoolery,
which you must take your chance of. The public
want actresses, because they think all actresses bad.
They don't want music or poetry because they know
that both are good. So actors and actresses thrive,
as I hope you will ; and poets and composers starve,
as I do. When do you wish to begin?"

It was soon arranged that Magdalen should take
lessons in Mrs. Simpson's sitting room, and in her
presence, every second week-day, and that she should
pay Mr. Jack for them at the rate of three guineas a
dozen. The first was to take place on the next day
but one. Then the two ladies rose to go. But Mag-
dalen first drew Mrs. Simpson aside to pay her the
money which Jack had lent her; so that he was left
near the door with Mary, who had only spoken once
since he entered the room.

"Mr. Jack," she said, in an undertone: "I fear I
have intruded on you. But I assure you I did not
know who it was that we were coming to see."

96 Love Among the Artists

"Else you would not have come."

"Only because I should have expected to be
unwelcome."

"It does not matter. I am glad to see you, though
I have no reason to be. How is Mr. Adrian?"

"Mr. Herbert "

"I beg his pardon, Mr. Herbert, of course."

"He is quite well, thank you."

Jack rubbed his hands stealthily, and looked at
Mary as though the recollection of Adrian tickled his
sense of humor. As she tried to look coldly at him,
he said, with a shade of pity in his tone, "Ah, Miss
Sutherland, it is one thing to be very fond of music:
it is quite another to be able to compose."

"Is it?" said Mary, puzzled.

He shook his head. "You don't see the relevance
of that," said he. "Well, never mind."

She looked at him uneasily, and hesitated. Then
she said slowly, "Mr. Jack: some people at Windsor,
friends of mine, have been asking about you, I think,
if you could come down once a week, I could get a
music class together for you. ' '

"No doubt," he said, his angry look returning.
"They will take lessons because you ask them to be
charitable to your discarded tutor. Why did you
discard him if you think him fit to teach your friends?"

"Not at all. The project was mentioned last season,
before I knew you. It is simply that we wish to take
lessons. If you do not get the class somebody else
will. It is very difficult to avoid offending you, Mr.
Jack."

"Indeed! Why does the world torment me, if it
expects to find me gracious to it? And who are the

Love Among the Artists 97

worthy people that are burning to soar in the realms
of song?"

"Well, to begin with. I should 1 "

"You! I would not give you lessons though your
life depended on it. No, by Heaven! At least," he
continued, more placably, as she recoiled, evidently
hurt, "you shall have no lessons from me for money.
I will teach you, if you wish to learn; but you shall
not try to make amends for your old caprice of beggar-
ing me, by a new caprice to patronize me."

"Then of course I cannot take any lessons."

"I thought not. You will confer favors on your
poor music maker; but you will not stoop to accept
them from him. Your humble dog, Miss Sutherland. "
He made her a bow.

"You quite mistake me," said Mary, unable to con-
trol her vexation. "Will you take the class or not?"

"Where will the class be?"

"I could arrange to have it at our house if "

"Never. I have crossed its threshold for the last
time. So long as it is not there, I do not care where it
is. Not less than one journey a week, and not less
than a guinea clear profit for each journey. Those
are my lowest terms: I will take as much more as I
can get, but nothing less. Perhaps you are thinking
better of getting the class for me."

"I never break my word, Mr. Jack."

"Ha! Don't you! I do. A fortnight ago I swore
never to speak to you again. The same day I swore
never to part with your friend's ring except to herself.
Well, here I am speaking to you for no better reason
than that you met me and offered to put some money
in my way. And you stopped me in the act of pawn-

98 Love Among the Artists

ing her ring, which I was going to do because I
thought I would rather have a beefsteak. But you
are adamant. You never change your mind. You
have a soul above fate and necessity ! Ha! ha!"

"Magdalen," said Mary, turning to her friend, who
had been waiting for the end of this conversation: "I
think we had better go." Mary was crimson with
suppressed resentment; and Magdalen, not displeased
to see it, advanced to bid Jack farewell in her most
attractive manner. He immediately put off his
bantering air, and ceremoniously accompanied them
downstairs to the door, where Magdalen, going out
first, gave him her hand. Mary hesitated; and he
wrinkled his brow as he looked at her.

"I will tell Miss Cairns to write to you about the
class," she said. He listened to her with an attention
which she thought derisive. Flushing with displeasure,
she added, "And as Miss Cairns has done nothing to
incur your anger, I beg, Mr. Jack, that you will
remember that she is a lady, and will expect to be
treated with common civility. ' '

"Oho!" said Jack, delighted, "Have I been rude?
Have 1?"

"You have been excessively rude, Mr. Jack."
She went out quickly, sending the words with an
angry glance over her shoulder. He shut the door,
and went upstairs to Mrs. Simpson's room, braying
like a donkey. )

"Well, Jezebel," he cried. "Well, Polly. Well,
Mrs. Quickly. How are you?"

"I never was so ashamed in my life, Mr. Jack.
There were those young ladies only too anxious to do
what they could for you, and you like a bear. No

Love Among the Artists 99

wonder you can't get on, when you won't control your-
self and have behavior."

"I am a bear, am I? You had better recollect that
I am a hungry bear, and that if my dinner does not
come up, you will get a hug that will break every
bone in your stays. Don't forget the music paper.
You have plenty of money now. Four pounds four
and a penny, eh?"

"You've no call to fear: none of it will be stolen.
Miss Madge thought you hadn't counted it. Little
did she know you. ' '

"She knew me better than you, you sordid hag. I
counted my money that morning — four pounds nine
and sevenpence. I gave the railway clerk ten shil-
lings; he gave me five back — that left four pounds
four and sevenpence. I arrived here with sixpence
in my pocket; and from that I knew that I gave her
four, four, and a penny. That reminds me that you
sat there and let Miss Sutherland go away without
making me ask her to send on my portmanteau, now
that I have money to pay the carriage. You're very
stupid."

"How could I tell whether you wanted me to
mention it or not? I was thinking of it all the time;
but "

"You were thinking of it all the time!" cried Jack,
in a frenzy. "And you never mentioned it! Here
go for my dinner. You would drive the most patient
man living out of his senses."

CHAPTER VI

When Mrs. Beatty had been a fortnight in the Isle
of Wight with her brother's family, her husband came
down from Windsor to see her. On the morning after
his arrival, they were together in the garden, he
smoking, and she in a rocking chair near him, with a
newspaper in her hand.

"My dear," he said, after a preliminary cough.

"Yes, Richard." said she amiably, putting down the
paper.

"I was saying last night that Clifton is leaving us."

"Oh, the bandmaster! Yes." Mrs. Beatty was not
interested, and she took up the paper again.

"Mary was speaking to me about it this morning."

Mrs. Beatty put down the paper decisively, and
looked at her husband.

"She wants me to get that fellow — Charlie's tutor —
into Clifton's place. I don't know whether he is fit
for it?"

"You don't know whether he is fit for it! Pray,
Richard, did you allow Mary to think that we will
countenance any further transactions between her and
that man."

"I thought I would speak to you about it."

"She ought to be ashamed of herself. Don't listen
to her on any account, Richard."

"Well, will you speak to her? It is not exactly a
subject that I can take her to task about; and I really

xoo

Love Among the Artists loi

don't exactly know what to say to her when she
comes at me. She always argues; and I hate
argument."

"Then I suppose I must face her arguments — I will
make short work of them too. Whenever there is
anything pleasant to be said in the family, you are
willing enough to take it out of my mouth. The
unpleasant things are left to me. Then people say,
'Poor Colonel Beatty: he has such a disagreeable
wife.' "

"Who says so?"

"It is not your fault if they do not say so."

"If the fellow comes into the regiment, he will soon
be taught how to behave himself. Though for all I
have seen to the contrary, he can behave himself well
enough. That is my dii^culty in talking to Mary. If
she has no fault to find with him, I am sure I have
none."

"You are going to take his part against me. Colonel
Beatty. It does not matter that he repeatedly insulted
me — everybody does that. But I thought j'ou might
have had some little fault to find with a person who
debauched your men and held drunken orgies in my
brother's house."

"Well, Jane, if you come to that, you know very
well that Charles was an incorrigible scamp long
enough before Jack ever met him. As to bringing
him to play at Beulah, Charles got five shillings for
his trouble, and went as he might have gone to one of
your dances. He spoke to me of Jack as a gentleman
who had employed him, not as a comrade."

"To you, no doubt he did. Adrian Herbert heard
how he spoke to Jack. "

I02 Love Among the Artists

"Besides, Mary expressly says that she does not
complain of that at all."

"And what does she complain of?"

Colonel Beatty considered for a moment, and then
answered, "She does not complain of anything, as
far as I can make out, ' '

"Indeed! She dismissed him. You will at least
not deny that. ' '

"My dear, I am not denying anyth "

"Then let nothing induce you to bring them
together again. You ought to understand that much
without any hint from me, knowing, as you do, what
a strange girl she is."

"Why? Do you think there is anything between
them?"

"I never said so. I know very well what I think."

Colonel Beatty smoked a while in silence. Then,
seeing Mary come from the house, carrying a box of
colors, he busied himself with his pipe, and strolled
away.

"What is the matter?" said Mary.

"Nothing that I am aware of," said Mrs. Beatty.
"Why?"

"You do not look happy. And Uncle Richard's
shoulders have a resigned set, as if he had been blown
up lately. ' '

"Ha! Oh! You are a wonderful observer, Mary.
Are you going out?"

"I am waiting for Adrian."

Mary went round the garden in search of a flower.
She was adorning her bosom with one, when Mrs.
Beatty, who had been pretending to read, could con-
tain herself no longer, and exclaimed :

Love Among the Artists 103

"Now, Mary, it is of no use your asking Richard to
get that man as bandmaster. He shall not do it."

"So that is what was the matter," said Mary coolly.

"I mean what I say, Mary. He shall never show
his face in Windsor again with my consent."

"He shows his face there once a week already,
aunt. Miss Cairns writes to say that he has a singing
class at their house, and three pianoforte pupils in
the neighborhood, ' '

"If I had known that," said Mrs. Beatty, angrily, "I
should not have left Windsor. It is of a piece with the
rest of his conduct. However, no matter. We shall
see how long he will keep his pupils after I go back. ' '

"Why, aunt? Would you take away his livelihood
because you do not happen to like him personally?"

"I have nothing to do with his livelihood. I do not
consider it proper for him to be at Windsor, after
being dismissed by Richard. There are plenty of
other places for him to go to. I have quite made up
my mind on the subject. If you attempt to dispute
me, I shall be offended. ' '

"I have made up my mind too. Whatever mischief
you may do to Mr. Jack at Windsor will be imputed to
me, aunt."

"I never said that I would do him any mischief."

"You said you would drive him out of Windsor.
As he lives by his teaching, I think that would be as
great a mischief as it is in your power to do him. ' '

"Well, I cannot help it. It is your fault."

"If I have helped to get him the pupils, and am
begging you not to interfere with him, how is it my
fault?"

"Ah! I thought you had something to do with it.

I04 Love Among the Artists

And now let me tell you, Mary, that it is perfectly
disgraceful, the open way in which you hanker
after "

"Aunt!"

" that common man. I wonder at a girl of your

tastes and understanding having so little self-respect
as to let everybody see that your head has been
turned by a creature without polish or appearance —
not even a gentleman. And all this too while you are
engaged to Adrian Herbert, his very opposite in every
respect. I tell you, Mary, it's not proper: it's not
decent. A tutor! If it were anybody else it would

not matter so much; but Oh for shame, Mary,

for shame!"

"Aunt Jane "

"Hush, for goodness sake. Here he is."

"Who?" cried Mary, turning quickly. But it was
only Adrian, equipped for sketching.

"Good morning," he said gaily, but with a thought-
ful, polite gaiety. "This is the very sky we want for
that bit of the underclifE."

"We were just saying how late you were," said
Mrs. Beatty graciously. He shook her hand, and
looked in some surprise at Mary, whose expression,
as she stood motionless, puzzled him.

"Do you know what we were really saying when
you interrupted us, Adrian?"

"Mary," exclaimed Mrs. Beatty.

"Aunt Jane was telling me," continued Mary, not
heeding her, "that I was hankering after Mr. Jack,
and that my conduct was not decent. Have you ever
remarked anything indecent about my conduct,
Adrian?"

Love Among the Artists 105

Herbert looked helplessly from her to her aunt in
silence. Mrs. Beatty's confusion, culminating in a
burst of tears, relieved him from answering.

"Do not listen to her," she said presently, striving
to control herself. "She is an ungrateful girl."

"I have quoted her exact words," said Mary,
unmoved; "and I am certainly not grateful for them.
Come, Adrian. We had better lose no more time if
we are to finish our sketches before luncheon?"

"But we cannot leave Mrs. Beatty in this "

"Never mind me: I am ashamed of myself for
giving way, Mr. Herbert. It was not your fault. I
had rather not detain you. ' '

Adrian hesitated. But seeing that he had better go,
he took up his bundle of easels and stools, and went
out with Mary, who did not even look at her aunt.
They had gone some distance before either spoke.
Then he said, "I hope Mrs. Beatty has not been
worrying you, Mary?" »

"If she has, I do not think she will do it again with-
out serious reflexion. I have found that the way to
deal with worldly people is to frighten them by
repeating their scandalous whisperings aloud. Oh, I
was very angry that time, Adrian."

"But what brought Jack on the carpet again? I
thought we were rid of him and done with him?"

"I heard that he was very badly off in London; and
I asked Colonel Beatty to get him made bandmaster of
the regiment in place of John Sebastian Clifton — the
man you used to laugh at — who is going to America.
Then Aunt Jane interfered, and imputed motives to
my intercession — such motives as she could appreciate
herself."

io6 Love Among the Artists

"But how did you find out Jack's position in
London?"

"From Madge Brailsford, who is taking lessons
from him. Why? Are you jealous?"

"If you really mean that question, it will spoil my
day's work, or rather my day's pleasure; for my work
is all pleasure, nowadays."

"No, of course I do not mean it. I beg your
pardon, ' '

"Will you make a new contract with me, Mary?"

"What is it?"

"Never to allude to that execrable musician again.
I have remarked that his name alone suffices to breed
discord everywhere."

"It is true," said Mary, laughing. "I have quar-
relled a little with Madge, a great deal with Aunt
Jane, almost with you, and quite with Charlie about
him."

"Then let us consider him, from henceforth, in the
Index expiirgatoriiis. I swear never to mention him
on a sketching excursion — never at all, in fact, unless
on very urgent occasion, which is not likely to arise.
Will you swear also?"

"I swear," said Mary, raising her hand. " *Z^
giurOy' as they say in the Opera. But without
prejudice to his bandmastership. "

"As to that, I am afraid you have spoiled his chance
with Colonel Aunt Jane?"

"Yes," said Mary slowly: "I forgot that. I was
thinking only of my own outraged feelings when I
took my revenge. And I had intended to coax her
into seconding me in the matter."

Herbert laughed.

Love Among the Artists 107

**It is not at all a thing to be laughed at, Adrian,
when you come to think of it. I used to fancy that I
had set myself aside from the ordinary world to live
a higher life than most of those about me. But I am
beginning to find out that when I have to act, I do
very much as they do. As I suppose they judge me
by my actions and not by my inner life, no doubt they
see me much as I see them. Perhaps they have an
inner life too. If so, the only difference between us is
that I have trained my eye to see more material for
pictures in a landscape than they. They may even
enjoy the landscape as much, without knowing why."

"Do you know why?"

'*I suppose not. I mean that I can point out those
aspects of the landscape which please me, and they
cannot. But that is not a moral difference. Art
cannot take us out of the world. ' *

"Not if we are worldly, Mary."

*'But how can we help being worldly? I was born
into the world : I have lived all my life in it : I have
never seen or known a person or thing that did not
belong to it. How can I be anything else than
wordly?"

"Does the sun above us belong to it, Mary? Do the
stars, the dreams that poets have left us, the realms
that painters have shewn us, the thoughts you and I
interchange sometimes when nothing has occurred to
disturb your faith? Do these things belong to it?"

"I don't believe they belong exclusively to us two.
If they did, I think we should be locked up as lunatics
for perceiving them. Do you know, Adrian, lots of
people whom we consider quite foreign to us
spiritually, are very romantic in their own way.

io8 Love Among the Artists

Aunt Jane cries over novels which make me laugh.
Your mother reads a good deal of history, and she
likes pictures. I remember when she used to sing
very nicely."

"Yes. She likes pictures, provided they are not too
good."

"She says the same of you. And really, when she
pats me on the shoulder in her wise way, and asks me
when I will be tired of playing at what she calls
transcendentalism, I hear, or fancy I hear, an echo of
her thought in my own mind. I have been very
happy in my art studies; and I don't think I shall
ever find a way of life more tranquil and pleasant
than they led me to ; but, for all that, I have a notion
sometimes that it is a way of life which I am out-
growing. I am getting wickeder as I get older, very
likely."

"You think so for the moment. If you leave your
art, the world will beat you back to it. The world
has not an ambition worth sharing, or a prize worth
handling. Corrupt successes, disgraceful failures, or
sheeplike vegetation are all it has to offer. I prefer
Art, which gives me a sixth sense of beauty, with
self-respect: perhaps also an immortal reputation in
return for honest endeavor in a labor of love."

"Yes, Adrian. That used to suffice for me: indeed,
it does so still when I am in the right frame of mind.
But other worlds are appearing vaguely on the
horizon. Perhaps woman's art is of woman's life a
thing apart, 'tis man's whole existence; just as love is
said to be the reverse — though it isn't. "

"It does not scan that way," said Adrian, with an
uneasy effort to be flippant.

Love Among the Artists 109

"No," said Mary, laughing-. "This is the place."

"Yes," said Adrian, unstrapping the easels. "You
must paint off the fit of depression that is seizing you.
The wind has gone round to the south-west. What
an exquisite day!"

"It is a little oppressive, I think. I am just in the
humor for a sharp evening breeze, with the sea broken
up into slate color waves, and the yachts ripping them
up in their hurry home. Thank you, I would rather
have the stool that has no back : I will settle the rest
myself. Adrian: do you think me ill-tempered?"

"What a question to explode on me! Why?"

"No matter why. Answer my question."

"I think you always control yourself admirably."

"You mean when I am angry?"

"Yes."

"But, putting my self-control out of the question,
do you think I get angry often — too often, even
though I do not let my anger get the better of me?"

"Not too often, certainly."

"But often?"

"Well, no. That is, not absolutely angry. I think
you are quick to perceive and repel an attack, even
when it is only thoughtlessly implied. But now we
must drop introspection for the present, Mary. If our
sketches are to be finished before luncheon, I must
work hard ; and so must you. No more conversation
until a quarter past one."

"So be it," said Mary, taking her seat on the
campstool. They painted silently for two hours,
interrupted occasionally by strollers, who stopped to
look on, much to Herbert's annoyance, and somewhat
to Mary's gratification. Meanwhile the day grew

no Love Among the Artists

warmer and warmer; and the birds and insects sang
and shrilled incessantly.

"Finished," said Mary at last, putting down her
palette. "And not in the least like nature. I
ventured a little Prussian blue in that corner of the
sky, with disastrous results."

"I will look presently," said Herbert, without turn-
ing from his canvas. "It will take at least another
day to finish mine. ' '

"You are too conscientious, Adrian. I feel sure
your sketches have too much work in them."

"I have seen many pictures without enough work
in them : never one with too much. I suppose I must
stop now for the present. It is time to return."

"Yes," said Mary, packing her sketching furniture.
"Oh dear! As Faulconbridge says, 'Now, by my life,
the day grows wondrous hot. ' Faulconbridge, by the
bye, would have thought us a pair of fools. Never-
theless I like him."

"I am sorry to hear it. Most women like men who
are arrogant bullies. Let me see your sketch,"

"It is not a masterpiece, as you may perceive."

"No. You are impatient, Mary, and draw with a
stiff, heavy hand. Look before you into the haze.
There is no such thing as an outline in the landscape. "

"I cannot help it. I try to soften everything as
much as possible ; but it only makes the colors look
sodden. It is all nonsense my trying to paint. I shall
give it up."

"Must I pay you compliments to keep up your
courage? You are unusually diffident to-day. You
have done the cottage and the potato field better
than I."

Love Among the Artists iii

"Very likely. My touch suits potato fields. I think
I had better make a specialty of them. Since I can
paint neither sky nor sea nor golden grain, I shall
devote myself to potato fields in wet weather."

Herbert, glancing up at her as he stooped to
shoulder his easel, did not answer. A little later,
when they were on their way home, he said, "Are you
conscious of any change in yourself since you came
down here, Mary?"

"No. What kind of change?" She had been
striding along beside him, looking boldly ahead in her
usual alert manner; but now she slackened her pace,
and turned her eyes uneasily downward.

"I have noticed a certain falling off in the steady
seriousness that used to be your chief characteristic.
You are becoming a little inconsiderate and even
frivolous about things that you formerly treated with
unvarying sympathy and reverence. This makes me
anxious. Our engagement is likely to be such a long
one, that the least change in you alarms me. Mary:
is it that you are getting tired of Art, or only of me?"

"Oh, absurd! nonsense, Adrian!"

"There is nothing of your old seriousness in that
answer, Mary."

"It is not so much a question as a reproach that you
put to me. You should have more confidence in
yourself; and then you would not fear my getting
tired of you. As to Art, I am not exactly getting
tired of it ; but I find that I cannot live on Art alone ;
and I am beginning to doubt whether I might not
spend my time better than in painting, at which I am
sure I shall never do much good. If Art were a game
of pure skill, I should persevere; but it is like whist,

112 Love Among the Artists

chance and skill mixed. Nature may have given you
her ace of trumps — genius; but she has not given me
any trumps at all — not even court cards. "

"If we all threw up our cards merely because we
had not the ace of trumps in our hand, I fear there
would be no more whist played in the world. But,
to drop your metaphor, which I do not like, I can
assure you that Nature has been kinder to you than to
me. I had to work harder and longer than you have
worked before I could paint as well as you can. ' '

"That sort of encouragement kept up my ardor for
a long time, Adrian; but its power is exhausted now.
In future I may sketch to amuse myself and to keep
mementos of the places with which I have pleasant
associations, but not to elevate my tastes and perfect
my morals. Perhaps it is that change of intention
which makes me frivolous, as you say I have suddenly
become."

"And since when," said Herbert, gravely, "have
you meditated this very important change?"

"I never meditated it at all. It came upon me
unawares. I did not even know what it was until
your question forced me to give an account of it.
What an infidel I am! But tell me this, Adrian. If
you suddenly found yourself a Turner, Titian, Michael
Angelo, and Holbein all rolled into one, would you
be a bit happier.?"

"I cannot conceive how you can doubt it."

"I know you would paint better" (Herbert winced),
"but it is not at all obvious to me that you would be
happier. However, I am in a silly humor to-day; for
I can see nothing in a proper way. We had better
talk about something else. ' '

Love Among the Artists 113

"The humor has lasted for some days, already,
Mary. x\nd it must be talked about, and seriously
too, if you have concluded, like my mother, that I am
wasting my life in pursuit of a chimera. Has she
been speaking to you about me?"

"Oh, Adrian, you are accusing me of treachery.
You must not think, because I have lost faith in my
own artistic destiny, that I have lost faith in yours
also."

"I fear, if you have lost your respect for Art, you
have lost your respect for me. If so, you know that
you may consider yourself free as far as I am con-
cerned. You must not hold yourself in bondage to a
dreamer, as people consider me."

"I do not exactly understand. Are you offering me
my liberty, or claiming your own?"

"I am offering you yours. I think you might have
guessed that."

"I don't think I might. It is not pleasant to be
invited to consider oneself free. If you really wish it,
I shall consider myself so."

"The question is, do you wish it?"

"Excuse me, Adrian: the question is, do you wish
it?"

"My feelings towards you are quite unchanged."

"And so are mine towards you,"

After this they walked for a little time in silence.
Then Mary said, "Adrian: do you remember our
congratulating ourselves last June on our immunity
from the lovers' quarrels which occur in the vulgar
world? I think — perhaps it is due to my sudden
secession from the worship of Art — I think we made
a sort of first attempt at one that time. ' '

114 Love Among the Artists

"Ha! ha! Yes. But we failed, did we not,
Mary?"

"Thanks to our inexperience, we did. But not very
disgracefully. We shall succeed better the next time,
most likely."

"Then I hope the next time will never come."

"I hope not." Here they reached the garden gate.

"You must come in and lunch with us, to save me
from facing Aunt Jane alone after my revenge upon
her this morning. ' '

Then they went in together, and found that Mrs.
Herbert had called, and was at table with the Colonel
and Mrs. Beatty.

"Are we late?" said Mary.

Mrs. Beatty closed her lips and did not reply. The
Colonel hastened to say that they had only just sat
down. Mrs. Herbert promptly joined in the conver-
sation; and the meal proceeded without Mrs. Beatty 's
determination not to speak to her neice becoming
unpleasantly obvious, until Mary put on her eye-
glasses, and said, looking at her aunt in her searching
myopic way:

"Aunt Jane: will you come with me to the two-
forty train to meet papa?"

Mrs. Beatty maintained her silence for a few seconds.
Then she reddened, and said sulkily, "No, Mary, I
will not. You can do without me very well. ' '

"Adrian: will you come?"

"Unfortunately," said Mrs. Herbert, "Adrian is
bound to me for the afternoon. We are going to
Portsmouth to pay a visit. It is time for us to go
now," she added, looking at her watch and rising.

During the leave taking which followed, Colonel

Love Among the Artists 115

Beatty got his hat, judging that he had better go out
with the Herberts than stay between his wife and
Mary in their present tempers. But Mrs. Beatty did
not care to face her niece alone. When the guests
were gone, she moved towards the door.

"Aunt," said Mary, "don't go yet. I want to speak
to you. ' '

Mrs. Beatty did not turn.

"Very well," said Mary. "But remember, aunt, if
there is to be a quarrel, it will not be of my making."

Mrs. Beatty hesitated, and said, "As soon as you
express your sorrow for your conduct this morning, I
will speak to you. ' '

"I am very sorry for what passed." Mary looked at
her aunt as she spoke, not contritely. Mrs. Beatty,
dissatisfied, held the door handle for a moment longer,
then slowly came back and sat down. "I am sure
you ought to be, ' ' she said.

"I am sure yoii ought to be," said Mary.

"What!" cried Mrs. Beatty, about to rise again.

"You should have taken what I said as an apology,
and let well alone," said Mary. "lam sorry that I
resented your accusation this morning in a way that
might have made mischief between me and Adrian.
But you had no right to say what you did ; and I had
every right to be angry with you."

' ' Vo7( have a right to be angry with me/ Do you
know who I am. Miss?"

"Aunt, if you are going to call me 'Miss,' we had
better stop talking altogether."

Mrs. Beatty saw extreme vexation in her niece's
expression, and even a tear in her eye. She resolved
to assert her authority. "Mary," she said: "do

ii6 Love Among the Artists

you wish to provoke me into sending you to your
room?"

Mary rose, "Aunt Jane," she said, "if you don't
choose to treat me with due respect, as you have to
treat other women, we must live apart. If you cannot
understand my feelings, at least you know my age and
position. This is the second time you have insulted
me to-day," She went to the door, looking indig-
nantly at her aunt as she passed. The look was
returned by one of alarm, as though Mrs, Beatty were
going to cry again, Mary, seeing this, restrained
her anger with an effort as she reached the threshold ;
stood still for a moment; and then came back to the
table,

"I am a fool to lose my temper with 3^ou, aunt,"
she said, dropping into the rocking chair with an air
of resolute good humor, which became her less than
her anger; "but really you are very aggravating.
Now, don't make dignified speeches to me: it makes
me feel like a housemaid ; and I am sure it makes you
feel like a cook," Mrs, Beatty colored. In temper
and figure she was sufficiently like the cook of
caricature to make the allusion disagreeable to her,
"I always feel ridiculous and remorseful after a
quarrel," continued Mary, "whether I am in the right
or not — if there be any right in a quarrel,"

"You are a very strange girl," said Mrs, Beatty,
ruefully, "When I was your age, I would not have
dared to speak to my elders as you speak to me, "

"When you were young," responded Mary, "the
world was in a state of barbarism ; and young people
used to spoil the old people, just as you fancy the old
spoil the young nowadays. Besides, you are not so

Love Among the Artists 117

very much my elder, after all. I can remember
quite well when you were married."

"That may be," said Mrs. Beatty, gravely. "It is
not so much my age, perhaps; but you should
remember, Mary, that I am related to your father."

"So am I."

"Don't be ridiculous, child. Ah, what a pity it is
that you have no mother, Mary! It is a greater loss
to you than you think. ' '

"It is time to go to meet papa," said Mary, rising.
"I hope Uncle Richard will be at the station."

"Why? What do you want with your Uncle
Richard?"

"Only to tell him that we are on good terms again,
and that he may regard Mr. Jack as his future band-
master." She hurried away as she spoke; and Mrs.
Beatty's protest was wasted on the old-fashioned
sideboard.

CHAPTER VII

Miss Cairns, of whom Mary Sutherland had spoken
to her aunt, was an unmarried lady of thirty-four.
She had read much for the purpose of remembering it
at examinations; had taken the degree of Bachelor of
Science ; had written two articles on Woman Suffrage,
and one on the Higher Education of Women, for a
Radical review; and was an earnest contender for the
right of her sex to share in all public functions.
Having in her student days resolved not to marry,
she had kept her resolution, and endeavored to
persuade other girls to follow her example, which a
few, who could not help themselves, did. But as she
approached her fortieth year, and found herself tiring
of books, lectures, university examinations of women,
and second-hand ideas and sensations in general, she
ceased to dissuade her friends from marrying, and
even addicted herself with some zest to advising and
gossiping on the subject of their love affairs. With
Mary Sutherland, who had been her pupil, and was
one of her most intimate friends, she frequently corre-
sponded on the subject of Art, for which she had a
vast reverence, based on extensive reading and entire
practical ignorance of the subject. She knew Adrian,
and had gained Mary's gratitude by pronouncing him
a great artist, though she had not seen his works. In
person she was a slight, plain woman, with small fea-
tures, soft brown hair, and a pleasant expression.

ii8

Love Among the Artists 119

Much sedentary plodding had accustomed her to deli-
cate health, but had not soured her temper, or dulled
her habitual cheerfulness.

Early in September, she wrote to Mary Sutherland.

"Newton Villa, Windsor,

"4th September.

"Dearest Mary: — Many thanks for your pleasant
letter, which makes me long to be at the seaside. I
am sorry to hear that you are losing interest in your
painting. Tell Mr. Herbert that I am surprised at
his not keeping you up to your work better. When
you come back, you shall have a good lecture from
me on the subject of luke-warm endeavor and laziness
generally : however, if you are really going to study
music instead, I excuse you.

"You will not be pleased to hear that the singing
class is broken up. Mr. Jack, unstable as dynamite,
exploded yesterday, and scattered our poor choir in
dismay to their homes. It happened in this way.
There was a garden party at Mrs. Griffith's, to which
all the girls were invited; and accordingly they
appeared at class in gay attire, and were rather talka-
tive and inattentive. Mr. Jack arrived punctually,
looking black as thunder. He would not even
acknowledge my greeting. Just before he came in,
Louisa White had been strumming over a new set of
quadrilles; and she unfortunately left the music on the
desk of the pianoforte. Mr. Jack, without saying a
word to us, sat down on the music stool, and, of
course, saw poor Louisa's quadrilles, which he
snatched, tore across, and threw on the floor. There
was a dead silence, and Louisa looked at me, expecting
me to interfere, but — I confess it — I was afraid to.
Even you, audacious as you are, would have hesitated
to provoke him. We sat looking at him ruefully whilst
he played some chords, which he did as if he hated
the piano. Then he said in a weary voice, 'Go on, go
on.' I asked him what we should go on with. He

I20 Love Among the Artists

looked savagely at me, and said, 'Anything. Don't' —
He said the rest to himself; but I think he meant,
'Don't sit there staring like a fool.' I distributed
some music in a hurry, and put a copy before him.
He was considerate enough not to tear that; but he
took it off the desk and put it aside. Then we began,
he playing the accompaniment without book. Some
of the girls were frightened, others indignant, and the
rest whispering and laughing; and, on the whole, we
did not acquit ourselves at all well. He heard us to
the end, and told us to begin again. We began again
and again and again, he listening with brooding
desperation, like a man suffering from neuralgia.
His silence alarmed me more than anything ; for he
usually shouts at us, and, if we sing a wrong note,
sings the right one in a tremendous voice. This went
on for about twenty-five minutes, during which, I must
confess, we got worse and worse. At last Mr. Jack
rose; gave one terrible look at us; and buttoned his
coat. The eyes of all were upon me — as if I could do
anything. 'Are you going, Mr. Jack!' No answer.
'We shall see you on Friday as usual, I suppose, Mr.
Jack?' 'Never, never again, by Heaven!' With this
reply, made in a tortured voice with intense fervor, he
walked out. Then arose a Babel of invective against
Mr. Jack, with infinite contradiction, and some vehe-
ment defence of him. Louisa White, torn quadrille
in hand, began it by declaring that his conduct was
disgraceful. 'No wonder,' cried Jane Lawrence, 'with
Hetty Grahame laughing openly at him from the otto-
man.' 'It was at the singing I laughed,' said Hetty
indignantly: 'it was enough to make anyone laugh.
After this everybody spoke at once ; but at last each
agreed that all the rest had behaved very badly, and
that Mr. Jack had been scandalously treated. I
thought, and I still think, that Mr. Jack has to thank
his own ill-temper for the bad singing; and I will take
care that he shall not have a second chance of being
rude to me (I know by experience that it is a mistake

Love Among the Artists 121

to allow professors to trample on unprotected females)
but of course I did not say so to the girls, as I do not
wish to spoil his very unexpected popularity with
them. He is a true male tyrant, and, like all idle
women, they love tyrants — for which treachery to
their working sisters they ought to be whipped and
sent to bed. He is now, forsooth, to be begged to
shew grace to his repentant handmaids, and to come
down as usual on Friday, magnanimously overlooking
his own bad behavior of yesterday. Can you manage
to bring this about. You know him better than any
of us; and we regard you as the proprietress of the
class. Your notion that Mr. Jack objects to your join-
ing it when you return to Windsor, is a piece of your
crotchety nonsense. I asked him whether he expected
you to do so, and he said he hoped so. That was not
yesterday, of course, but at the previous lesson, when
he was in unusually good spirits. So please try and
induce his royal highness to come back to us. If you
do not, I shall have to write myself, and then all will
be lost; for I will encourage no living man to trample
on my sex, even when they deserve it; and if I must
write. Seigneur Jack shall have a glimpse of my mind.
Please let me know soon what you can do for us: the
girls are impatient to know the issue, and they keep
calling and bothering me with questions. I will send
you all the local news in my next letter, as it is too
near post hour to add anything to this, — Yours, dearest
Mary, most affectionately.

*'Letitia Cairns."

Mary forthwith, in a glow of anger, wrote and
despatched the following to Church Street, Kensington.

"Bonchurch, 5 th September.
"Dear Mr. Jack : — I have been very greatly surprised
and pained by hearing from my friend Miss Cairns
that you have abruptly thrown up the class she was
kind enough to form for you at Windsor. I have no
right to express any opinion upon your determination

122 Love Among the Artists

not to teach her friends any more ; but as I introduced
you to her, I cannot but feel that I have been the
means of exposing her to an affront which has
evidently wounded her deeply. However, Miss
Cairns, far from making any complaint, is anxious that
you should continue your lessons, as it is the general
desire of the class that you should do so.

"Yours sincerely,

"Mary Sutherland."

Early next afternoon, Miss Cairns was alone in her
drawing room, preparing a lecture for a mutual
improvement society which she had founded in Wind-
sor. A servant came in.

"Please, Miss Tisha, can you see Mr. Jack?"

Miss Cairns laid down her pen, and gazed at the
woman. "Mr. Jack! It is not his usual day. "

"No, Miss; but it's him. I said you was busy; and
he asked whether you told me to tell him so. I think
he's in a wus temper than last day."

"You had better bring him up," said Miss Cairns,
touching her hair to test its neatness, and covering up
her manuscript. Jack came in hurriedly, and cut
short her salutation by exclaiming in an agitated
manner, "Miss Cairns: I received a letter — an
infamous letter. It says that you accuse me of having
affronted you, and given up my class here, and other
monstrous things. I have come to ask you whether
you really said anything of the sort, and, if so, from
whom you have heard these slanders."

"I certainly never told anyone that you affronted
me," said Miss Cairns, turning pale. "I may have
said that you gave up the class rather abruptly;
but "

"But who told you that I had given up the class?

Love Anaong the Artists 123

Why did you believe it before you had given me an
opportunity of denying — of repudiating it. You do
not know me, Miss Cairns. I have an unfortunate
manner sometimes, because I am, in a worldly sense,
an unfortunate man, though in my real life, heaven
knows, a most happy and fortunate one. But I would
cut off my right hand sooner than insult you. I am
incapable of ingratitude; and I have the truest esteem
and regard for you, not only because you have been
kind to me but because I appreciate the noble qualities
which raise you above your sex. So far from neglect-
ing or wishing to abandon your friends, I have taken
special pains with them, and shall always do so on
your account, in spite of their magpie frivolity. You
have seen for yourself my efforts to make them sing.
But it is the accusation of rudeness to you personally
that I am determined to refute. Who is the author of
it?"

"I assure you," said Miss Cairns, blushing, "that
you did not offend me ; and whoever told you I com-
plained of your doing so must have misunderstood me.
But as to your giving up the class "

"Aye, aye. Somebody must have told you that."

"You told me that yourself, Mr, Jack."

He looked quickly at her, taken aback. Then he
frowned obstinately, and began walking to and fro.
"Ridiculous!" he said, impatiently. "I never said
such a thing. You have made a mistake. * '

"But "

' ' How could I possibly have said it when the idea
never entered my head?"

"All I can say is," said Miss Cairns, firmly, being
somewhat roused, "that when I asked you whether you

124 Love Among the Artists

were coming again, you answered most emphatically,
'Never!' "

Jack stood still and considered a moment, "No,
no," he said, recommencing his walk, "I said nothing
of the kind."

She made no comment, but looked timidly at him,
and drummed on the writing desk with her finger.

"At least," he said, stopping again, "I may have
said so thoughtlessly — as a mere passing remark. I
meant nothing by it. I was a little put out by the
infernal manner in which the class behaved. Perhaps
you did not perceive my annoyance, and so took what-
ever I said too seriously. ' '

"Yes, I think that must have been it," said Miss
Cairns, slyly. "However, since it was all a mistake
of mine, I suppose you will continue our lessons as if
nothing had happened."

"Of course. Certainly. Nothing has happened."

"I am so sorry that you should have had the trouble
of coming all the way from London. It is too bad."

"Well, well, it is not your fault. Miss Cairns. It
cannot be helped."

"May I ask, from whom did you hear of my mistake?"

"From whom! From Miss Sutherland, of course.
There is no one else living under heaven who would
have the heart to write such venom."

"Miss Sutherland is a dear friend of mine, Mr.
Jack."

"She is no friend of mine. Though I lived in her
house for months, I never gave her the least cause of
enmity against me. Yet she has never lost an
opportunity of stabbing at me."

"You are mistaken, Mr. Jack — won't you sit down:

Love Among the Artists 125

I beg your pardon for not asking you before — Miss
Sutherland has not the least enmity to you."

"Read that," said Jack, producing the letter. Miss
Cairns read it, and felt ashamed of it. "I cannot
imagine what made Mary write that," she said. "I
am sure my letter contained nothing that could justify
her remark about me."

"Sheer cruelty — want of consideration for others —
natural love of inflicting pain. She has an overbearing
disposition. Nothing is more hateful than an over-
bearing disposition."

"You do not understand her, Mr. Jack. She is only
hasty. You will find that she wrote on the spur of
the moment, fancying that I was annoyed. Pray think
no more of it."

"It does not matter. Miss Cairns. I will not meet
her again; and I request you never to mention her
name in my presence."

"But she is going, I hope, to join the class on her
return from Bonchurch. "

"The day she enters it, I leave it. I am in earnest.
You may move heaven and earth more easily than
me — on this point. ' '

"Really, Mr. Jack, you are a little severe. Do not
be offended if I say that you might find in your own
impatience some excuse for hers."

Jack recoiled. "My impatience!" he repeated
slowly. "I, who have hardened myself into a stone
statue of dogged patience, impatient!" He glared at
her; ground his teeth; and continued vehemently,
"Here am I, a master of my profession — no easy one
to master — rotting, and likely to continue rotting
unheard in the midst of a pack of shallow panders,

126 Love Among the Artists

who make a hotch-potch of what they can steal from
better men, and share the spoil with the corrupt
performers who thrust it upon the public for them.
Either this, or the accursed drudgery of teaching, or
grinding an organ at the pleasure of some canting
villain of a parson, or death by starvation, is the lot of
a musician in this country. I have, in spite of this,
never composed one page of music bad enough for
publication or performance. I have drudged with
pupils when I could get them, starved in a garret
when I could not; endured to have my works returned
to me unopened or declared inexecutable by shop-
keepers and lazy conductors ; written new ones without
any hope of getting even a hearing for them; dragged
myself by excess of this fruitless labor out of horrible
fits of despair that come out of my own nature; and
throughout it all have neither complained nor prosti-
tuted myself to write shopware. I have listened to
complacent assurances that publishers and concert-
givers are only too anxious to get good original work
— that it is their own interest to do so. As if the dogs
would know original work if they saw it: or rather as
if they would not instinctively turn away from any-
thing good and genuine! All this I have borne with-
out suffering from it — without the humiliation of
finding it able to give me one moment of disappoint-
ment or resentment ; and now you tell me that I have
no patience, because I have no disposition to humor
the caprices of idle young ladies. I am accustomed to
hear such things from fools — or I was when I had
friends; but I expected more sense from you."

Miss Cairns struggled with this speech in vain. All
but the bare narrative in it seemed confused and

Love Among the Artists 127

inconsequent to her. "I did not know," she said,
looking perplexedly at him. "It never occurred to me

that — at least " She stopped, unable to arrange

her ideas. Then she exclaimed, "And do you really
love music, Mr. Jack?"

"What do you mean?" said he sternly.

"I thought you did not care for anything. I always
felt that you knew your business; we all felt so; but
we never thought you had any enthusiasm. Do not
be angry with me for telling you so; for I am very
glad to find that I was wrong."

Jack's feature's relaxed. He rose, and took another
turn across the room, chuckling. "I am not fond of
teaching," he said; "but I must live. And so you all
thought that an ugly man could not be a composer.
Or was it because I don't admire the drawling which
you all flatter 5''ourselves is singing, eh? I am not like
the portraits of Mozart, Miss Cairns."

"I am sure we never thought of that, only somehow
we agreed that you were the very last person in the
world to — to — "

"Ha! ha! Just so. I do not look like a writer of
serenades. However, you were right about the
enthusiasm. I am no enthusiast : I leave that to the
ladies. Did you ever hear of an enthusiastically
honest man, or an enthusiastic shoemaker? Never,
and you are not likely to hear of an enthusiastic com-
poser— at least not after he is dead. No." He
chuckled again, but seemed suddenly to recollect him-
self; for he added stiffly, "I beg your pardon. I am
detaining you."

"Not in the least," said Miss Cairns, so earnestly
that she blushed afterwards. "If you are not

128 Love Among the Artists

engaged, I wish you would stay for a few minutes and
do me a great favor. ' '

"Certainly. Most certainly," he said. Then he
added suspiciously, "What is it?"

"Only to play something for me before you go — if
you don't mind." Her tone expressed that intense
curiosity to witness a musical performance which is so
common among unmusical people whose interest in
the art has been roused by reading. Jack understood
it quite well; but he seemed disposed to humor her,

"You want to see the figure work," he said good-
humoredly. "Very well. What shall it be?"

Miss Cairns, ignorant of music, but unaccustomed
to appear ignorant of anything, was at a loss. "Some-
thing classical, then," she ventured. "Do you know
Thalberg's piece called 'Moses in Egypt'? I believe
that is very fine; but it is also very difficult, is it
not?"

He started, and looked at her with such an extra-
ordinary grin that she almost began to mistrust him.
Then he said, apparently to himself, "Candor, Jack,
candor. You once thought so, perhaps, yourself. ' '

He twisted his fingers until their joints crackled;
shook his shoulders; and gnashed his teeth once or
twice at the keyboard. Then he improvised a set of
variations on the prayer from "Moses" which served
Miss Cairns's turn quite as well as if they had been
note for note Thalberg's. She listened, deeply
impressed, and was rather jarred when he suddenly
stopped and rose, saying, "Well, well: enough tom-
foolery, Miss Cairns. "

"Not at all," she said. "I have enjoyed it greatly.
Thank you very much."

Love Among the Artists 129

"By the bye," he said abruptly, "I am not to be
asked to play for your acquaintances. Don't go and
talk about me : the mechanical toy will not perform
for anyone else."

"But is not that a pity, when you can give such
pleasure?"

"Whenever I am in the humor to play, I play;
sometimes without being asked. But I am not always
in the humor, whereas people are always ready to
pretend that they like listening to me, particularly
those who are as deaf to music as they are to every-
thing else that is good. And one word more, Miss
Cairns. If your friends think me a mere schoolmaster,
let them continue to think so. I live alone, and I
sometimes talk more about myself than I intend. I
did so to-day. Don't repeat what I said."

"Certainly not, since you do not wish me to."

Jack looked into his hat ; considered a moment; then
made her a bow — a ceremony which he always per-
formed with solemnity — and went away. Miss Cairns
sat down by herself, and forgot all about her lecture.
More accustomed to store her memory than to
exercise her imagination she had a sensation of nov-
elty in reflecting on the glimpse that she had got
of Jack's private life, and the possibilities which it
suggested. Her mother came in presently, to inquire
concerning the visitor; but Miss Cairns merely told
who he was, and mentioned carelessly that the class
was to go on as before. Mrs. Cairns, who disapproved
of Jack, said she was sorry to hear it. Her daughter,
desiring to give utterance to her thoughts, and not
caring to confide in her mother, recollected that she
had to write to Mary. This second letter ran thus;

130 Love Among the Artists

"Newton Villa, Windsor.

"6th September.
' ' Dearest Mary : — I am going to give you a severe
scolding for what you have done about Mr. Jack. He
has just been here with your wicked letter, furious,
and evidently not remembering a bit what he said last
day. All is settled about the class, which he positively
denies having given up ; but he is very angry with you
— not without reason, I think. Why will you be so
pugnacious? I tried to make your peace; but, for the
present at least, he is implacable. He is a very
strange man. I think he is very clever; but I do not
understand him, though I have passed my life among
professors and clever people of all sorts, and fancied I
had exhausted the species. My logic and mathematics
are of no avail when I try to grapple with Mr. Jack:
he belongs, I think, to those regions of art which you
have often urged me to explore, but of which,
unhappily, I know hardly anything. I got him into
a good humor after a great deal of trouble, and actually
asked him to play for me; and he did, most mag-
nificently. You must never let him know that I told
you this, as he made me promise not to tell anyone ;
and I am sure he is a terrible person to betra)^ His
real character — so far as I can make it out — is quite
different to what we all supposed. — I must break off
here to go to dinner. I have no doubt he will relent
towards you after a time : his wrath does not endure
for ever.

"Ever your affectionate,

"Letitia Cairns."

Miss Cairns had no sooner sent this to the post than
she began to doubt whether it would not have been
better to have burnt it.

CHAPTER VIII

The autumn passed ; and the obscure days of the
London winter set in. Adrian Herbert sat daily at
work in his studio, painting a companion picture to
the Lady of Shalott, and taking less exercise than was
good either for himself or his work. His betrothed
was at Windsor, studying Greek with Miss Cairns, and
music with Jack. She had carried her point with Mrs.
Beatty as to the bandmastership ; and Jack had been
invited to apply for it; but he, on learning that a
large part of his duty would be to provide the officers
of the regiment with agreeable music whilst they
dined, had unexpectedly repudiated the offer in an
intemperate letter to the adjutant, stating that he had
refused as an organist to be subject to the ministers
of religion, and that he should refuse, as a conductor,
to be the hireling of professional homicides. Miss
Cairns, when she heard of this, in the heat of her
disappointment reproached him for needlessly making
an enemy of the colonel ; embittering the dislike of
Mrs. Beatty, and exposing Mary to their resentment.
Jack thereupon left Newton Villa in anger; but Miss
Cairns learned next day that he had written a letter of
thanks to the colonel, in which he mentioned that the
recent correspondence with the adjutant had unfor-
tunately turned on the dignity of the musical pro-
fession, and begged that it might be disassociated
entirely from the personal feeling to which he now

131

132 Love Among the Artists

sought to give expression. To Miss Cairns herself he
also wrote briefly to say that it had occurred to him
that Miss Sutherland might be willing to join the
singing class, and that he hoped she would be asked
to do so. Over this double concession Miss Cairns
exulted; but Mary, humiliated by the failure of her
effort to befriend him, would not join, and resisted all
persuasion, until Jack, meeting her one day in the
street, stopped her; inquired after Charlie; and finally
asked her to come to one of the class meetings. Glad
to have this excuse for relenting, she not only entered
the class, but requested him to assist her in the study
of harmony, which she had recently begun to teach
herself from a treatise. As it proved, however, he
confused rather than assisted her; for, though an
adept in the use of chords, he could make no intelli-
gible attempt to name or classify them ; and her exer-
cises, composed according to the instructions given
in the treatise, exasperated him beyond measure.

Meanwhile, Magdalen Brailsford, with many
impatient sighs, was learning to speak the English
language with purity and distinctness, and beginning
to look on certain pronunciations for which she had
ignorautly ridiculed famous actors, as enviable con-
ditions of their superiority to herself. She did not
enjoy her studies; for Jack was very exacting; and
the romantic aspect of their first meeting at Padding-
ton was soon forgotten in the dread he inspired as a
master. She left Church Street after her first lesson
in a state of exhaustion; and, long after she had
become accustomed to endure his criticism for an hour
without fatigue, she often could hardly restrain her
tears when he emphasized her defects by angrily

Love Among the Artists 133

mimicking them, which was the most unpleasant, but
not the least effective part of his system of teaching.
He was particular, even in his cheerful moods, and all
but violent in his angry ones; but he was indefati-
gable, and spared himself no trouble in forcing her
to persevere in overcoming the slovenly habits of
colloquial speech. The further she progressed, the
less she could satisfy him. His ear was far more acute
than hers; and he demanded from her beauties of
tone of which she had no conception, and refinements
of utterance which she could not distinguish. He
repeated sounds which he declared were as distinct
as day from night, and raged at her because she could
hear no difference between them. He insisted that
she was grinding her voice to pieces when she was
hardly daring to make it audible. Often, when she
was longing for the expiry of the hour to release her,
he kept her until Mrs. Simpson, who was always
present, could bear it no longer, and interfered in
spite of the frantic abuse to which a word from her
during the lesson invariably provoked him. Magdalen
would have given up her project altogether, for the
sake of escaping the burden of his tuition, but for
her fear of the contempt she knew he would feel for
her if she proved recreant. So she toiled on without
a word of encouragement or approval from him; and
he grimly and doggedly kept her at it, until one day,
near Christmas, she came to Church Street earlier
than usual, and had a long conference with Mrs.
Simpson before he was informed of her presence.
When he came down from his garret she screwed her
courage up to desperation point, and informed him
that she had obtained an engagement for a small part

134 Love Among the Artists

in the opening of a pantomime at Nottingham.
Instead of exploding fiercely, he stared a little ; rubbed
his head perplexedly; and then said, "Well, well:
you must begin somehow: the sooner the better.
You will have to do poor work, in poor company, for
some time, perhaps ; but you must believe in yourself,
and not flinch from the drudgery of the first year or
two. Keep the fire always alight on the altar, and
every place you go into will become a temple. Don't
be mean: no grabbing at money, or opportunities, or
effects! You can speak already better than ninety-
nine out of a hundred of them : remember that. If
you ever want to do as they do, then your ear will be
going wrong; and that will be a sign that your soul
is going wrong too. Do you believe me, eh?"

"Yes," said Madge, dutifully.

He looked at her very suspiciously, and uttered a sort
of growl, adding, "If you get hissed occasionally, it will
do you good; although you are more likely to get
applauded and spoilt. Don't forget what I have
taught you : you will see the use of it when you have
begun to understand your profession. ' '

Magdalen protested that she should never forget,
and tried to express her gratitude for the trouble he
had taken with her. She begged that he would not
reveal her destination to anyone, as it was necessary
for her to evade her family a second time in order to
fulfil her engagement. He replied that her private
arrangements were no business of his, advising her at
the same time to reflect before she quitted a luxurious
home for a precarious and vagabond career, and recom-
mending Mrs. Simpson to her as an old hag whose
assistance would be useful in any business that required

Love Among the Artists 135

secrecy and lying. "If you want my help," he added,
"you can come and ask for it."

"She can come and pay for it, and no thanks to
you," said Mrs. Simpson, goaded beyond endurance.

Jack turned on her, purple and glaring. Madge
threw herself between them. Then he suddenly
walked out; and, as they stood there trembling and
looking at one another in silence, they heard him go
upstairs to his garret.

"Oh, Polly, how could you?" said Madge at last,
almost in a whisper.

"I wonder what he's gone for," said Mrs. Simpson.
"There's nothing upstairs that he can do any harm
with. I didn't mean anything."

He came down presently, with an old wash-leather-
purse in his hand. "Here," he said to Madge. They
knew perfectly well, without further explanation, that
it was the money she had paid him for her lessons.

"Mr. Jack," she stammered: "I cannot."

"Come, take it," he said. "She is right: the people
at Windsor pay for my wants. I have no need to be
supported twice over. Has she charged you anything
for the room?"

"No," said Madge.

"Then the more shame for me to charge you for
your lessons," said Jack. "I shall know better
another time. Here: take the money, and let us
think no more about it. Goodbye! I think I can
work a little now, if I set about it at once." He gave
her the purse, which she did not dare refuse; shook
her hand with both his ; and went out hurriedly, but
humbly.

Three days after this, Adrian Herbert was disturbed

136 Love Among the Artists

at his easel by Mr. Brailsford, who entered the studio
in an extraordinarily excited condition.

"Mr. Brailsford! I am very glad to What is

the matter?"

"Do you know anything of Magdalen? She is
missing again." Herbert assumed an air of concern.
"Herbert: I appeal to you, if she has confided her
plans to you, not to ruin her by a misplaced respect for
her foolish secrets. ' '

"I assure you I am as much surprised as you. Why
should you suppose that I am in her confidence?"

"You were much in her company during your recent
visits to us; and you are the sort of a man a young
girl would confide any crazy project to. You and she
have talked together a good deal. "

"Well, we have had two conversations within the
last six weeks, both of which came about by accident.
We were speaking of my affairs only. You know
Miss Sutherland is a friend of hers. She is our lead-
ing topic."

"Thisis very disappointing, Herbert. Confoundedly
so."

'*It is unfortunate; and I am sorry I know nothing."

*'Yes, yes: I knew you were not likely to: it was
mere clutching at a straw. Herbert: when I get that
girl back, I'll lock her up, and not let her out of her
room until she leaves it to be married. ' '

"When did she go?"

"Last night. We did not miss her until this morn-
ing. She has gone to disgrace herself a second time
at some blackguard country theatre or other. And
yet she has always been treated with the greatest
indulgence at home. She is not like other girls who

Love Among the Artists 137

do not know the value of a comfortahle home In
the days when I fought the world as a man of letters,
she had opportunities of learning the value of money."
Mr. Brailsford, as he spoke, moved about constantly;
pulled at his collar as if it were a stock which needed
to be straightened; and fidgeted with his gloves. **I
am powerless," he added. "I cannot obtain the
slightest clue. There is nothing for it but to sit down
and let my child go."

"Are you aware," said Herbert thoughtfully, "that
she has been taking lessons in acting from a professor
of music during the last few months?"

"No, sir, I certainly am not aware of it," said
Brailsford fiercely. "I beg your pardon, my dear
Herbert; but she is a damned ungrateful girl; and
her loss is a great trouble to me. I did not know;
and she could not have done it if her mother had
looked after her properly. ' '

"It is certainly the case. I was very much surprised
myself when Miss Sutherland told me of it, especially
as I happened to have some knowledge of the person
whom Miss Brailsford employed."

"Perhaps he knows. Who is he and where is he to
be found?"

"His name is an odd one — Jack."

"Jack? I have heard that name somewhere. Jack?
My memory is a wreck. But we are losing time. You
know his address, I hope."

"I believe I have it here among some old letters.
Excuse me whilst I search."

Herbert went into the ante-room. Mr. Brailsford
continued his nervous movements; bit his nails; and
made a dab at the picture with his glove, smudging it.

138 Love Among the Artists

The discovery that he had wantonly done mischief
sobered him a little; and presently Adrian returned
with one of Jack's letters.

"Church Street, Kensington," he said. "Will you
go there?"

"Instantly, Herbert, instantly. Will you come?"

"If you wish," said Adrian, hesitating.

"Certainly. You must come. This is some low
villain who has pocketed the child's money, and
persuaded her that she is a Mrs. Siddons. I had
lessons myself long ago from the great Young, who
thought highly of me, though not more so than I did
of him. Perhaps I am dragging you away from your
work, my dear fellow."

"It is too dark to work much to-day. In any case
the matter is too serious to be sacrificed to my
routine. ' '

Quarter of an hour later, Mrs. Simpson's maid
knocked at the door of Jack's garret, and informed
him that two gentlemen were waiting in the drawing-
room to see him.

"What are they like?" said Jack. "Are you sure
they want me?"

"Certain sure," said the girl. "One of 'em's a nice
young gentleman with a flaxy beard ; and the other is
his father, I think. Ain't he a dapper old toff, too!"

' ' Give me my boots ; and tell them I shall be down
presently."

The maid then appeared to Mr. Brailsford and
Adrian, saying, "Mr. Jax'll be down in a minnit," and
vanished. Soon after, Jack came in. In an instant
Mr. Brailsford 's eyes lit up as if he saw through the
whole plot; and he rose threateningly. Jack bade

Love Among the Artists 139

good morning ceremoniously to Herbert, who was
observing with alarm the movements of his com-
panion.

"You know me, I think, sir," said Mr. Brailsford,
threateningly.

"I remember you very well," replied Jack grimly.
"Be pleased to sit down."

Herbert hastily offered Mr. Brailsford a chair,
pushing it against his calves just in time to interrupt
an angry speech at the beginning. The three sat
down.

"We have called on you, Mr. Jack," said Adrian,
"in the hope that you can throw some light on a matter
which is a source of great anxiety to Mr, Brailsford.
Miss Brailsford has disappeared ' '

"What!" cried Jack. "Run away again. Ha! ha!
I expected as much. ' '

"Pray be calm," said Herbert, as Mr. Brailsford
made a frantic gesture. "Allow me to speak. Mr.
Jack : I believe you have lately been in communication
with the young lady. ' '

"I have been teaching her for the last four months,
if that is what you mean. "

' ' Pray understand that we attach no blame to you
in the matter. We merely wish to ascertain the
whereabouts of Miss Brailsford: and we thought you
might be able to assist us. If so, I feel sure you will
not hesitate to give this gentleman all the information
in your power."

"You may reassure yourself," said Jack. " She has
got an engagement at some theatre and has gone to
fulfil it. She told me so a few days ago, when she
came to break off her lessons. ' '

140 Love Among the Artists

**We particularly wish to find out where she has
gone to," said Herbert slowly.

"You must find that out as best you can," said Jack,
looking attentively at him, "She mentioned the place
to me ; but she asked me not to repeat it, and it is not
my business to do so."

"Herbert," cried Mr. Brailsford, "Herbert."

"Pray!" remonstrated Adrian. "Just allow me
one word "

"Herbert," persisted the other: "this is the fellow
of whom I told you as we came along in the cab. He
is her accomplice. You know you are," he continued,
turning to Jack, and raising his voice. "Do you still
deny that you are her agent?"

Jack stared at him imperturbably.

"It is a conspiracy," said Mr. Brailsford. "It, has
been a conspiracy from the first; and you are the
prime mover in it. You shall not bully me, sir. I
will make you speak."

"There, there," said Jack. "Take him away, Mr.
Herbert."

Adrian stepped hastily between them, fearing that
his companion would proceed to violence. Before
another word could be spoken the door was opened by
Mrs. Simpson, who started and stopped short when
she saw visitors in the room.

"I beg pardon Why, it's Mr. Brailsford," she

added, reddening. "I hope I see you well, sir," she
continued, advancing with a propitiatory air. "I am
honored by having you in my house."

"Indeed!" said the old gentleman, with a look which
made her tremble. "So it is you who introduced Miss
Magdalen to this man. Herbert, my dear boy, the

Love Among the Artists 141

thing is transparent. This woman is an old retainer
of ours. It was her sister who took Madge away
before. I told you it was all a conspiracy."

"Lord bless us!" exclaimed Mrs. Simpson. '*I hope
nothing ain't happened to Miss Magdalen."

"If anything has, you shall be held responsible for
it. Where has she gone?"

"Oh, don't go to tell me that my sweet Miss
Magdalen has gone away again, sir!"

"You hear how they contradict one another,
Herbert?"

Mrs. Simpson looked mistrustfully at Jack, who was
grinning at her with cynical admiration, "I don't
know what Mr. Jack may have put into your head
about me, sir," she said cautiously; "but I assure you
I know nothing of poor Miss Magdalen's doings. I
haven't seen her this past month."

"You understand, of course," remarked Jack, "that
that is not true. Mrs. Simpson has always been
present at your daughter's lessons. She knows per-
fectly well that Miss Brailsford has gone to play at
some theatre. She heard it in "

"I wish you'd mind your own business, Mr. Jack,"
said the landlady, sharply.

"When lies are needed to serve Miss Brailsford, you
can speak," retorted Jack. "Until then, hold your
tongue. It is clear to me, Mr. Herbert, that you want
this unfortunate young lady's address for the purpose
of attempting to drag her back from an honorable
profession to a foolish and useless existence which she
hates. Therefore I shall give you no information. If
she is unhappy or unsuccessful in her new career, she
will return of her own accord. ' '

142 Love Among the Artists

"I fear," said Herbert, embarrassed by the presence
of Mrs. Simpson, "that we can do no good by remain-
ing here."

"You are right," said Mr. Brailsford. "I decline to
address myself further to either of you. Other steps
shall be taken. And j'ou shall repent the part you
have played on this occasion, Mrs. Simpson. As for
you, sir, I can only say I trust this will prove our last
meeting."

"I shan't repent nothink," said Mrs. Simpson.
"Why shouldn't I assist the pretty "

"Come!" said Jack, interrupting her, "we have said
enough. Good evening, Mr. Herbert." Adrian
colored, and moved towards the door. "You shall
be welcome whenever you wish to see me," added
Jack; "but at present you had better take this gentle-
man away." Herbert bowed slightly, and went out,
annoyed by the abrupt dismissal, and even more by
the attempt to soften it, Mr. Brailsford walked stiffly
after him, staring indignantly at Mrs. Simpson and
her lodger. Provoked to mirth by this demonstration.
Jack, who had hitherto behaved with dignity, rubbed
his nose with the palm of his hand, and grinned
hideously through his fingers at his visitor.

"As I told you before," said Mr. Brailsford, turning
as he reached the threshold, "you are a vile kid-
napper ; and I will see that your trade is exposed and
put a stop to."

"As I told you before," said Jack, removing his
hand from his nose, "you are an old fool; and I wish
you good afternoon."

"Sh — sh," said Mrs. Simpson, as Mr. Brailsford,
with a menacing wave of his glove, disappeared.

Love Among the Artists 143

"You didn't ought to speak like that to an old gentle-
man, Mr. Jack."

"His age gives him no right to be ill-tempered and
abusive to me," said Jack angrily.

"Humph!" retorted the landlady. "Your own
tongue and temper are none of the sweetest. If I was
you, I wouldn't be so much took aback at seeing
others do the same as myself."

"Indeed. And how do you think being me would
feel like, Mrs. Deceit?"

"I wouldn't make out other people to be liars before
their faces, at all events, Mr. Jack,"

"You would prefer the truth to be told of you
behind your back, perhaps. I sometimes wonder what
part of my music will show the influence of your
society upon me. My Giulietta Guicciardi!"

"Give me no more of your names," said Mrs. Simp-
son, shortly, "I don't need them."

Jack left the room slowly as if he had forgotten her.
Meanwhile Mr. Brailsford was denouncing him to
Herbert. "From the moment I first saw him," he
said, "I felt an instinctive antipathy to him. I have
never seen a worse face, or met with a worse nature."

"I certainly do not like him," said Herbert. "He
has taken up an art as a trade, and knows nothing of
the trials of a true artist's career. No doubts of him-
self; no aspirations to suggest them; nothing but a
stubborn narrow self-sufficiency. I half envy him. "

"The puppy!" exclaimed Mr. Brailsford, not attend-
ing to Adrian: "to dare insult me! He shall suffer
for it. I have put a bullet into a fellow — into a
gentleman of good position — for less. And Magdalen
— my daughter — is intimate with him — has visited

144 Love Among the Artists

him. Girls are going to the devil of late years,
Herbert, going to the very devil. She shall not give
me the slip again, when I catch her."

Mr. Brailsford, however, did not catch Magdalen.
Her good looks, and her clear delivery of the doggerel
verses allotted to her in the pantomime, gained the
favor of the Nottingham playgoers. Their applause
prevented her from growing weary of repeating her
worthless part nightl)'- for six weeks, and compensated
her for the discomfort and humiliation of living among
people whom she could not help regarding as her
inferiors, and with whom she had to co-operate in
entertaining vulgar people with vulgar pleasantries,
fascinating them by a display of the comeliness, not
only of her face, but of more of her person than she
had been expected to shew at Kensington Palace
Gardens. Her costume almost shocked her at first;
but she made up her mind to accept it without demur,
partly because wearing such things was plainly part of
an actress's business, and partly because she felt that
any objection on her part would imply an immodest
self-consciousness. Besides, she had no moral convic-
tion that it was wrong, whereas she had no doubt at all
that petticoats were a nuisance. She could not bring
herself to accept with equal frankness the society
which the pantomime company offered to her. Miss
Lafitte, the chief performer, was a favorite with the
public on account of her vivacity, her skill in clog-
dancing, and her command of slang, which she uttered
in a piercing voice with a racy Whitechapel accent.
She took a fancy to Magdalen, who at first recoiled.
But Miss Lafitte (in real life Mrs. Cohen) was so
accustomed to live down aversion, that she only

Love Among the Artists 145

regarded it as a sort of shyness — as indeed it was.
She was vigorous, loud spoken, always full of animal
spirits, and too well appreciated by her audiences to be
jealous. Magdalen, who had been made miserable at
first by the special favor of permission to share the
best dressing-room with her, soon found the advantage
of having a good-natured and powerful companion.
The drunken old woman who was attached to the
theatre as dresser, needed to be kept efficient by sharp
abuse and systematic bullying, neither of which Mag-
dalen could have administered effectually. Miss
Lafitte bullied her to perfection. Occasionally some
of the actors would stroll into the dressing room,
evidently without the least suspicion that Magdalen
might prefer to put on her shoes, rouge herself, and
dress her hair in private. Miss Lafitte, who had never
objected to their presence on her own account, now
bade them begone whenever they appeared, at which
they seemed astonished, but having no intention of
being intrusive, retired submissively,

"You make yourself easy, deah," she said to Mag-
dalen. "Awe-y-'ll take kee-yerr of you. Lor' bless
you, awe-y know wot you are. You're a law'ydy.
But you'll get used to them. They don't mean no 'arm.

Magdalen, wondering what Jack would have said to
Miss Lafitte's vowels, disclaimed all pretension to be
more of a lady than those with whom she worked ; but
Miss Lafitte, though, she patted the young novice on
the back, and soothingly assented, nevertheless con-
tinued to make a difference between her own behavior
in Magdalen's presence, and the coarse chaff and
reckless flirtation in which she indulged freely else-
where. On boxing night, when Madge was nerving

146 Love Among the Artists

herself to face the riotous audience, Miss Lafitte told
her that she looked beautiful ; exhorted her cheerfully
to keep up her pecker and never say die ; and, ridicul-
ing her fear of putting too much paint on her face,
plastered her cheeks and blackened the margins of her
eyes until she blushed though the mask of pigment.
When the call came, she went with her to the wing;
pushed her on to the scene at the right instant; and
praised her enthusiastically when she returned.
Madge, who hardly knew what had passed on the
stage, was grateful for these compliments, and tried to
return them when Miss Lafitte came to the dressing
room, flushed with the exertion of singing a topical
song with seven encore verses, and dancing a break-
down between each.

"I'm used to it," said Miss Lafitte. "It's my
knowledge of music-hall business that makes me what
I am. You wouldn't catch me on the stage at all,
only that my husband's a bit of a swell in his own way
— he'll like you for that — and he thinks the theatre
more respectable. It don't pay as well, I can tell you;
but of course it's surer and lasts longer. "

"Were you nervous at your first appearance?" said
Madge.

"Oh, wawn't I though! Just a little few. I cried
at havin' to go on. I wasn't cold and plucky like
you ; but I got over it sooner. I know your sort : you
will be nervous all your life. I don't care twopence
for any audience now, nor ever did after my second
night."

"I may have looked cold and plucky," said Madge,
surprised. "I never felt more miserable in my life
before."

Love Among the Artists 147

**Yes. Ain't it awful? Did you hear Lefanu? —
stuck up little minx! Her song will be cut out to-
morrow. She's a reg'lar duffer, she is. She gives
herself plenty of airs, and tells the people that she
was never used to associate with us. I know who she
is well enough: her father was an apothecary in
Bayswater. She's only fit to be a governess. You're
worth fifty of her, either on the boards or off,"

Madge did not reply. She was conscious of having
contemplated escape from Miss Lafitte by attaching
herself to Miss Lefanu, who was a ladylike young
woman.

"She looks like a print gown after five washings,"
continued Miss Lafitte; "and she don't know how to
speak. Now you speak lovely — almost as well as me,
if you'd spit it out a bit more. Who taught you?"

When the pantomime had been played for a fort-
night, Madge found herself contemptuously indifferent
to Miss Lefanu, and fond of Miss Lafitte. When
the latter invited her to a supper at her house, she
could not refuse, though she accepted with misgiving.
It proved a jovial entertainment — almost an orgie.
Some of the women drank much champagne ; spoke at
the top of their voices; and screamed when they
laughed. The men paid court to them with facetious
compliments, and retorted their raillery with broad
sarcasms. Madge got on best with the younger and
less competent actors, who were mostly unpropertied
gentlemen, with a feeble amateur bent for singing
and acting, who had contrived to get on the stage, not
because they were fit for it. but because society had
not fitted them for anything else. They talked
theatrical shop and green room scandal in addition to

148 Love Among the Artists

the usual topics of young gentlemen at dances ; and they
shielded Magdalen efficiently from the freer spirits.
Sometimes an unusually coarse sally would reach her
ears, and bring upon her a sense of disgust and
humiliation; but, though she resolved to attend no
more suppers, she was able next day to assure her
hostess with perfect sincerity that she was none the
worse for her evening's experience, and that she had
never enjoyed herself as much at any Kensington
supper party. Miss Lafitte thereupon embraced her,
and told her that she had been the belle of the ball,
and that Laddie (a Gentile abbreviation of Lazarus,
her husband's name) had recognized her as a real
lady, and was greatly pleased with her. Then she
asked her whether she did not think Laddie a hand-
some man. Madge, to gratify her, replied that she had
been struck by his dark hair and eyes, and that his
manners were elegant. "There is one thing," she
added, "that puzzles we a little. I always call you
Miss Lafitte here ; but should I not call you by your
real name at your house? I don't know the etiquette,
you see. ' '

"Call me Sal," said Mrs. Cohen, kissing her.

When the pantomime was over, and the company
dispersed, the only member of it whose departure she
felt as a loss was Miss Lafitte; and she never after-
wards fell into the mistake of confounding incorrigible
rowdyism and a Whitechapel accent with true unfit-
ness for society. By her advice, Madge accepted an
engagement as one of the stock company of the Not-
tingham theatre at the salary — liberal for a novice — of
two pounds per week. For this she did some hard
work. Every night she had to act in a farce, and in a

Love Among the Artists 149

comedy which had become famous in London. In it,
as in the pantomime, she had to play the same part
nightly for two weeks. Then came three weeks of
Shakspere and the legitimate drama, in which she and
the rest of the company had to support an eminent
tragedian, a violent and exacting man, who expected
them to be perfect in long parts at a day's notice.
When they disappointed him, as was usually the case,
he kept them rehearsing from the forenoon to the hour
of performance with hardly sufficient interval to allow
of their dining. The stage manager, the musicians,
the scene-painters and carpenters even, muttered
sulkily that it was impossible to please him. He did
not require the actors to enter into the spirit of their
lines — it was supposed that he was jealous of their
attempts at acting, which were certainly not always
helpful — but he was inflexible in his determination to
have them letter-perfect and punctual in the move-
ments and positions he dictated to them. His dis-
pleasure was vented either in sarcasms or oaths; and
often Madge, though nerved by intense indignation,
could hardly refrain from weeping like many other
members of the compan)% both male and female, from
fatigue and mortification. She worked hard at her
parts, which were fortunately not long ones, in order
to escape the humiliation of being rebuked by him.
Yet once or twice he excited her fear and hatred to
such a degree that she was on the point of leaving the
theatre, and abandoning her profession. It was far
worse than what Jack had made her endure ; for her
submission to him had been voluntary; whilst with
the tragedian she could not help herself, being paid to
assist him, and ignorant of how to do it properly.

150 Love Among the Artists

Towards the end of the second week her business
became easier by repetition. She appeared as the
player queen in Hamlet, the lady-in-waiting in
Macbeth, and the widow of King Edward IV., and
began to feel for the first time a certain respect for the
silently listening, earnest audiences that crowded the
house. It was the first dim stirring in her of a sense
that her relation as an actress to the people was above
all her other relations. If the tragedian had felt this
as between the audience and the company of which
he was but a pai-t, he might have inspired them to
work all together with a will to realize the plays to the
people. But he was a "star," recognizing no part
and no influence but his own. She and her colleagues
were dwarfed and put out of countenance ; their scenes
were cut short and hurried through ; the expert swords-
man who, as Richmond and Macduff, slew the star
thrice a week in mortal combat, was the only person
who shared with him the compliment of a call before
the curtain. Naturally, they all hated Shakspere;
and the audiences distinctly preferring the tragedian
to the poet, never protested against his palming of on.
them versions by Gibber or Garrick as genuine Shak-
sperean plays.

On the second Saturday, when Madge was con-
gratulating herself on having only six days more of
the national Bard to endure, the principal actress
sprained her ankle; and the arrangements for the
ensuing week were thrown into confusion. The
manager came to Madge's lodging on Sunday morn-
ing, and told her that she must be prepared to play
Ophelia, Lady Ann, and Marion Delorme (in Lytton's
"Richelieu") in the course of the following week. It

Love Among the Artists 151

was, he added, a splendid chance for her. Madge was
distracted. She said again and again that it was
impossible, and at last ventured to remind the manager
that she was not engaged for leading parts. He dis-
posed of this objection by promising her an extra ten
shillings for the week, and urged upon her that she
would look lovely as Ophelia ; that the tragedian had
made a point of giving the parts to her because he
liked her elocution ; that his fierceness was only a little
way of his which meant nothing; that he had already
consented to substitute "Hamlet" and "Richelieu"
for "Much Ado" and "Othello" because he was too
considerate to ask her to play Beatrice and Desde-
mona; and, finally, that he would be enraged if she
made any objection. She would, said the manager,
shew herself as willing as old Mrs. Walker, who had
undertaken to play Lady Macbeth without a moment's
hesitation. Madge, ashamed to shrink from an
emergency, and yet afraid of failing to please the
tyrant at rehearsal, resisted the manager's importu-
nity until she felt hysterical. Then, in desperation, she
consented, stipulating only that she should be released
from playing in the farces. She spent that Sunday
learning the part of Ophelia, and was able to master it
and to persuade herself that the other two parts would
not take long to learn, before she went to bed, dazed
by study and wretched from dread of the morrow.
"Hamlet" had been played twice already, and only the
part of Ophelia and that of the player queen needed
to be rehearsed anew. On Monday morning the tra-
gedian was thoughtful and dignified, but hard to please.
He kept Madge at his scene with Ophelia for more
than an hour. She had intended to try and fancy that

152 Love Among the Artists

she was really Ophelia, and he really Hamlet; but
when the time came to practice this primitive theory
of acting, she did not dare to forget herself for a
moment. She had to count her steps, and repeat her
entrance four times before she succeeded in placing
herself at the right moment in the exact spot towards
which the tragedian looked when exclaiming "Soft
you now! The fair Ophelia." For a long time she
could not offer him the packet of letters in a satis-
factory manner; and by the time this difficulty was
mastered, she was so bewildered that when he said,
**I loved you not," she, instead of replying, "I was
the more deceived," said, "Indeed, my lord, you made
me believe so," whereupon he started; looked at her
for a moment, muttering imprecations between his
teeth; and abruptly walked off the stage, leaving her
there alone, wondering. Suddenly she bethought her-
self of what she had done; and her cheeks began to
tingle. She was relieved by the return of Hamlet,
who, unable to find words to express his feelings,
repeated his speech without making any verbal com-
ment on her slip. This time she made the proper
answer; and the rehearsal proceeded. The new
player queen suffered less than Madge had done a
week before, the tragedian treating her with brief
disdain. He was very particular about Ophelia's
chair and fan in the play scene ; but when these were
arranged, he left the theatre without troubling him-
self about the act in which he did not himself appear.
Madge, left comparatively to her own devices in
rehearsing it, soon felt the want of his peremptory
guidance, and regretted his absence almost as much as
she was relieved by it. The queen, jealous, like the

Love Among the Artists 153

other actresses, of Madge's promotion, was disparag-
ing in her manner; and the king rehearsed with osten-
tatious carelessness, being out of humor at having to
rehearse at all. Everybody present shewed that they
did not consider the scene of the least importance; and
Madge sang her snatches of ballads with a dishearten-
ing sense of being unpopular and ridiculous.

The performance made amends to her for the
rehearsal. The tragedian surpassed himself; and
Madge was compelled to admire him, although he was
in his fiftieth year and personally disagreeable to her.
For her delivery of the soliloquy following her scene
with him, she received, as her share of the enthusiasm
he had excited, a round of applause which gratified
her the more because she had no suspicion that he had
earned the best part of it. The scene of Ophelia's
madness was listened to with favor by the audience,
who were impressed by the intensely earnest air which
nervousness gave Madge, as well as by her good looks.

Next day she had leisure to study the part of Lady
Anne in Gibber's adaptation of "Richard III.," which
was rehearsed on the Wednesday; and this time the
tragedian was so overbearing, and corrected her so
frequently and savagely, that when he handed her his
sword, and requested her to stab him, she felt disposed
to take him at his word. In the scene from Richard's
domestic life in which he informs his wife that he
hates her, he not only spoke the text with a cold
ferocity which chilled her, but cursed at her under his
breath quite outrageously. At last she was stung to
express her resentment by an indignant look, which
fell immediately before his frown. When the
rehearsal, which, though incomplete, lasted from

154 Love Among the Artists

eleven to four, was over, Madge was angry and very
tired. As she was leaving, she passed near Richard,
who was conversing graciously with the manager and
one of the actors. The night before, he had
threatened to leave the theatre because the one had cur-
tailed his stage escort by two men ; and he had accused
the other of intentionally insulting him by appearing
on the stage without spurs.

"Who is that little girl?" he said aloud, pointing to
Madge.

The manager, surprised at the question, made some
reply which did not reach her, his voice and utterance
being less sonorous and distinct than the tragedian's.

"Unquestionably she has played with me. I am
aware of that. What is she called?"

The manager told him.

"Come here," he said to Madge, in his grand
manner. She reddened, and stopped.

"Come here," he repeated, more emphatically. She
was too inexperienced to feel sure of her right to be
treated more respectfully, so she approached him
slowly.

"Who taught you to speak?"

"A gentleman in London," she said, coldly. "A
Mr. Jack."

"Jack!" The tragedian paused. "Jack!" he
repeated. Then, with a smile, and a graceful action
of his wrists, "I never heard of him." The other men
laughed. "Would you like to tour through the
provinces with me — to act with me every night?"

"Oho!" said the manager, jocularly, "I shall have
something to say to that. I cannot afford to lose
her."

Love Among the Artists 155

**You need not be alarmed," said Madge, all her
irritation suddenly exploding in one angry splutter.
"I have not the slightest intention of breaking my
present engagement, particularly now, when the most
unpleasant part of it is nearly over. " And she walked
away, pouting and scarlet. The manager told her
next day that she had ruined herself, and had made a
very ungrateful return for the kindness that she, a
beginner, had received from the greatest actor on the
stage. She replied that she was not conscious of
having received anything but rudeness from the
greatest actor on the stage, and that if she had offended
him she was very glad. The manager shook his head
and retired, muttering that a week's leading business
had turned her head. The tragedian, who had been,
for so terrible a person, much wounded and put out of
heart by her attack, took no further notice of her,
demanding no fresh rehearsal of Ophelia, and only
giving her a few curt orders in the small part of Marion
Delorme. At last he departed from Nottingham ; and
Madge, for the first time since his arrival, lay down to
sleep free from care.

Her next part was that of a peasant girl in an Irish
melodrama. She looked very pretty in her Connemara
cloak and short skirt, but was hampered by her stage
brogue, which only made her accent aggressively
English. During this period, she was annoyed by the
constant attendance in the stalls of a young gentleman
who flung bouquets to her; followed her to her lodg-
ing; and finally wrote her a letter in which he called
her a fairy Red Riding Hood, describing his position
and prospects, and begging her to marry him. Madge
after some hesitation as to the advisability of noticing

156 Love Among the Artists

this appeal, replied by a note declining his offer, and
requesting him to discontinue his gifts of flowers,
which, she said, were a source of embarrassment, and
not of pleasure, to her. After this, the young gentle-
man, instead of applauding, as before, sat in his stall
with folded arms and a gloomy expression. Madge,
who was by this time sufficiently accustomed to the
stage to recognize faces among the audience, took care
not to look at him ; and so, after a week, he ceased to
attend and she saw him no more.

The Irish melodrama passed on to the next town;
and an English opera company came in its place for a
fortnight, during which Madge found the time hang
heavy on her hands, as she took no part in the per-
formances, though she went to the theatre daily from
habit. She was glad when she was at work again in a
modern play with which a popular actress was making
the tour of the provinces. This actress was an
amiable woman; and Madge enacted Celia in "As You
Like It" at her benefit without any revival of the dread
of Shakspere which the tragedian had implanted in
her. She was now beginning to tread the boards with
familiar ease. At first, the necessity of falling
punctually into certain prearranged positions on the
stage, and of making her exits and entrances at pre-
scribed sides, had so preoccupied her that all freedom
of attention or identification of herself with the char-
acter she represented had been impossible. To go
through her set task of speeches and manoeuvres with
accuracy was the most she could hope to do. Now,
however, these mechanical conditions of her art not
only ceased to distract her, but enabled her to form
plans of acting which stood the test of rehearsal. She

Love Among the Artists 157

became used to learning parts, not from a book of the
play, but from a mere list of the fragments v/hich she
had to utter; so that she committed her lines to
memory first, and found out what they were about
afterwards. She was what is called by actors a quick
study; and in Nottingham, where, besides the
principal piece, one and often two farces were per-
formed nightly, she had no lack of practice. In four
months, she was second in skill only to the low come-
dian and the old woman, and decidedly superior to
the rest of the stock company, most of whom had
neither natural talent nor even taste for the stage, and
only earned their livelihood on it because, their
parents having been in the profession, they had been
in a manner born into it.

Madge's artistic experience thenceforth was varied,
though her daily course was monotonous. Other
tragedians came to Nottingham, but none nearly so
terrible, nor, she reluctantly confessed, nearly so gifted
as he who had taught her the scene from Hamlet.
Some of them, indeed, objected to the trouble of
rehearsing, and sent substitutes who imitated them in
every movement and so drilled the company to act
with them. Occasionally a part in a comedy of con-
temporary life enabled Madge to profit by her knowl-
edge of fashionable society and her taste in modem
dress. The next week, perhaps, she would have to
act in a sensational melodrama, and, in a white muslin
robe, to struggle in the arms of a pickpocket in
corduroys, with his clothes and hands elaborately
begrimed. Once she had to play with the wreck of a
celebrated actress, who was never free from the effects
of brandy, and who astonished Madge by walking

158 Love Among the Artists

steadily on the stage when she could hardly stand off it.
Then Shakspere, sensation drama, Irish melodrama,
comic opera or pantomime, new comedy from London
over again, with farce constantly. Study, rehearsal, and
performance became part of her daily habits. Her old
enthusiasm for the mock passions of the stage left her,
and was succeeded by a desire to increase her skill in
speaking by acquiring as much resource in shades of
meaning as Jack had given her in pure pronunciation,
and to add as many effective gestures as possible to
the stock she had already learnt. When she was not
engaged at the theatre she was at her lodging, practis-
ing the management of a train, trying to acquire the
knack of disposing her dress prettily in the act of sit-
ting down, or arranging her features into various
expressions before a mirror. This last branch of her
craft was the most troublesome to her. She had
learned from Jack, much to her surprise, that she could
not make her face express anger or scorn by merely
feeling angry or scornful. The result of that method
was a strained frown, disagreeable to behold; and it
was long before she attained perfect control of her
features, and artistic judgment in exercising it. Some-
times she erred on the side of exaggeration, and failed
to conceal the effort which her studied acting required.
Then she recoiled into tameness and conventionality.
Then, waking from this, she tried a modification of
her former manner, and presently became dissatisfied
with that too, and remodified it. Not until she had
gone through two years of hard study and practice
did she find herself mistress of a fairly complete
method; and then indeed she felt herself an actress.
She ridiculed the notion that emotion had anything to

Love Among the Artists 159

do with her art, and seriously began to think of taking
a pupil, feeling that she could make an actress of any
girl, the matter being merely one of training. When
she had been some four months in this phase, she had
a love affair with a young acting manager of a touring
company. The immediate effect was to open her eyes
to the fact that the people were tired of her complete
method, and that she was tired of it too. She flung it
at once to the winds for ever, and thenceforth greatly
undervalued her obligations to the study it had cost
her, declaring, in the teeth of her former opinion, that
study and training were useless, and that the true
method was to cultivate the heart and mind and let the
acting take care of itself. She cultivated her mind by
high reading and high thinking as far as she could.
As to the cultivation of her heart, the acting manager
taught her that the secret of that art was love. Now
it happened that the acting manager, though pleasant-
looking and good-natured, was by no means clever,
provident, or capable of resisting temptation, Madge
never could make up her mind whether he had
entangled her or she him. In truth love entangled
them both; and Madge found that love suited her
excellently. It improved her health; it enlarged her
knowledge of herself and of the world; it explained
her roles to her, thawed the springs of emotion that
had never flowed freely before either on or off the
stage, threw down a barrier that had fenced her in
from her kind, and replaced her vague aspirations,
tremors, doubts, and fits of low spirits with an elate
enjoyment in which she felt that she was a woman at
last. Nevertheless, her attachment to the unconscious
instrument of this mysterious change proved transient.

i6o Love Among the Artists

The acting manager had but slender intellectual
resources : when his courtship grew stale, he became a
bore. After a while, their professional engagements
carried them asunder; and as a correspondent he soon
broke down. Madge, did not feel the parting: she
found a certain delight in being fancy-free; and before
that was exhausted she was already dreaming of a new
lover, an innocent young English-opera librettist,
whom she infatuated and ensnared and who came
nearer than she suspected to blowing out his brains
from remorse at having, as he thought, ensnared her.
His love for her was abject in its devotion; but at last
she went elsewhere, and, as her letters also presently
ceased, his parents, with much trouble, managed to
convince him at last that she no longer cared for him.
It must not be supposed that these proceedings cost
Madge her self-respect. She stood on her honor
according to her own instinct ; took no gifts ; tolerated
no advances from men whose affections were not truly
touched; absorbed all her passion in her art when
there were no such deserving claimants; never sold
herself or threw herself away ; would content herself
at any time with poetry without love rather than
endure love without poetry. She rather pitied her
married colleagues, knowing perfectly well that they
were not free to be so fastidious, reserved, and tem-
perate as her instinct told her a great artist should
always be. Polite society pretended to respect her
when it asked her to recite at bazaars or charity con-
certs: at other times it did not come into contact with
her, nor trouble itself as to her conformity to its rules,
since she, as an actress, was out of polite society from
the start. The ostracism which is so terrible to

Love Among the Artists i6i

women whose whole aim is to know and be known by
people of admitted social standing cannot reach the
woman who is busily working with a company bound
together by a common co-operative occupation, and
who obtains at least some word or sign of welcome
from the people every night. As to the Church, it
had never gained any hold on Madge : it was to her
only a tedious hypocrisy out of all relation with her
life. Her idea of religion was believing the Bible
because God personally dictated it to Moses, and going
to church because her father's respectability required
her to comply with that custom. Knowing from her
secular education that such belief in the Bible was
as exploded as belief in witchcraft, and despising
respectability as those only can who have tasted the
cream of it, she was perfectly free from all pious
scruples. Habit, prejudice, and inherited moral
cowardice just influenced her sufificiently to induce her
to keep up appearances carefully, and to offer no con-
tradiction to the normal assumption that her clandestine
interludes of passion and poetry were sins. But she
never had a moment of genuine remorse after once
discovering that such sins were conditions of her full
efficiency as an actress. They had brought tones into
her voice that no teaching of Jack's could have
endowed her with; and so completely did she now
judge herself by her professional powers, that this
alone brought her an accession instead of a loss of self-
respect. She was humiliated only when she played
badly. If one of the clergymen who occasionally asked
her, with many compliments, to recite at their school
fetes and the like, had demanded instead what it could
profit her to gain the whole world and lose her own

1 62 Love Among the Artists

soul, she might Ixave replied with perfect sincerity from
her point of view that she had given up the whole
world of Mrs. Grundy and gained her own soul, and
that, whether he considered it judicious to mention it
or not, the transaction in fact profited her greatly.

But all this belonged to a later period than the
novitiate of two and a half years which began at Nott-
ingham. These thirty months did not pass without
many fits of low spirits, during which she despaired of
success and hated her profession. She remained at
Nottingham until July, when the theatre there was
closed for a time. She then joined a travelling com-
pany and went through several towns until she
obtained an engagement at Leeds. Thence she went to
Liverpool, where she remained for three months, at the
expiration of which she accepted an offer made her by
the manager of a theatre in Edinburgh, and went
thither with a salary of five pounds a week, the largest
wage she had as yet received for her services. There
she stayed until August in the second year of her
professional life, when she acted in London for the first
time, and was disgusted by the coldness of the metro-
politan audiences, which were, besides, but scanty at
that period of the year. She was glad to return
to the provinces, although her first task there was
again to support her old acquaintance the tragedian,
with whom she quarrelled at the first rehearsal with
spirit and success. Here, as leading lady, she attemp-
ted the parts of Beatrice, Portia, and Lady Macbeth,
succeeding fairly in the first, triumphantly in the
second and only escaping failure by her insignificance
in the third. By that time she had come to be known
by the provincial managers as a trustworthy, hard-

Love Among the Artists 163

working young woman, safe in the lighter sorts of
leading business, and likely to improve with more
experience. They hardly gave her credit enough, she
thought, for what seemed to her the slow and painful
struggle which her progress had cost her. Those were
the days in which she was building up the complete
method which, though it was a very necessary part of
her training, proved so shortlived. She had had to
exhaust the direct cultivation of her art before she
could begin the higher work of cultivating herself as
the source of that art.

Shortly after her flight from Kensington, her twenty-
first birthday had placed her in a position to defy the
interference of her family; and she had thereupon
written to her father acquainting him with her where-
abouts, and with her resolve to remain upon the stage
at all hazards. He had replied through his solicitor,
formally disowning her. She took no notice of this ;
and the solicitor then sent her a cheque for one
hundred pounds, and informed her that this was all she
had to expect from her father, with whom she was not
to attempt to establish any further communication.
Madge was about to return the money, but was
vehemently dissuaded from doing so by Mrs. Cohen,
who had not at that time quitted Nottingham. It
proved very useful to her afterwards for her stage
wardrobe. In defiance of the solicitor's injunction,
she wrote to Mr. Brailsford, thanking him for the
money, and reproaching him for his opposition to her
plans. He replied at great length; and eventually
they corresponded regularly once a month, the family
resigning themselves privately to Madge's being an
actress, but telling falsehoods publicly to account for

164 Love Among the Artists

her absence. The donation of one hundred pounds
was repeated next year; and many an actress whose
family heavily burdened instead of aiding her, envied
Madge her independence.

She wrote once to Jack, telling him that all her
success, and notably her early promotion from the part
of the player queen to that of Ophelia, was due to the
method of delivering verse which he had taught her.
He answered, after a long delay, with expressions of
encouragement curiously mixed up with inconsequent
aphorisms; but his letter needed no reply, and she did
not venture to write again, though she felt a desire to
do so.

This was the reality which took the place of Madge's
visions of the life of an actress.

CHAPTER IX

The year after that in which Madge had her autum-
nal glimpse of the London stage began with a Gen-
eral Election, followed by a change in the Ministry, a
revival of trade, a general fancy that things were
going to mend, and a sudden access of spirit in
political agitation, commercial enterprise, public
amusements, and private expenditure. The wave
even reached a venerable artistic institution called the
Antient Orpheus Society, established nearly a century
ago for the performance of orchestral music, and since
regarded as the pioneer of musical art in England. It
had begun by producing Beethoven's symphonies: it
had ended by producing a typical collection of old
fogeys, who pioneered backwards so fast and so far
that they had not finished shaking their heads over
the innovations in the overture to "William Tell"
when the rest of the world were growing tired of the
overture to "Tannhauser. " The younger critics had
introduced a fashion of treating the Antient Orpheus
as obsolescent; and even their elders began to fore-
bode the extinction of the Society unless it were
speedily rejuvenated by the supercession of the
majority of the committee. But the warnings of the
press, as usual, did not come until long after the
public had begun to abstain from the Antient Orpheus
concerts ; and as the Society in its turn resisted the
suggestions of the press until death or dotage reduced

165

i66 Love Among the Artists

the conservative majority of the committee to a
minority, the credit of the Antient Orpheus was
almost past recovery when reform was at last decided
on. When the new members of the rejuvenated
committee — three of whom were under fifty — realized
this, they became as eager to fill the concert pro-
grammes with new works as their predecessors had
been determined to exclude them. But when the
business of selecting the new works came to be con-
sidered, all was discord. Some urged the advisabilit)'-
of performing the works of English composers, a wil-
ful neglect of which had been that one of the practices
of the old committee of which the press had most per-
sistently complained. To this it was objected that in
spite of the patriotic complaints of critics, the public
had shewed their opinion of English composers by
specially avoiding the few concerts to which they had
been allowed to contribute. At last it was arranged
that an English work should be given at the first con-
cert of the season, and that care should be taken to
neutralize its repellent effect on the public by engag-
ing a young Polish lady, who had recently made an
extraordinary success abroad as a pianist, to make
her first appearance in England on the occasion.
Matters being settled so far, question now arose as to
what the new English work should be. Most of the
Committee had manuscript scores of their own, com-
posed thirty years before in the interval between leav-
ing the academy and getting enough teaching to use
up all their energy ; but as works of this class had
already been heard once or twice by the public with
undisguised tedium; and as each composer hesitated
to propose his own opus, the question was not

Love Among the Artists 167

immediately answered. Then a recently-elected
member of the Committee, not a professional
musician, mentioned a fantasia for pianoforte and
orchestra of which he had some private knowledge.
It was composed, he said, by a young man, a Mr.
Owen Jack. The chairman coughed, and remarked
coldly that he did not recollect the name. A member
asked bluntly who Mr. Jack was, and whether anybody
had ever heard of him. Another member protested
against the suggestion of a fantasia, and declared that
if this illustrious obscure did not know enough about
musical form to write a concerto, the Antient Orpheus
Society, which had subsisted for nearly a century
without his assistance, could probably do so a little
longer. When the laughter and applause which this
speech evoked had subsided, a good natured member
remarked that he had met a man of the name of Jack
at somebody's place in Windsor, and had heard him
improvise variations on a song of the hostess's in a
rather striking manner. He therefore seconded the
proposal that Jack's fantasia should be immediately
examined with a view to its performance by the Polish
lady at the next concert. Another member, not good
natured, but professionally jealous of the last speaker
but one, supported the proposal on the ground that
the notion that the Society could get on high-and-
mightily without ever doing anything new was just
what had brought it to death's door. This naturally
elicited a defiant statement that the Society i,had never
been more highly esteemed than at that hour; and a
debate ensued, in the course of which Jack's ability
was hotly attacked and defended in turn by persons
who had never heard of him before that day. Even-

1 68 Love Among the Artists

tually the member who had introduced the subject
obtained permission to invite Mr. Jack to submit his
fantasia to the Committee.

At the next meeting an indignant member begged
leave to call the attention of his colleagues to a docu-
ment which had accompanied the score forwarded in
response to the invitation by which the Antient
Orpheus Society had honored Mr. Owen Jack. It
was a letter to the Secretary, in the following terms: —

"Sir: — Herewith you will find the instrumental
partition of a fantasia composed by me for pianoforte
and orchestra. I am willing to give the use of it to
the Antient Orpheus Society gratuitously for one con-
cert, on condition that the rehearsal be superintended
by me, and that, if I require it, a second rehearsal be
held."

The member said he would not dwell on the propriety
of this communication to the foremost musical society
in Europe from a minor teacher, as he had ascertained
Mr. Jack to be. It had been sufficiently rebuked by
the Secretary's reply, despatched after the partition
had been duly examined, to the effect that the work,
though not destitute of merit, was too eccentric in
form, and crude in harmonic structure, to be suitable
for public performance at the concerts of the Society.
This had elicited a second letter from Mr. Jack, of
which the member would say nothing, as he preferred
to leave it to speak for itself and for the character of
the writer.

"Church Street, Kensington, W.
'Sir: — Your criticism was uninvited, and is value-

Love Among the Artists 169

less except as an illustration of the invincible ignorance
of the pedants whose mouthpiece you are. I am, sir,

"Yours truly,

"Owen Jack."

The most astute diplomatist could not have written
a more effective letter in Jack's favor than this proved.
The party of reform took it as an exquisite slap at
their opponents, and at once determined to make the
Secretary smart for rejecting the work without the
authority of the whole Committee. Jack's advocate
produced a note from the Polish lady acknowledging
the receipt of a pianoforte fantasia, and declaring that
she should be enchanted to play for the first time to
an English audience a work so poetic by one of their
own nation. He explained that having borrowed a
copy of the pianoforte part from a young lady relative
of his who was studying it, he had sent it to the
Polish artist, who had just arrived in England. Her
opinion of it, he contended, was sufficient to show
that the letter of the secretary was the result of an
error of judgment which deserved no better answer
than it had elicited. The secretary retorted that
he had no right to avail himself of his private
acquaintance with the pianist to influence the course
of the Society, and stigmatized Jack's letter as the
coarse abuse natural to the vulgar mind of a self-
assertive charlatan. On the other hand, it was main-
tained that Jack had only shewn the sensitiveness of
an artist, and that to invite a composer to send in a
work and then treat it as if it were an examination
paper filled by a presumptuous novice, was an
impertinence likely to bring ridicule as well as odium
upon the Antient Orpheus. The senior member, who

170 Love Among the Artists

occupied the chair, now declared very solemnly that he
had seen the fantasia, and that it was one of those law-
less compositions unhappily too common of late years,
which were hurrying the beautiful art of Haydn and
Mozart into the abyss of modern sensationalism. Here-
upon someone remarked that the gentleman had fre-
quently spoken of the works of Wagner in the same
terms, although they all knew that Richard Wagner
was the greatest composer of that or any other age.
This assertion was vehemently repudiated by some,
and loudly cheered by others. In the hubbub which
followed, Jack's cause became identified with that of
Wagner; and a motion to set aside the unauthorized
rejection of the fantasia was carried by a majority of
the admirers of the Prussian composer, not one of
v/hom knew or cared a straw about the English one.

"I am glad we have won the day," said Mr. Phipson,
the proposer of this motion, to a friend, as the meeting
broke up; "but we have certainly experienced the
truth of Mary's remark that this Jack creates nothing
but discord in real life, whatever he may do in
music."

Jack at first refused to have anything further to do
with the Atient Orpheus ; but as it was evident that
his refusal would harm nobody except himself, he
yielded to the entreaties of Mary Sutherland, and
consented to make use of the opportunity she had,
through Mr. Phipson, procured for him. So the
negotiation proceeded; and at last, one comfortless
wet spring morning, Jack got out of an omnibus in
Piccadilly, and walked through the mud to St. James's
Hall, where, in the gloomy rooms beneath the
orchestra, he found a crowd of about eighty men,

Love Among the Artists 171

chatting, hugging themselves, and stamping because
of the cold ; stooping over black bags and boxes con-
taining musical instruments ; or reluctantly unwinding
woollen mufflers and unbuttoning great coats. He
passed them into a lower room, where he found three
gentlemen standing in courtly attitudes before a
young lady wrapped in furs, with a small head, light
brown hair, and a pale face, rather toil worn. She
received them with that natural air of a princess in
her own right which is so ineffectually striven for by
the ordinary princess in other people's rights. As
she spoke to the gentlemen in French, occasionally
helping them to understand her by a few words of
broken English, she smiled occasionally, apparently
more from kindness than natural gaiety, for her fea-
tures always relapsed into an expression of patient but
not unhappy endurance. Near her sat an old foreign
lady, brown skinned, tall, and very grim.

Jack advanced a few steps into the room; glanced
at the gentlemen ; and took a long look at the younger
lady, who, like the rest, had had her attention arrested
by his impressive ugliness. He scrutinized her so
openly that she turned away displeased, and a little
embarrassed. Two of the gentlemen stared at him
stiffly. The third came forward, and said with polite
severity, "What is your business here, sir?"

Jack looked at him for a moment, wrinkling his
face hideously. "I am Jack," he said, in the brassiest
tone of his powerful voice. "Who are you?"

"Oh!" said the gentleman, relaxing a little. "I
beg your pardon. I had not the pleasure of knowing
you by sight, Mr. Jack. My name is Manlius, at your
service." Mr. Manlius was the conductor of the

172 Love Among the Artists

Antient Orpheus orchestra. He was a learned
musician, generally respected becavise he had given
instruction to members of the Royal family, and, when
conducting, never allowed his orchestra to forget the
restraint due to the presence of ladies and gentlemen
in the sofa stalls.

Jack bowed. Mr, Manlius considered whether he
should introduce the composer to the young lady.
Whilst he hesitated, a trampling overhead was suc-
ceeded by the sounding of a note first on the piano-
forte and then on the oboe, instantly followed by the
din of an indescribable discord of fifths from innumer-
able strings, varied by irrelevant chromatic scales
from the wood wind, and a doleful tuning of slides
from the brass. Jack's eyes gleamed. Troubling
himself no further about Mr. Manlius, he went out
through a door leading to the stalls, where he found
a knot of old gentlemen disputing. One of them
immediately whispered something to the others; and
they continued their discussion in a lower tone. Jack
looked at the orchestra for a few minutes, and then
returned to the room he had left, where the elder
lady was insisting in French that the pianoforte
fantasia should be rehearsed before anything else,
as she was not going to wait in the cold all day.
Mr. Manlius assured her that he had anticipated
her suggestion, and should act upon it as a matter of
course.

"It is oil the same thinks," said the young lady in
English. Then in French. "Even if you begin with
the fantasia. Monsieur, I shall assuredly wait to hear
for the first time your famous band perform in this
ancient hall."

Love Among the Artists 173

Manlius bowed. When he straightened himself
again, he found Jack standing at his elbow. "Allow
me to present to you Monsieur Jack," he said,

"It is for Monsieur Jacques to allow," she replied.
"The poor artist is honored by the presence of the
illustrious English composer."

Jack nodded gravely as acknowledging that the
young woman expressed herself becomingly. Manlius
grinned covertly, and proposed that they should go
upon the orchestra, as the band was apt to get out of
humor when too much time was wasted. She rose at
once, and ascended the steps on the arm of the con-
ductor. She was received with an encouraging clap-
ping of hands and tapping of fiddle backs. Jack
followed with the elder lady, who sat down on the top
stair, and began to knit.

"If you wish to conduct the rehearsal," said Manlius
politely to Jack, "you are, of course, quite welcome to
do so."

"Thank you," said Jack. "I will." Manlius, who
had hardly expected him to accept the offer, retired to
the pianoforte, and prepared to turn over the leaves
for the player.

"I think I can play it from memory," she said to
him, "unless Monsieur Jacques puts it all out of my
head. Judging by his face, it is certain that he is not
very patien Ah! Did I not say so?"

Jack had rapped the desk sharply with his stick,
and was looking balefully at the men, who did not
seem in any hurry to attend to him. He put down
the stick ; stepped from the desk ; and stooped to the
conductor's ear.

"I mentioned," he said, "that some of the parts

174 Love Among the Artists

ought to be given to the men to study before rehearsal.
Has that been done?"

Manlius smiled. "My dear sir," he said, "I need
hardly tell you that players of such standing as the
members of the Antient Orpheus orchestra do not
care to have suggestions of that kind offered to them.
You have no cause to be uneasy. They can play any-
thing— absolutely anything, at sight. ' '

Jack looked black, and returned to his desk without
a word. He gave one more rap with his stick, and
began. The players were attentive, but many of them
tried not to look so. For a few bars. Jack conducted
under some restraint, apparently striving to repress a
tendency to extravagant gesticulation. Then, as
certain combinations and progressions sounded strange
and farfetched, slight bursts of laughter were heard.
Suddenly the first clarinettist, with an exclamation of
impatience, put down his instrument.

"Well?" shouted Jack. The music ceased.

"I can't play that," said the clarinettist shortly.

"Can j<?z^ p\'dy it?" said Jack, with suppressed rage,
to the second clarinettist.

"No," said he. "Nobody could play it."

"That passage /ms been played; and it must be
played. It has been played by a common soldier."

"If a common soldier even attempted it, much less
played it," said the first clarinettist, with some con-
temptuous indignation at what he considered an evident
falsehood, "he must have been drunk." There was
a general titter at this.

Jack visibly wrestled with himself for a moment.
Then, with a gleam of humor like a flash of sunshine
through a black thundercloud, he said: "You are

Love Among the Artists 175

right. He w^j drunk." The whole band roared with
laughter.

"Well, /am not drunk," said the clarinettist, folding
his arms.

"But will you not just try wh " Here Jack,

choked by the effort to be persuasive and polite, burst
out raging: "It can be done. It shall be done. It
must be done. You are the best clarinet player in
England. I know what you can do. ' ' And Jack shook
his fists wildly at the man as if he were accusing him
of some infamous crime. But the compliment was
loudly applauded, and the man reddened, not alto-
gether displeased. A cornist who sat near him said
soothingly in an Irish accent, "Aye, do, Joe. Try it."

"You will: you can," shouted Jack reassuringly,
recovering his self-command. "Back to the double
bar. Now!" The music recommenced; and the
clarinettist, overborne, took up his instrument, and,
when the passage was reached, played it easily,
greatly to his own astonishment. The brilliancy of
the effect, too, raised him for a time into a prominence
which rivalled that of the pianist. The orchestra
positively interrupted the movement to applaud it;
and Jack joined in with high good humor.

"If you are uneasy about it," said he, with an
undisguised chuckle, "I can hand it over to the
violins."

"Oh, no, thank you," said the clarinettist. "Now
I've got it, I'll keep it."

Jack rubbed his nose until it glowed like a coal ; and
the movement proceeded without another stoppage,
the men now seeing that Jack was in his right place.

But when a theme marked andante cantabile, which

176 Love Among the Artists

formed the middle section of the fantasia, was com-
menced by the pianist, Jack turned to her ; said
"Quicker, quicker. Plus vtie''; and began to mark
his beat by striking the desk. She looked at him
anxiously ; played a few bars in the time indicated by
him ; and then threw up her hands and stopped,

"I cannot, " she exclaimed. "I must play it more
slowly or not at all. ' '

"Certainly, it shall be slower if you desire it," said
the elder lady from the steps. Jack looked at her as
he sometimes looked at Mrs. Simpson. "Certainly it
shall not be slower, if all the angels desired it," he
said, in well pronounced but barbarously ungrammat-
ical French. "Go on; and take the time from my
beat."

The Polish lady shook her head ; folded her hands
in her lap ; and looked patiently at the music before
her. There was a moment of silence, during which
Jack, thus mutely defied, glared at her with distorted
features. Manlius rose irresolutely. Jack stepped
down from the desk ; handed him the stick ; and said
in a smothered voice, "Be good enough to conduct this
lady's portion of the fantasia. When my music
recommences, I will return."

Manlius took the stick and mounted the desk, the
orchestra receiving him with applause. In the midst
of it Jack went out, giving the pianist a terrible look
as he passed her, and transferring it to her companion,
who raised her eyebrows and shoulders contemptuously.

Manlius was not the man to impose his own ideas of
a composition on a refractory artist; and though he
was privately disposed to agree with Jack that the
Polish lady was misjudging the speed of the move-

Love Among the Artists 177

ment, he obediently followed her playing with his
beat. But he soon lost his first impression, and began
to be affected by a dread lest anyone should make a
noise in the room. He moved his stick as quietly as
possible, and raised his left hand as if to still the
band, who were, however, either watching the pianist
intently or playing without a trace of the expert off-
handedness which they had affected at first. The
pleasure of listening made Manlius forget to follow the
score. When he roused himself and found his place,
he perceived that the first horn player was altering a
passage completely, though very happily. Looking
questioningly in that direction, he saw Jack sitting
beside the man with a pencil in his hand. Manlius
observed for the first time that he had an expressive
face and remarkable eyes, and was not, as he had
previously seemed, unmitigatedly ugly. Meanwhile
the knot of old gentlemen in the stalls, who had
previously chattered subduedly, became quite silent;
and a few of them closed their eyes rapturously.
The lady on the steps alone did not seem to care
about the music. At last the flow of melody waned
and broke into snatches. The pianoforte seemed to
appeal to the instruments to continue the song. A
melancholy strain from the violas responded hope-
lessly; but the effect of this was marred by a stir in
the orchestra. The trombone and trumpet players,
hitherto silent, were taking up their instruments and
pushing up their moustaches. The drummer, after
some hasty screwing round his third drum, poised his
sticks; and a supernumerary near him rose, cymbals
in hand; fixed his eye on Manlius, and apparently
stood ready to clap the head of the trumpet player in

178 Love Among the Artists

front of him as a lady claps a moth flying from a wool-
len curtain. Manlius looked at the score as if he did
not quite understand the sequel. Suddenly, as the
violas ceased, Jack shouted in a startling voice, "Let
it be an avalanche. From the top to bottom of the
Himalayas"; and rushed to the conductor's desk.
Manlius made way for him precipitately; and a tre-
mendous explosion of sound followed. "Louder,"
roared Jack. "Louder. Less noise and more tone.
Out with it like fifty million devils." And he led the
movement at a merciless speed. The pianist looked
bewildered, like the band, most of whom lost their
places after the first fifty bars ; but when the turn of
each player came, he found the conductor glaring at
him, and was swept into his part without clearly
knowing how. It was an insensate orgie of sound.
Gay melodies, daintily given out by the pianoforte, or
by the string instruments, were derisivel}'' brayed out
immediately afterwards by cornets, harmonized in
thirds with the most ingenious vulgarity. Cadenzas,
agilely executed by the Polish lady, were uncouthly
imitated by the double basses. Themes constructed
like ballads with choruses were introduced instead of
orthodox "subjects." The old gentlemen in the stalls
groaned and protested. The Polish lady, incommoded
by the capricious and often excessive speed required
of her, held on gallantly, Jack all the time grinding
his teeth; dancing; gesticulating; and by turns shsh-
sh-shing at the orchestra, or shouting to them for
more tone and less noise. Even the lady on the steps
had begun to nod to the impetuous rhythm, when the
movement ended as suddenly as it had begun; and
all the players rose to their feet, laughing and

Love Among the Artists 179

applauding heartily. Manlius, from whose mind the
fantasia had banished all prejudice as to Jack's rank
as a musician, shook his hand warmly. The Polish
lady, her face transfigured by musical excitement,
offered her hand too. Jack took it and held it, saying
abruptly, "Listen to me. You were quite right; and
I am a fool. I did not know what there was in my
own music, and would have spoiled it if you had not
prevented me. You are a great player, because you
get the most beautiful tone possible from every note
you touch, and you make every phrase say all that it
was meant to say, and more. You are an angel. I
would rather hear you play scales than hear myself
play sonatas. And" — here he lowered his voice and
drew her aside — "I rely on you to make my work
succeed at the concert. Manlius will conduct the
band; but you must conduct Manlius. It is not
enough to be a gentleman and a contrapuntist in
order to conduct. You comprehend?"

"Yes, Monsieur; I understand perfectly, perfectly.
I will do my best. I shall be inspired. How mag-
nificent it is!"

"Allow me to congratulate you, sir," said one of the
old gentlemen, advancing. "Myself and colleagues
have been greatly struck by your work. I am
empowered to say on their behalf that whatever
difference of opinion there may be among us as to the
discretion with which you have employed your powers,
of the extraordinary nature of those powers there can
no longer be a doubt; and we are thoroughly
gratified at having chosen for performance a work
which displays so much originality and talent as your
fantasia. ' '

i8o Love Among the Artists

"Ten years ago," said Jack, looking steadily at him,
"I might have been glad to hear you say so. At
present the time for compliments is past, unless you
wish to congratulate me on the private interest that
has gained my work a hearing. My talent and
originality have been my chief obstacles here."

"Are you not a little hasty?" said the gentleman,
disconcerted. "Success comes late in London; and
you are still, if I may say so, a comparatively young
man."

"I am not old enough to harp on being comparatively
young. I am thirty-four years old; and if I had
adopted any other profession than that of composer of
music, I should have been earning a respectable liveli-
hood by this time. As it is, I have never made a
farthing by my compositions. I don't blame those
who have stood between me and the public: their
ignorance is their misfortune, and not their fault. But
now that I have come to light by a chance in spite of
their teeth, I am not in the humor to exchange pretty
speeches with them. Understand, sir: I do not mean
to rebuff you personally. But as for your colleagues,
tell them that it does not become them to pretend to
acknowledge spontaneously what I have just, after
many hard years, forced them to admit. Look at
those friends of yours shaking their heads over my
score there. They have heard my music ; but they do
not know what to say until they see it. Would you
like me to believe that they are admiring it?"

"I am confident that they cannot help doing so."

"They are shewing one another why it ought not
to have been written — hunting out my consecutive
fifths and sevenths, and my false relations— looking

Love Among the Artists i8i

for my first subject, my second subject, my working
out, and the rest of the childishness that could be
taught to a poodle. Don't they wish they may find
them?"

The gentleman seemed at a loss how to continue
the conversation. "I hope you are satisfied with the
orchestra, ' ' he said after a pause.

"No, I am not," said Jack. "They are over
civilized. They are as much afraid of showing their
individuality as if they were common gentlemen. You
cannot handle a musical instrument with kid gloves
on. However, they did better than I hoped. They are
at least not coarse. That young woman is a genius."

"Ye-es. Almost a genius. She is young, of course.
She has not the — I should call it the gi^-antic power
and energy of such a player, for instance, as "

"Pshaw!" said Jack, interrupting him. "I, or any-
body else, can get excited with the swing of a Chopin's
polonaise, and thrash it out of the piano until the
room shakes. But she ! You talk of making a piano-
forte sing — a child that can sing itself can do that.
But she can make it speak. She has eloquence, the
first and last quality of a great player, as it is of a
great man. The finale of the fantasia is too coarse
for her: it does violence to her nature. It was written
to be played by a savage — like me."

"Oh, undoubtedly, undoubtedly! She is a remark-
able player. I did not for a moment intend to

convey " Here Manlius rapped his desk; and

Jack, with a unceremonious nod to his interlocutor,
left the platform. As he passed the door leading to
the public part of the hall, he heard the voice of the
elder lady.

1 82 Love Among the Artists

"My child, they seek to deceive you. This Monsieur
Jacques, with whose music you are to make your
debilt here, is he famous in England? Not at all. My
God ! he is an unknown man. ' '

"Be tranquil, mother. He will not long be
unknown."

Jack opened the door a little way; thrust his face
through; and smiled pleasantly at the pianist. Her
mother, seeing her start, looked round and saw him
grimacing within a yard of her.

"Ah, Lord Jesus!" she exclaimed in German,
recoiling from him. He chuckled, and abruptly shut
himself out of her view as the opening unison of the
"Coriolan" overture sounded from the orchestra. The
old gentleman who had congratulated him had
rejoined the others in the stalls.

"Well," said one of them: "is your man delighted
with himself?"

"N-no, I cannot say that he is — or rather perhaps
he is too much so. I am sorry to say that he appears
to be rather morose — soured by his early difficulties,
perhaps. He is certainly not an agreeable person to
speak to. ' '

"What did you expect?" said another gentleman
coldly. "A man who degrades music to be the vehicle
of his own coarse humor, and shows by his method of
doing it an ignorant contempt for those laws by
which the great composers established order in the
chaos of sounds, is not likely to display a courteous
disposition and refined nature in the ordinary business
of life."

"I assure you. Professor," said a third, who had
the score of the fantasia open on his knees, ' ' this chap

Love Among the Artists 183

must know a devil of a lot. He plays old Harry with
the sonata form ; but he must do it on purpose, you
know, really."

The gentleman addressed as Professor looked
severely and incredulously at the other. "I really
cannot listen to such things whilst they are playing
Beethoven," he said. "I have protested against Mr.
Jack and his like ; and my protest has passed unheeded.
I wash my hands of the consequences. The Antient
Orpheus Society will yet acknowledge that I did well
when I counselled it to renounce the devil and all his
works." He turned away; sat down on a stall a little
way off; and gave all his attention ostentatiously to
•'Coriolan."

The pianist came presently and sat near him. The
others quickly surrounded her; but she did not speak
to them, and shewed by her attitude that she did not
wish to be spoken to. Her mother, who did not care
for Coriolan, and wanted to go home, knitted and
looked appealingly at her from time to time, not
venturing to express her impatience before so many
members of the Antient Orpheus Society. At last
Manlius came down; and the whole party rose and
went into the performers' room.

"How do you find our orchestra?" said Manlius to
her as she took up her muff.

"It is magnificent," she replied. "So refined, so
quiet, so convenable! It is like the English gentle-
man. ' ' Manlius smirked. Jack, who had reappeared
on the outskirts of the group with his hat on — a des-
perately ill-used hat — added :

"A Lithuanian or Hungarian orchestra could not
play like that, eh?"

184 Love Among the Artists

"No, truly," said the Polish lady, with a little shrug.
"I do not think they could."

"You flatter us," said Manlius bowing. Jack began
to laugh. The Polish lady hastily made her adieux,
and went out into Piccadilly, where a cab was brought
for her. Her mother got in; and she was about to
follow when she heard Jack's voice again, at her elbow.

"May I send you some music?"

"If you will be so gracious. Monsieur."

"Good. What direction shall I give your driver?"

"F — f — you call it Feetzroysquerre?"

"Fitzroy Square," shouted Jack to the cabman.
The hansom went off; and he, running recklessly
through the mud to a passing Hammersmith omnibus,
which was full inside, climbed to the roof, and was
borne away in the rain.

CHAPTER X

It was a yearly custom of the Antient Orpheus
Society to give what they called a soiree, to which they
invited all the celebrated persons who were at all likely
to come. These meetings took place at a house in
Harley Street. Large gilt tickets, signed by three of
the committee, were sent to any distinguished foreign
composers who happened to be in London, as well as
to the president of the Royal Academy, the musical
Cabinet Minister (if there was one), the popular
tragedian of the day, and a few other privileged
persons. The rest had little cards of invitation from
the members, who were each entitled to introduce a
few guests.

To the one of these entertainments next following
the fantasia concert came a mob of amateurs, and a
select body of pianists, singers, fiddlers, painters,
actors and journalists. The noble vice-president of
the society, assisted by two of the committee,
received the guests in a broad corridor which had
been made to resemble a miniature picture gallery.
The guests were announced by two Swiss waiters,
who were supposed to be able to pronounce foreign
names properly because they could not pronounce
English ones. Over one name on a gilt ticket, that
of a young lady, they broke down ; and she entered
unannounced with her mother. After her came a
member and his party of four: Mr. and Mrs. Phipson,

185

1 86 Love Among the Artists

Mr. Charles Sutherland, Miss Sutherland, and Mr.
Adrian Herbert. Then other members with their
parties. Then the last of the gilt tickets, Mr. Owen
Jack, whose evening dress presented the novelty of a
black silk handkerchief tied round the neck with the
bow under his right ear.

The company was crowded into two large rooms.
There were many more guests than seats; and those
who were weak or already weary stood round the walls
or by the pianoforte, and got what support they could
by leaning against them. Mary Sutherland was
seated on the end of a settee which supported four
other persons, and would have accommodated two
comfortably.

"Well?" said Jack, coming behind the settee.

"Well," echoed Mary. "Why are you so late?"

"For the usual reason — because women are meddle-
some, I could not find my clothes, nor my studs, nor
anything. I will endure Mother Simpson no longer.
Next week I pack."

"So you have been threatening any time within the
last two years. I wish you would really leave Church
Street."

"So you have been preaching any time these fifty
years. But I must certainly do so: the woman
is unendurable. There goes Charlie. He looks
quite a man, like the rest of us, in his swallow-tail
coat."

"He looks and is insufferably self-conscious. How
crowded the rooms are! They ought to give their
conversazione in St. James's Hall as well as their
concerts."

"They never did and never will do anything as it

Love Among the Artists 187

ought to be done. Where's your guide, philosopher,
and friend?"

"Whom do you mean, Mr. Jack?"

"What color is your dress?"

"Sea green. Why?"

"Nothing. I was admiring it just now."

"Does my guide, philosopher, et cetera, mean Mr.
Herbert?"

"Yes, as you know perfectly well. You are not
above giving yourself airs occasionally. Come, where
is he? Why is he not by your side?"

"I do not know, I am sure. He came in with us.
Charlie."

"Well?" said Charlie, who was beginning to stand
on his manhood. "What are you shouting at me for?
Oh, how d'ye do, Mr. Jack?"

"Where is Adrian?" said Mary.

"In the next room, of course."

"Why of course?" said Jack.

"Because Miss Spitsneezncough — or whatever her
unpronounceable name may be — is there. If I were
you, Mary, I should look rather closely after Master
Adrian's attentions to the fair Polack. "

"Hush. Pray do not talk so loud, Charlie."
Charlie turned on his heel, and strolled away, button-
ing on a white glove with a negligent air.

"Come into the next room," said Jack.

"Thank you. I prefer to stay where I am."

"Come, Mrs. Obstinate. I want to see the fair
Polack too: I love her to distraction. You shall see
Mister Herbert supplanting me in her affections."

"I shall stay with Mrs. Phipson. Do not let me
detain you, if you wish to go."

1 88 Love Among the Artists

"You are going to be ill-natured and spoil oiir
evening, eh?"

Mary suppressed an exclamation of impatience, and
rose. "If you insist on it, of course I will come.
Mrs. Phipson : I am going to walk through the rooms
with Mr. Jack."

Mrs. Phipson, from mere habit, looked doubtful of
the propriety of this arrangement; but Jack walked
off with Mary before anything further passed. In the
next room they found a denser crowd and a very warm
atmosphere. A violinist stood tuning his instrument
near the pianoforte, at which the young Polish lady
sat. Close by was Adrian Herbert, looking intently
at her.

"Aha!" said Jack, following his companion's look,
Mister Adrian's thoughts have come to an anchor at
last." As he spoke, the music began.

"What are they playing?" said Mary with affected
indifference.

"The Kreutzer Sonata."

"Oh! I am so glad."

"Are you, indeed? What a thing it is to be fond of
music! Do you know that we shall have to stand
here mumchance for the next twenty minutes listening
to them?"

"Surely if I can enjoy the Kreutzer Sonata, you can.
You are only pretending to be unmusical."

"I wish they had chosen something shorter. How-
ever, since we are here, we had better hold our
tongues and listen."

The Sonata proceeded; and Adrian listened, rapt.
He did not join in the applause between the move-
ments: it jarred on him.

Love Among the Artists 189

**Why don't you teach yourself to play like that?"
said Jack to Mary.

"I suppose because I have no genius," she replied,
not pleased by the question.

"Genius! Pshaw! What are you clapping your
hands for?"

"You seem to be in a humor for asking unnecessary
questions to-night, Mr. Jack. I applaud Herr Josefs
because I admire his playing. "

"And Mademoiselle. How do you like kerf

"She is very good, of course. But I really do not
see that she is so much superior to other pianists as
you seem to consider her. I enjoy Josefs' playing
more than hers."

"Indeed," said Jack. "Ho! Ho! Do you see that
hoary-headed villain looking across at us? That
is the man who protested against my fantasia as a
work of the devil; and now he is coming to ask me
to play. ' '

"And will you play?"

"Yes. I promised Miss Szczympliga that I would."

"Then you had better take me back to Mrs.
Phipson."

"What! You will not wait and listen to me?"

"It cannot possibly matter to you whether I listen
or not. I cannot stand here alone."

"Then come back to Mrs. Phipson. I will not
play."

"Now pray do not be so disagreeable, Mr. Jack. I
wish to go back because no one wants me here."

"Either you will stay where you are, or I will not
play."

"I shall do as I please, Mr. Jack. You have

I90 Love Among the Artists

Mademoiselle Szczympliga to play for. I cannot stay
here alone."

"Mr. Herbert will take care of you."

"I do not choose to disturb Mr, Herbert."

"Well, well, here is your brother. Hush! — if you
call him Charlie aloud here, he will be sulky. Mr.
Sutherland."

"What's the matter?" said Charlie, gratefully. Jack
handed over Mary to him. and presently went to the
piano at the invitation of the old gentleman he had
pointed out, who wore a gold badge on his coat as
one of the stewards of the entertainment. He had
composed a symphony — his second — that year for the
Antient Orpheus: a laborious, conscientious, arid
symphony, full of unconscious pickings and stealings
from Mendelssohn, his favorite master, scrupulously
worked up into the strictest academic form. It was
a theme from this symphony which Jack now sounded
on the pianoforte with one finger.

"That is not very polite," said Mr. Phipson, after
explaining this to the Polish lady. "Poor Maclagan!
He does not seem to like having his theme treated in
that fashion."

"If he intends it derisively," said Adrian indig-
nantly, "it is in execrable taste. Mr. Maclagan ought
to leave the room."

"You think like me, Monsieur Herbert," said
Mademoiselle Szczympliga. "All must be forgiven
to Monsieur Jacques; but he should not insult those
who are less fortunately gifted than he. Besides, it is
an old man. ' '

Jack then began improvising on the theme with a
capriciousness of which the humor was lost on the

Love Among the Artists 191

majority of the guests. He treated it with an eccen-
tricity which buriesqued his own style, and then with
a pedantry which buriesqued that of the composer.
At last, abandoning- this ironical vein when it had
culminated in an atrociously knock-kneed fugato^ he
exercised his musical fancy in earnest, and succeeded
so well that Maclagan felt tempted to rewrite the
middle section of the movement from which the
subject was taken. The audience professed to be
delighted, and were in truth dazzled when Jack
finished by a commonplace form of variation in which
he made a prodigious noise with his left hand,
embroidered by showers of arpeggios with his right.

"Magnificent!" said Mr. Phipson, applauding.
"Splendid."

"Ah!" said Mdlle. Szczympliga, sighing, "if I had
but his strength, I should fear no competitor."

"Is it possible," said Herbert, "that you, who play
so beautifully, can envy such a man as that. I would
rather hear you play for one minute than listen to
him for an hour."

She shrugged her shoulders. "Alas!" she said,
"you know what I can do; and you are so good as to
flatter me that I do it well. But I ! I know what I
cannot do."

"How are you, Mademoiselle?" said Jack, approach-
ing them without staying to answer several persons
who were congratulating him. "Good evening, Mr.
Herbert. Ah, Mr. Phipson."

"Mademoiselle Szczympliga has been paying you a
high compliment — I fully agree with Mr. Herbert that
it is an exaggerated one," said Phipson. "She wishes
she could play like you. ' '

192 Love Among the Artists

"And so Mr. Herbert thinks 'God forbid!' does he?
Well, he is right. Why do you want to trample on
the pianoforte as I do, Fraulein, when you can do so
much better? What would you think of a skifE on the
waters envying the attempts of a cavalry charger to
swim?"

"I see from your playing how far I fall short in the
last movement of the fantasia, Monsieur Jacques. I
am not strong enough to play it as you think it
should be played. Ah yes, yes, yes; but I know — I
know."

"No, Mademoiselle; nor are you strong enough to
dance the war-dance as an Iroquois Indian thinks it
should be danced. The higher you attain, the more
you leave below you. Eh, Mr. Herbert?"

"I am not a musician," said Herbert, irritated by
Jack's whimsical appeals to him. "My confirmation
of your opinion would not add much to its value."

"Come," said Jack: "I care nothing for professional
opinions. According to them, I do not know the
rudiments of music. Which would you rather hear
the Fraulein play, or hear me?"

"Since you compel me to express a preference, I
had rather hear Mademoiselle Szczympliga. "

"I thought so," said Jack, delighted. "Now I must
go back to Miss Sutherland, who has been left to take
care of herself whilst I was playiiag.

Herbert reddened. Jack nodded and walked away.

"Miss — Miss — I cannot say it. She is the young
lady who was with you at the concert, when Monsieur
Feepzon introduced us. She is very dark, and wears
lunettes. Is not that so?"

"Yes."

Love Among the Artists 193

"She is not stiff, like some of the English ladies. Is
she a great friend of yours?"

"She — Her elder brother, who is married to Mrs.
Phipson's daughter, was at school with me; and we
were great friends."

"Perhaps I should not have asked you. I fear I
often shock your English ideas of reserve. I beg your
pardon. ' '

"Not at all," said Herbert, annoyed at himself for
having betrayed his uneasiness. "Pray do not let
any fear of our national shyness — for it is not really
reserve — restrain you from questioning me whenever
you are interested in anything concerning me. If you

knew how much I prize that interest " She drew

back a little ; and he stopped, afraid to go on without
encouragement, and looking wistfully at her in the
hope of seeing some in her face.

"How do you call this lady who is going to sing?"
she said, judging it better to ask an irrelevant question
than to look down and blush. Jack's voice, speaking
to Mary close by, interrupted them.

"I can listen to Josefs because he can play the
fiddle," said he, "and to Szczympliga because she can
play the piano; and I would listen to her'' — pointing
to the singer — "if she could sing. She is only about
four years older than you; and already she dare
attempt nothing that cannot be screamed through by
main force. She has become what they call a
dramatic singer, which means a singer with a worn-
out voice. Come, make haste : she is going to begin. ' '

"But perhaps she will feel hurt by your leaving the
room. Now that you are famous, you cannot come
and go unnoticed, as I can."

194 Love Among the Artists

"So much the worse for those who notice me. I
hate singers, a miserable crew who think that music
exists only in their own throats. There she goes with
her Divinit^s du Styx. Come away for God's sake."

"I think this room is the pleas No, I do not.

Let us go. ' '

Mary's habitual look of resolution had gathered
into a frown. They went back to the settee, which
was now deserted: Mrs. Phipson and her neighbors
having gone to hear the music."

"A penny for your thoughts," said Jack, sitting
^down beside Mary. "Are you jealous?"

She started and said angrily. "What do you mean?"
Then, recovering herself a little, "Jealous of whom;
and why?"

"Jealous of Szczympliga, because Mister Herbert
seems to forget that there is anyone else in the whole
world to-night. ' '

"I did not notice his absorption. I am sure she is
very welcome. He ought to be tired of me by this
time."

"You think to hoodwink me, do you? I saw you
watching him the whole time she was playing. I wish
you would quarrel with him. ' '

"Why do you wish that?"

"Because I am tired of him. If you were well rid
of the fellow, you would stick to your music; pitch
your nasty oil paints into the Thames; and be friendly
to me without accusing yourself of treason to him. He
is the most uncomfortable chap I know, and the one
least suited to you. Besides, he can't paint. I could
do better myself, if I tried."

"Other people do not think so. I have suspected

Love Among the Artists 195

ever since I first met you in his studio you did not
admire his painting."

"You had the same idea yourself, or you would
never have detected it in me. I am no draughtsman;
but I recognize weakness by instinct. You feel that
he is a duffer. So do I."

"Do you think, if he were a duffer, that his picture
of last year would have been hung on the line at the
Academy; or that the Art Union would have bought
it to engrave ; or that the President would have spoken
of it so highly to Adrian himself?"

"Pshaw! There must be nearly two hundred
pictures on the line every year at the Academy ; and
did you, or anyone else, ever see an Academy exhibition
with ten pictures in it that had twenty years of life
in them? Did the President of the Academy of Music
ever speak well of me; or, if he did, do you think I
should fell honored by his approval? That is another
superfine duffer's quality in your Mr. Adrian. He is
brimming over with reverence. He is humble, and
speaks with bated breath of every painter that has
ever had a newspaper notice written about him. He
grovels before his art because he thinks that grovelling
becomes him."

"I think his modesty and reverence do become
him."

"Perhaps they do, because he has nothing to be
bumptuous about; but they are not the qualities that
make a creative artist. Ha! ha!"

Mary opened her fan, and began to fan herself, with
her face turned away from Jack.

"Well," said he, "are you angry?"

"No. But if you must disparage Adrian, why do

196 Love Among the Artists

you do so to me? You know the relation between
us."

"I disparage him because I think he is a humbug.
If he spends whole days in explaining to you what a
man of genius is and feels, knowing neither the one
nor the other, I do not see why I should not give you
my opinion on the subject, since I am in my own
way — not a humble way — a man of genius myself, "

"Adrian, unfortunately, has not the same faith in
himself that you have."

"Perhaps he has not as good reason. A man's own
self is the last person to believe in him, and is harder
to cheat than the rest of the world. I sometimes
wonder whether I am not an impostor. Old Bee-
thoven once asked a friendly pupil whether he really
considered him a good composer. Shakspere, as far
as I can make out, only succeeded about half-a-dozen
times in his attempt at play writing. Do you suppose
he didn't know it?"

"Then why do you blame Adrian for his diffidence?"

"Ah! that's a horse of another color. He thinks
himself worse than other men, mortal like himself. I
think myself a fool occasionally, because there are
times when composing music seems to me to be a
ridiculous thing in itself. Why should a rational man
spend his life in making jingle-jingle with twelve
notes? But at such times Bach seems just as great a
fool as I. Ask me at any time whether I cannot com-
pose as good or better music than any Tom, Dick, or
Harry now walking upon two legs in England; and I
shall not trouble you with any cant about my humble-
ness or un worthiness. ' '

"Can you compose better music than Mozart's? I

Love Among the Artists 197

believe you are boasting out of sheer antipathy to
poor Adrian?"

"Does Mozart's music express me? If not, what
does it matter to me whether it is better or worse? I
must make my own music, such as it is or such as I
am — and I would as soon be myself as Mozart or
Beethoven or any of them. To hear your Adrian talk
one would think he would rather be anybody than
himself. Perhaps he is right there, too."

"Let it be agreed, Mr. Jack, that you have a low
opinion of Adrian ; and let us say no more about him."

"Very well. But let us go back to the other room.
You are in a bad humor for a quiet chat, Miss Mary."

"Then go alone; and leave me here. I do not mind
being here by myself at all. I know I am not gaily
disposed; and I fear I am spoiling your evening."

"You are gay enough for me. I hate women who
are always grinning. Besides, Miss Mary, I am fond
of you, and find attraction in all your moods."

"Yes, I am sure you are very fond of me," said
Mary with listless irony, as she walked away with him.
In the other room they came upon Herbert, seeking
anxiously someone in the eddy near the door, formed
by people going away. Mary did not attempt to
disturb him; but he presently caught sight of her.
Thinking that she was alone — for Jack, buttonholed
by Phipson, had fallen behind for a moment — he made
his way to her and said:

"Where is Mrs. Phipson, Mary? Are you alone?'*

"I have not seen her for some time," She had all
but added that she hoped he had not disturbed him-
self to come to her; but she refrained, feeling that
spiteful speeches were unworthy of herself and of him.

198 Love Among the Artists

"Where did you vanish to for so long?" he said.
"I have hardly seen you the whole evening."

"Were you looking for me?"

He avoided her eyes, and stepped aside to make way
for a lady who was passing. "Shall I get you an ice?"
he said, after this welcome interruption. "It is very
warm in here. ' '

"No, thank you. You know that I never eat ices."

"I thought that this furnace of a room might have
prevailed over your hygienic principles. Have you
enjoyed yourself?"

"I have not been especially happy or the reverse. I
enjoyed the music."

"Oh yes. Don't you think Mdlle. Szczympliga
plays beautifully?"

"I saw that you thought so. She is able to bring an
expression into your face that I have never seen there
before."

Herbert looked at her quickly: he became quite red.
"Yes," he said, "she certainly plays most poetically.
By the bye, I think Mr. Jack behaved very badly in
publicly making game of Mr. Maclagan. Everybody
in the room was disgusted."

Mary was ready to retort in defence of Jack; but
before she could utter it Mrs. Phipson came up,
aggrieved, and speaking more loudly than was at all
necessary. "Well, Mr. Herbert," she was saying,
"you really have behaved most charmingly to us all
the evening. I think we may go now, Mary. Josefs
has gone ; and Szczympliga is going, so there is really
nothing to stay for. Why Adrian Herbert is gone
again! How excessively odd!"

"He is gone to get Mdlle. Szczympliga's carriage,"

Love Among the Artists 199

said Mary, quietly. "Be careful," she added, in a
lower tone: "Mdlle. Szczympliga is close behind us."

"Indeed! And who is to get our carriage?" said
Mrs. Phipson, crossly, declining to abate her voice in
the least. "Oh, really, Mary, you must speak to him
about this. What is the use of your being his fiancee
if he never does anything for you? He has behaved
very badly. Mr. Phipson is with that Frenchwoman
who sang. He is only happy when he is running
errands for celebrities. I suppose we must either
take care of ourselves, or wait until Adrian con-
descends to come back for us."

"We had better not wait. I see Charlie in the next
room : he will look after us. Come. ' '

The Polish lady passed them, and followed her
mother down the staircase. The cloak room was
crowded; but Madame Szczympli^a fought her way in,
and presently returned with an armful of furs. She
was assisted into some of these by her daughter, who
was about to wrap herself in a cloak, when it was
taken from her by Herbert.

"Allow me," he said, placing the cloak on her
shoulders. ' ' I must not delay you : your servant has
brought up your carriage; but "

"Let us go quickly, my child," said Madame.
"They scream like devils for us. Au revoir. Monsieur
Herbert. Come, Aur^lie!"

"Adieu," said Aur^lie, hurrying away. He kept
beside her until she stepped into the carriage.
"Certainly not adieu," he said eagerly. "May I not
come to see you, as we arranged?"

"No," she replied. "Your place is beside Miss
Sutherland, your affianced. Adieu."

200 Love Among the Artists

The carriage sped off; and he stood, gaping-, until a
footman reminded him that he was in the way of the
next party. He then returned to the hall, where Mrs.
Phipson informed him coldly that she was sorry she
could not offer him a seat in her carriage, as there was
no room. So he bade them good-night, and walked
home.

CHAPTER XI

Every day, from ten in the forenoon to twelve,
Mademoiselle Szczympliga practised or neglected the
pianoforte, according to her mood, whilst her mother
discussed household matters with the landlady, and
accompanied her to market. On the second morning
after the conversazione^ Madame went out as usual.
No sooner had she disappeared in the direction of
Tottenham Court Road than Adrian Herbert crossed
from the opposite angle of the square, and knocked at
the door of the house she had just left.

Whilst he waited on the doorstep, he could hear the
exercise Aur^lie was playing within. It was a simple
affair, such as he had often heard little girls call "five-
finger" exercises; and was slowly and steadily con-
tinued as if the player never meant to stop. The door
was opened by a young woman, who, not expecting
visitors at that hour, and being in a slatternly condition,
hid her hand in her apron when she saw Adrian.

"Will you ask Miss Szczympliga whether she can see
me, if you please."

The servant hesitated, and then went into the parlor,
closing the door behind her. Presently she came out,
and said with some embarrassment, "Maddim Chim-
pleetsa is not at home, sir."

*'I know that," said he. "Tell mademoiselle that I
have a special reason for calling at this hour, and that
I beg her to see me for a few moments." He put his

20I

202 Love Among the Artists

hand into his pocket for half-a-crown as he spoke ; but
the woman was gone again before he had made up his
mind to give it to her. Bribing a servant jarred his
sense of honor.

"If it's very particular, madamazel says will you
please to walk in;" said she, returning.

Adrian followed her to the parlor, a lofty, spacious
apartment with old fashioned wainscotting, and
a fire place framed in white marble, carved with
vases and garlands. The piano stood in the
middle of the room; and the carpet was rolled
up in a corner, so as not to deaden the resonance
of the boards. Aur^lie was standing by the piano,
looking at him with a curious pucker of her shrewd
face.

"I hope you are not angry with me," said Herbert,
with such evident delight in merely seeing her, that
she lowered her eyelids. "I know I have interrupted
your practising; and I have even watched to see
madame go out before coming to you. But I could
not endure another day like yesterday. ' '

Aurelie hesitated ; then seated herself and motioned
him to a chair, which he drew close to her. "What
was the matter yesterday?" she said, coquetting in
spite of herself.

' ' It was a day of uncertainty as to the meaning of
the change in your manner towards me at Harley
Street on Monday, after I had left you for a few
minutes."

Aurelie made a little grimace, but did not look at
him. "Why should I change?" she said.

"That is what I ask you. You did change — some-
body had been telling you tales about me; and you

Love Among the Artists 203

believed them." Aur^lie's eyes lightened hopefully.
"Will you not charge me openly with whatever has
displeased you; and so give me an opportunity to
explain."

"You must have strange customs in England," she
said, her eyes flashing again, this time with anger.
"What right have I to charge you with anything?
What interest have I in your affairs?"

"Aur61ie," he exclaimed, astonished: "do you not
know that I love you like a madman?"

"You never told me so," she said. "Do English-
women take such things for granted?" She blushed
as she said so, and immediately bent her face into
her hands; laughed a little and cried a little in a
breath. This lasted only an instant; for, hearing
Herbert's chair drawn rapidly to the side of hers,
she sat erect, and checked him by a movement of her
wrist.

"Monsieur Herbert: according to our ideas in my
country a declaration of love is always accompanied by
an offer of marriage. Do you then offer me your love,
and reserve your hand for Miss Sutherland?"

"You are unjust to yourself and to me, Aur^lie. I
offered you only my love because I could think of
nothing else. I do not expect you to love me as
blindly as I love you ; but will you consent to be my
wife? I feel — I know by instinct that there can be no
more unhappiness for me in the world if you will only
call me your dearest friend." He said this in a
moment of intoxication, produced by an accidental
touch of her sleeve against his hand.

Aur61ie became pensive. "No doubt you are our
dear friend, Monsieur Herbert. We have not many

204 Love Among the Artists

friends. I do not find that there is any such thing as
love."

"You do not care for me," he said, dejected.

"Indeed, you must not think so," she said quickly.
"You have been very kind to us, though we are
strangers. For we are strangers, are we not? You
hardly know us. And you are so foreign!"

"I ! I have not a drop of foreign blood in my veins.
You are not accustomed to England yet. I hope you
do not think me too cold. Oh, I am jealous of all
your countrymen!"

"You need not be, Heaven knows! We have few
friends in Poland."

"Aur61ie: do you know that you are saying 'we,'
and 'us,' as if you did not understand that I love you
alone — that I am here, not as a friend of your family,
but as a suitor to yourself, blind to the existence of
any other person in the universe. In your presence
I feel as if I were alone in some gallery of great
pictures, or listening in a beautiful valley to the
singing of angels, yet with some indescribable rapture
added to that feeling. Since I saw you, all my old
dreams and enthusiasms have come to life again.
You can blot them out for ever, or make them ever-
lasting with one word. Do you love me?"

She turned hesitatingly towards him, but waited to
say, "And it is then wholly false what Madame Feep-
zon said that night? "

''''What did she say?" demanded Herbert, turning
red with disappointment.

She drew back, and looked earnestly at him.
"Madame said," she replied in a low voice, "that
Miss Sutherland was your affianced."

Love Among the Artists 205

"Let me explain, " said Adrian, embarrassed. She
rose at once, shocked. "Explain!" she repeated.
"Oh, Monsieur, yes or no?"

"Yes, then, since you will not listen to me," he said,
with some dignity. She sat down again, slowly, look-
ing round as if for counsel.

"What shall you not think of me if I listen now?"
she said, speaking for the first time in English.

"I shall think that you love me a little, perhaps.
You have condemned me on a very superficial infer-
ence, Aur^lie. Engagements are not irrevocable in
England. May I tell you the truth about Miss
Sutherland?"

Aur^lie shook her head doubtfully, and said noth-
ing. But she listened.

"I became engaged to her more than two — nearly
three years ago. As I told you, her elder brother,
Mr. Phipson's son-in-law, is a great friend of mine;
and through him I came to know her very intimately.
I owe it to her to confess that her friendship sustained
me through a period of loneliness and discouragement,
a period in which my hand was untrained, and my
acquaintances, led by my mother, v/ere loud in their
contempt for my ability as an artist and my per-
verseness and selfishness in throwing away oppor-
tunities of learning banking and stockbroking. Miss
Sutherland is very clever and well read. She set her-
self to study painting with ardor when I brought it
under her notice, and soon became a greater enthusiast
than I. She probably exaggerated my powers as an
artist: at all events I have no doubt that she gave me
credit for much of the good influence upon her that
was really wrought by her new acquaintance with the

2o6 Love Among the Artists

handiwork of great men. However that may be, we
were united in our devotion to art; and I was deeply-
grateful to her for being my friend when I had no
other. I was so lonely that in my fear of losing her
I begged her to betroth herself to me. She consented
without hesitation, though my circumstances neces-
sitated a long engagement. That engagement has
never been formally dissolved ; but fulfilment of it is
now impossible. Long before I saw you and found
out for the first time what love really is, our relations
had insensibly altered. Miss Sutherland cooled in
her enthusiasm for painting as soon as she discovered
that it could not be mastered like a foreign language
or an era in history. She came under the influence of
Mr. Jack, who may be a man of genius — I am no
judge of musical matters — and who is undoubtedly,
in his own way, a man of honor. But he is so far from
possessing the temperament of an artist, that his
whole character, his way of living, and all his actions,
are absolutely destructive of that atmosphere of
melancholy grandeur in which great artists find their
inspiration. His musical faculty, to my mind, is as
extraordinary an accident as if it had occurred in a
buffalo. However, Miss Sutherland turned to him for
guidance in artistic matters; and doubtless he saved
her the trouble of thinking for herself; for she did not
question him as she had been in the habit of question-
ing me. Perhaps he understood her better than I.
He certainly behaved towards her as I had never
behaved; and, though it still seems to me that my
method was the more respectful to her, he supplanted
me in her regard most effectually. I do not mean to
convey that he did so intentionally; for anything less

Love Among the Artists 207

suggestive of affection for any person — even for him-
self— than his general conduct, I cannot imagine ; but
she chose not to be displeased. I was hurt by her
growing preference for him : it discouraged me more
than the measure of success which I had begun to
achieve in my profession elated me. Yet on my honor
I never knew what jealousy meant until I saw you,
playing Jack's music. I did not admire you for your
performance, nor for the applause you gained. There
are little things that an artist sees, Aurelie, that sur-
pass brilliant fingering of the keyboard. I cannot
describe them ; they came home to me as you appeared
on the platform; as you slipped quietly into your
place; as you replied to Manlius's enquiring gesture
by a look — it was not even a nod, and yet it reassured
him instantly. When the music commenced you
became dumb to me, though to the audience you
began to speak. I only enjoyed that lovely strain in
the middle of the fantasia, which by Jack's own con-
fession, owed all its eloquence to you alone. When
Mr. Phipson brought us under the orchestra and
introduced us to you, I hardly had a word to say ; but
I did not lose a tone or a movement of yours. You
were a stranger, ignorant of my language, a privileged
person in a place where I was only present on
sufferance. For all I knew, you might have been
married. Yet I felt that there was some tie between
us that far transcended my friendship with Miss
Sutherland, though she was bound to me by her
relationship to my old school friend, and by every
coincidence of taste, culture, and position that can
exist between man and woman. I knew at once that
I loved you, and had never loved her. Had I met

2o8 Love Among the Artists

her as I met you, do you think I would have troubled
Mr. Phipson to introduce me to her? My jealousy of
Jack vanished: I was content that he should be your
composer, if I might be your friend. Mary's attach-
ment to him now became the source of my greatest
happiness. His music and your playing were the
attractions on which all the concerts relied. Jack went
to these concerts: Mary went with Jack: I followed
Mary. We always had an opportunity of speaking to
you, thanks to my rival. It was he who encouraged
Mary to call on you. It is to him that I owe my freedom
from any serious obligation in respect of my long
engagement; and hence it is through him also that I
dare to come here and beg you to be my wife. Aurelie :
I passed the whole of yesterday questioning myself as
to the true story of my engagement, in order that I
might confess it to you with the most exact fidelity;
and I believe I have told you the truth ; but I could
devise no speech that can convey to you what I feel
towards you. Love does not describe it: it is some-
thing new — something altogether extraordinary. There
is a new sense — a new force, born in me. There
are no words for it in any language: I could not tell
you in my own. It "

"I understand you very well. Your engagement
with Miss S-Sutherland" — she always pronounced this
name with difficulty — "is not yet broken off?"

"Not explicitly. But you need "

"Hear me, Monsieur Herbert. I will not come
between her and her lover. But if you can affirm on
your honor as an English gentleman that she no
longer loves you, go and obtain an assurance from
her that it is so."

Love Among the Artists 209

•'And then?"

"And then — Come back to me; and we shall see.
But I do not think she will release you."

"She will. Would I have spoken to you if I had
any doubts left? For, if she holds me to my word, I
am, as you say, an English gentleman, and must keep
it. But she will not."

"You will nevertheless go to her, and renew your
offer."

"Do you mean my offer to you — or to her?"

"My God! he does not understand! Listen to me,
Monsieur Herbert." Here Aurelie again resorted to
the English tongue. "You must go to her and say,
'Marie: I come to fulfil my engagement.' If she
reply, 'No, Monsieur Adrian, I no longer wish it,' then
— then, as I have said, we shall see. But if she say
'yes,' then you must never any more come back."

"But "

"No, no, no," murmured Aurelie, turning away
her head. "It must be exactly as I have said."

"I will undertake to learn her true mind, Aurelie,
and to abide by it. That I promise. But were I to
follow your instructions literally, she too would hold
herself bound by her word, and would say 'yes,' in
spite of her heart. We should sacrifice each other and
ourselves to a false sense of honor." Aurelie twisted
a button of her chair, and shook her head, uncon-
vinced, "Aurdlie," he added gravely: "are you
anxious to see her accept me? If so, it would be
kinder to tell me so at once. Would you be so cruel
as to involve me in an unhappy marriage merely to
escape the unpleasantness of uttering a downright
refusal?"

2IO Love Among the Artists

"Ah!" she said, raising her head again, but still not
looking at him, "I will not answer you. You seek to
entrap me — you ask too much." Then, after a pause,
"Have I not told you that if she releases you, you
may return here?"

"And I may infer from that — — ?"

She clasped her hands with a gesture of despair.
"And they say these Englishmen think much of them-
selves! You will not believe it possible that a woman
should care for you! He hesitated even yet, until
she made a sudden movement towards the door, when
he seized her hand and kissed it. She drew it away
quickly ; checked him easily by begging him to excuse
her ; bowed ; and left the room.

He went out elated, and had walked as far as Port-
land Place before he began to consider what he should
say for himself at Cavendish Square, where Mary was
staying with Mrs. Phipson. At Fitzroy Square he had
been helped by the necessity of speaking French, in
which language he had found it natural and easy to say
many things which in English would have sounded
extravagant to him. He had kissed Aur^lie's hand,
as it were, in French. To kiss Mary's hand would, he
felt, be a ridiculous ceremony, unworthy of a civilized
Englishman. A proposal to jilt her, which was the
substance of his business with her now, was not easy
to frame acceptably in any language.

When he reached the house he found her with her
hat on and a workbag in her hand.

"I am waiting for Miss Cairns," she said, "She is
coming with me on an expedition. Guess what it is."

"I cannot. I did not know that Miss Cairns was in
town."

Love Among the Artists 2 1 1

"We have decided that the condition of Mr. Jack's
wardrobe is no longer tolerable. He is away at
Birmingham to-day; and we are going to make a
descent on his lodgings with a store of buttons and
darning cotton, and a bottle of benzine. We shall
make his garments respectable, and he will be none
the wiser. Now, Adrian, do not look serious. You
are worse than an old woman on questions of
propriety."

"It is a matter of taste," said Herbert, shrugging
his shoulders. "Is your expedition too important to be
postponed for half an hour? I want to speak to you
rather particularly."

"If you wish," said Mary slowly, her face lengthen-
ing a little. She was in the humor to sally out and
play a prank on Jack, not to sit down and be serious
with Herbert.

"It is possible," he said, noticing this with some
mortification, though it strung him up a little, too,
"that when you have heard what I have to say, you
will go on your expedition with a lighter heart.
Nevertheless, I am sorry to detain you."

"You need not apologize," she said, irritated. "I
am quite willing to wait, Adrian. What is the
matter?"

"Are you quite sure we shall not be disturbed here,
even by Miss Cairns?"

"If it is so particular as that, we had better go out
into the Square. I cannot very well barricade myself
in Mrs. Phipson' drawing room. There is hardly any-
body in the Square at this hour. ' *

"Very well," said Herbert, trying to repress a
sensation of annoyance which he also began to

2 12 Love Among the Artists

experience. They left the house together in silence;
opened the gate of the circular enclosure which
occupies the centre of Cavendish Square; and found
it deserted, except by themselves, and a few children.
Mary walked beside him with knitted brows, waiting
for him to begin.

"Mary: if I were now asking you for the first time
the question I put to you that day when we rowed on
the Serpentine, would you give me the same answer?"

She stopped, bewildered by this unexpected
challenge.

"If you had not put that question before to day,
would you put it at all?" she said, walking on again.

"For Heaven's sake," he said, angry at being
parried, "do not let us begin to argue. I did not mean
to reproach you."

Mary thought it better not to reply. Her temper
was so far under control that she could suppress the
bitter speeches which suggested themselves to her;
but she could not think of any soft answers, and so
had either to retort or be silent.

"I have noticed — or at least I fancy so ," he

said quietly, after a pause, "that our engagement has
not been so pleasant a topic between us of late as it
once was."

"I am perfectly ready to fulfil it," said Mary
steadfastly.

"So am I," said Adrian in the same tone. Another
interval of silence ensued.

"The question is," he said then, "whether you are
willing as well as ready. You would do me a cruel
injustice if, having promised me your heart, you were
to redeem that promise with your hand alone."

Love Among the Artists 213

"What have you to complain of, Adrian? I know
that you are sensitive; but I have taken such pains
to avoid giving you the least uneasiness during the
last two years that I do not think you can reasonably
reproach me. You agreed with me that my painting
was mere waste of time, and that I was right to give it
up."

"Since you no longer cared for it."

"I did not know that you felt sore about it."

"Nor do I, Mary."

"Then what is the matter?"

"Nothing is the matter, if you are satisfied."

"And is that all you had to say to me, Adrian?"
This with an attempt at gaiety.

Adrian mused awhile. "Mary," he said: "I wish
you in the first place to understand that I am not
jealous of Mr. Jack." She opened her eyes widely,
and looked at him. "But," he continued, "I never
was so happy with you as when we were merely
friends. Since that time, I have become your pro-
fessed lover; and Mr. Jack has succeeded to the
friendship which — without in the least intending it — I
left vacant. I would willingly change places with him
now."

"You ask me to break off the engagement, then,"
she said, half eager, half cautious.

"No. I merely feel bound to offer to release you
if you desire it. ' '

"I am ready to keep my promise," she rejoined
stubbornly.

"So you say. I do not mean that you will not keep
your word, but that your assurance is not given in a
manner calculated to make me very happy. I often

214 Love Among the Artists

used to warn you that you thought too highly of me,
Mary. You are revenging your own error on me
now by letting me see that you do not think me
worthy of the sacrifice you feel bound to make for
me."

"I never spoke of it as a sacrifice," said Mary,
turning red. "I took particular care — I mean that
you are groundlessly jealous of Mr. Jack. If our
engagement is to be broken off, Adrian, do not say
that I broke it. * '

"I do not think that /have broken it, Mary," said
Herbert, also reddening.

"Then I suppose it holds good," she said, A long
silence followed this. They walked once across the
grass, and half way back. There she stopped, and
faced him bravely. * 'Adrian, ' ' she said : * 'I beg your
pardon. I have been fencing unworthily with you.
Will you release me from the engagement, and let us
be friends as we were before?"

"You do wish it, then," he said, startled.

"I do; and I was hoping that 3''ou would propose it
yourself, and so be unable to reproach me with going
back from my word. That was mean; and I came
to my senses during that last turn across the square.
I pledge you my word that I only desire to be free to
remain unmarried. It has nothing to do with Mr.
Jack or with any other man. It is only that I should
not be a good wife to you. I do not think I will
marry at all. You are far too good for me, Adrian."

Herbert, ashamed of himself, stood looking at her,
unable to reply.

"I know I should have told you this frankly at first,"
she continued anxiously. "But my want of straight-

Love Among the Artists 215

forwardness only shows that I am not what you thought
I was. I should be a perpetual disappointment to you
if you married me. I hope I have not been too

sudden. I thought — that is, I fancied Well, I

have been thinking a little about Mdlle. Szczympliga.
If you remain friends with her, you will soon feel that
I am no great loss."

"I hope it is not on her account that "

*'No, no. It is solely for the reason I have given.
We are not a bit suited to one another. I assure you
that I have no other motive. Are you certain that
you believe me, Adrian? If you suspect me of want-
ing to make way for another attachment, or of being
merely huffed and jealous, you must think very ill of
me. ' '

Herbert's old admiration of her stirred within him,
intensified by the remorse which he felt for having
himself acted as she was blaming herself for acting.
He was annoyed too because now that circumstances
had tested them equally, she had done the right thing
and he the wrong thing. He had always been
sincere in his protests that she thought too highly of
him ; but he had never expected to come out of any
trial meanly in comparison with her. He thought of
Aur61ie with a sudden dread that perhaps she saw
nothing more in him than this situation had brought
out. But he maintained, by habit, all his old air of
thoughtful superiority as he took up the conversation.

"Mary," he said, earnestly: "I have never thought
more highly of you than I do at this moment. But
whatever you feel to be the right course for us is the
right course. I have not been quite unprepared for
this ; and since it will make you happy, I am content

2i6 Love Among the Artists

to lose you as a wife, provided T do not lose you as a
friend. ' '

"I shall always be proud to be your friend," she
said, offering him her hand. He took it, feeling quite
noble again. "Now we are both free," she continued;
"and I can wish for your happiness without feeling
heavily responsible for it. And, Adrian: when we
were engaged, you gave me some presents and wrote
me some letters. May I keep them?"

"I shall be very much hurt if you return them;
though I suppose you have a right to do so if you
wish."

"I will keep them then." They clasped hands once
more before she resumed in her ordinary tone, "I
wonder has Miss Cairns been waiting for me all this
time."

On the way back to the house they chatted busily
on indifferent matters. The servant who opened the
door informed them that Miss Cairns was within.
Mary entered ; but Herbert did not follow.

"If you do not mind," he said, "I think I had
rather not go in, ' ' This seemed natural after what
had passed. She smiled, and bade him goodbye.

"Goodbye, Mary," he said. As the door closed on
her, he turned towards Fitzroy Square; but a feeling
of being ill and out of conceit with himself made him
turn back to a restaurant in Oxford Street, where he
had a chop and a glass of wine. After this, his ardor
suddenly revived; and he hurried towards Aurdlie's
residence by way of Wells Street. He soon lost his
way in the labyrinth between Great Portland and
Cleveland Streets, and at last emerged at Portland
Road railway station. Knowing the way thence, he

Love Among the Artists 217

started afresh for Fitzroy Square. Before he had
gone many steps he was arrested by his mother's
voice calling him. She was coming from the station,
and overtook him in the Euston Road, at the corner
of Southampton Street.

"What on earth are you doing in this quarter of the
town?" he said, stopping, and trying to conceal how
unwelcome the interruption was.

"That is a question which you have no right
to ask, Adrian. People who have 'Where are you
going?' and 'What are you doing?' always in their
mouths are social and domestic nuisances, as I have
often told you. However, I am going to buy some
curtains in Tottenham Court Road. Since you
have set the example, may I now ask where you are
going?"

"I? I am not going anywhere in particular just at
present."

' ' I only asked because you stopped as if you wished
to turn down here. Do not let us stand in the street. "

She went on; and he accompanied her. Presently
she said:

"Have you any news?"

"No," he replied, after pretending to consider. "I
think not. Why?"

"I met Mary Sutherland with Miss Cairns in High
Street as I was coming to the train ; and she said that
you had something to tell me about her. ' '

"It is only that our engagement is broken off "

"Adrian!" she exclaimed, stopping so suddenly that
a man walking behind them stumbled against her.

"Beg pwor'n, mum," said he, civilly, as he passed
on.

2i8 Love Among the Artists

"Pray take care, mother," remonstrated Herbert
"Come on."

"Do not be impatient, Adrian. My dress is torn.
I believe English workmen are the rudest class in the
world. Will you hold my umbrella for one moment,
pleaseV

Adrian took the umbrella, and waited chafing.
When they started again, Mrs. Herbert walked
quickly, taking short steps.

"It is thoroughly disheartening," she said, "to find
that you have undone the only sensible thing you ever
did in your life. I thought your news would be that
you had arranged for the wedding. I think you had
better see Mary as soon as you can, and make up your
foolish quarrel. She is not a girl to be trifled with."

"Everything of that kind is at an end between Mary
and me. There is no quarrel. The affair is broken
off finally — completely — whether it pleases you or
not."

"Very well, Adrian. There is no occasion for you
to be angry. I am content, if you are. I merely say
that you have done a very foolish thing."

"You do not know what I have done. You know

absolutely " He checked himself and walked on

in silence.

"Adrian," said Mrs. Herbert, with dignity: "you
are going back to your childish habits, I think. You
are in a rage. ' '

"If I am," he replied bitterly, "you are the only
person alive who takes any pleasure in putting me
into one. I know that you consider me a fool. ' '

"I do not consider you a fool."

"At any rate, mother, you have such an opinion of

Love Among the Artists :ii9

me, that I would rather discuss my private affairs
with any stranger than with you. Where do you
intend to buy the curtains?"

Mrs. Herbert did not help him to change the sub-
ject. She remained silent for some time to compose
herself; for Adrian's remark had hurt her.

"I hope," she said at last, "that these musical
people have not brought about this quarrel — or breach,
or whatever it is. ' '

"Who are 'these musical people'?"

"Mr. Jack."

"He had nothing whatever to do with it. It was
Mary who proposed to break the engagement: not I."

"Mary! Oh! Well, it is your own fault: you
should have married her long ago. But why should
she object now more than another time? Has Made-
moiselle— the pianist — anything to do with it?"

"With Mary's withdrawing? No. How could it
possibly concern Mademoiselle Szczympliga — if it is of
her that you are speaking?"

"It is of her that I am speaking. I see she has
taught you the balked sneeze with which her name
begins. I call her Stchimpleetza, not having had the
advantage of her tuition. Where does she live?"

Herbert felt that he was caught, and frowned.
"She lives in Fitzroy Square," he said shortly.

"A-ah! Indeed!" said Mrs. Herbert. Then she
added sarcastically, "Do you happen to know that we
are within a minute's walk of Fitzroy Square?"

"I know it perfectly well. I am going there — to
see her. ' '

"Adrian," said his mother quickly, changing hei
tone: "you don't mean anything serious, I hope?"

220 Love Among the Artists

"You do not hope that I am trifling with her, do
you, mother?"

Mrs. Herbert looked at him, startled. "Do you
mean to say, Adrian, that you have thrown Mary over
because "

"Because it's well to be off with the old love, before
you are on with the new? You may put that con-
struction on it if you like, although I have told you
that it was Mary, and not I, who broke the engage-
ment. I had better tell you the whole truth now, to
avoid embittering our next meeting with useless com-
plaints. I am going to ask Mademoiselle Szczympliga
to be my wife. ' '

"You foolish boy! She will not acce-pt you. She is
making a fortune, and does not need to marry. ' '

"She may not need to. She wishes to: that is
enough for me. She knows my mind. I am not
going to change it."

"I suppose not. I know of old your obstinacy when
you are bent on ruining yourself. I have no doubt
that you will marry her, particularly as she is not
exactly the sort of person I should choose for a
daughter-in-law. Will you expect me to receive her?"

"I shall trouble your house no more when I am
married than I have done as a bachelor."

She shrank for a moment, taken by surprise by this
blow ; but she did not retort. They presently stopped
before the shop she wished to visit ; and as they stood
together near the entry, she made an effort to speak
kindly, and even put her hand caressingly on his arm.
"Adrian: do not be so headstrong. Just wait a little.
I do not say 'give her up.' But wait a little longer.
For my sake. ' '

Love Among the Artists 221

Adrian bent his brows and collected all his hardness
to resist this appeal. "Mother," he said: "I never
had a cherished project yet that you did not seek to
defeat by sarcasms, by threats, and failing those, by
cajolery. " Mrs. Herbert quickly took her hand away,
and drew back. "And it has always turned out that
I was right and that you were wrong. You would not
allow that I could ever be a painter; and yet I am
now able to marry without your assistance, by my
success as a painter. I took one step which gained
your approval — my engagement to Mary. Had I
married her, I should be this day a wretched man.
Now that I have the happiness to be loved by a lady
whom all Europe admires, you would have me repudi-
ate her, for no other reason that I can see under
Heaven than that you make it your fixed principle to
thwart me in everything. I am sorry to have to tell
you plainly that I have come to look upon your
influence as opposed to my happiness. It has been at
the end of my tongue often ; and you have forced me
to let it slip at last."

Mrs. Herbert listened attentively during this speech
and for some seconds afterwards. Then she roused
herself ; made a gesture of acquiescence without open-
ing her lips ; and went into the shop, leaving him still
angry, yet in doubt as to whether he had spoken
wisely. But the interview had excited him ; and from
it and all other goading thoughts he turned to
anticipations of his reception by Aur^lie. Short
though the distance was he drove to her in a hansom.

"Can I see Miss Szczympliga again?" he said to the
servant, who now received him with interest, guessing
that he came courting.

222 Love Among the Artists

"She's in the drawing-room, sir. You may go
in."

He went in and foimd Aur^lie standing near the
window in a black silk dress, which she had put on
since his visit in the morning.

"Mr. 'Erberts, mum;" said the servant, lingering
at the door to witness their meeting. Aurelie turned ;
made him a stately bow; sat down; and by a gesture,
invited him to sit also. He obeyed; but when the
door was shut, he got up and approached her.

"Aurelie: she begged me to break the engagement,
although, as you bade me, I offered to fulfil it. I am
perfectly free — only for the instant, I hope." She
rose gravely. "Mademoiselle Szczympliga, " he added,
changing his familiarly eager manner to one of
earnest politeness, "will you do me the honor to
become my wife?"

"With pleasure, Monsieur Herbert, if my mother
approves. ' *

He was not sure what he ought to do next. After
a moment's hesitation, he stooped and kissed her
hand. Catching a roguish expression in her face as
he looked up, he clasped her in his arms, and kissed
her repeatedly.

"Enough, Monsieur," she said, laughing and dis-
engaging herself. He then sat down, thinking that
she had behaved with admirable grace, and he him-
self with becoming audacity. "I thought you would
expect me to be very cold and ceremonious," she
said, resuming her seat composedly. "In England
one must always be solemn, I said to myself. But
indeed you have as little self-command as anyone.
Besides, you have not yet spoken to my mother "

Love Among the Artists 223

"You do not anticipate any objection from her, I
hope."

"How do I know? And your parents, what of them?
I have seen your mother: she is like a great lady. It
is only in England that such handsome mothers are to
be seen. She is widowed, is she not?"

"Yes. I have no father. I wish to Heaven I had
no mother either."

"Oh, Monsieur Herbert! You are very wrong to
say so. And such a gracious lady, too! Fie!"

"Aurdlie: I am not jesting. Can you not under-
stand that a mother and son may be so different in
their dispositions that neither can sympathize with the
other? It is my great misfortune to be such a son. I
have found sympathetic friendship, encouragement,
respect, faith in my abilities and love" — here he
slipped his arm about her waist; and she murmured a
remonstrance — "from strangers upon whom I had no
claim. In my mother I found none of them: she felt
nothing for me but a contemptuous fondness which I
did not care to accept. She is a clever woman,
impatient of sentiment, and fond of her own way. My
father, like myself, was too diffident to push himself
arrogantly through the world ; and she despised him
for it, thinking him a fool. When she saw that I was
like him, she concluded that I, too, was a fool, and
that she must arrange my life for me in some easy,
lucrative, genteel, brainless, conventional way. I
hardly ever dared to express the most modest aspira-
tion, or assert the most ordinary claims to respect, for
fear of exciting her quiet ridicule. She did not know
how much her indifference tortured me, because she
had no idea of any keener sensitiveness than her own.

224 Love Among the Artists

Everybody commits follies from youth and want of
experience ; and I hope most people humor and spare
such follies as tenderly as they can. My mother did
not even laugh at them. She saw through them and
stamped them out with open contempt. She taught
me to do without her consideration; and I learned the
lesson. My friends will tell you that I am a bad son
— never that she is a bad mother, or rather no mother.
She has the power of bringing out everything that is
hasty and disagreeable in my nature by her presence
alone. This is why I wish I were wholly an orphan,
and why I ask you, who are more to me than all the
world besides, to judge me by what you see of me, and
not by the reports you may hear of my behavior
towards my own people."

"Oh, it is frightful. My God! To hate your
mother! If you do not love her, how will you love
your wife?"

"With all the love my mother rejected, added to what
you have yourself inspired. But I am glad you are sur-
prised. You must be very fond of your own mother. ' '

"That is so different," said Aur^lie with a shrug.
"Mother and son is a sacred relation. Mothers and
daughters are fond of one another in an ordinary way
as a matter of course. You must ask her pardon.
Suppose she should curse you. ' '

"Parental curses are out of fashion in England,"
said Adrian, amused, and yet a little vexed. "You
will understand us better after a little while. Let us
drop the subject of my old grievances. Are you fond
of pictures, Aur^lie?"

"You are for ever asking me that. Yes, I am very
fond of some pictures. I have seen very few. ' '

Love Among the Artists 225

"But you have been in Dresden, in Munich, in
Paris?"

"Yes. But I was playing everywhere — I had not a
moment to myself. I intended to go to the gallery in
Dresden ; but I had to put it off. Are there any good
pictures at Munich?"

"Have you not seen them?"

"No. I did not know of them. When I was in
Paris, I went one day to the Louvre ; but I could only
stay half an hour; and I did not see much. I used to
be able to draw very well. Is it hard to paint?"

"It is the most difficult art in the world, Aur^lie."

"You are laughing at me. Why, there are not a
dozen players — real players — in Europe; and every
city is full of painters."

''Real ipainters, Aur^lie?"

"Ah! perhaps not. I suppose there are second-rate
painters, just like second-rate players. Is it not so,
Me — Meestare Adrian?"

"You must not call me that, Aur^lie. People who
like each other never say 'Mister.' You say you used
to draw?"

"Yes. Soldiers, and horses, and people whom we
knew. Shall I draw you?"

"By all means. How shall I sit? Profile?"

"You need not sit for me. I am not going to copy
you : I am only going to make a little likeness. I can
draw dark men as well as fair. You shall see."

She took a piece of music, and set to work with a
pencil on the margin. In a minute she shewed him
two scratchy sketches, vilely drawn, but amusingly
like Herbert and Jack.

"I can just recognize myself," he said, examining

226 Love Among the Artists

them; "but that one of Jack is capital. Ha! ha!"
Then he added sadly, ''Professed painter as I am, I
could not do that. Portraiture is my weak point. But
I would not have left Dresden without seeing the
Madonna di San Sisto. "

"Bah! Looking at pictures cannot make me draw
well, no more than listening to others could make me
play. But indeed I would have gone to the gallery
had I foreseen that I should meet you. My God ! do
not kiss me so suddenly. It is droll to think of how
punctilious and funereal you were the other day ; and
now you have less manners than a Cossack. Are you
easily offended, Monsieur Adrian?"

"I hope not," he replied, taken aback by a change
in her manner as she asked the question. "If you
mean easily offended by you, certainly not. Easily
hurt or easily pleased, yes. But not offended, my
darling. ' '

"Mai — maida — what is that that you said in
English?"

' ' Nothing. You can look for it in the dictionary when
I am gone. But what am I to be offended at?"

"Only this. I want you to go away."

"So soon!"

"Yes. I have not said anything to my mother
yet. She will question me the moment she sees me
in this dress. You must not be here then. To-morrow
you will call on her at four o'clock; and all will be
well. Now go. I expect her every moment."

"May I not see you before to-morrow afternoon?"

"Why should you? I go to-night to play at the
house of a great dame, Lady Geraldine Porter, who
is the daughter of a nobleman and the wife of a

Love Among the Artists 227

baronet. My mother loves to be among such people.
She will tell you all about our ancestry to-morrow."

"Aurelie: I shall meet you there. Lady Geraldine
is mother's cousin and close friend, on which
account I have not sought much after her. But she
told me once that she would waste no more invitations
on me — I never accepted them — but that I was wel-
come to come when I pleased. I shall please to-
night, Aurelie. Hurrah!"

"Heaven! you are all fire and flame in a moment.
You will remember that at Lady Geraldine's we are to
be as we were before to-day. You will behave
yourself?"

**0f course."

"Now go, I beg of you. If you delay, you will —
what is the matter now?"

"It has just come into my mind that my mother may

be at Lady Geraldine's. If so, would you mind

In short, do not let Madame Szczympliga speak to her
of our engagement. Of course you will say nothing
yourself. ' '

"Not if you do not wish me to," said Aurelie, draw-
ing back a step.

"You see, my darling, as I have not yet spoken to
your mother, it would be a great breach of etiquette
for you or Madame to pretend to know my intentions.
That is nonsense, of course; but you know how formal
we are in this country. ' '

"Oh, is that the reason? I am glad you told me;
and I shall be very careful. So will my mother.
Now go quickly. Au revoir.''^

CHAPTER XII

At this time, Jack was richer than he had ever been
before. His works were performed at the principal
concerts: he gave lessons at the rate of fifteen guineas
a dozen, and had more applications for lessons at that
rate than he had time to accept : publishers tempted
him with offers of blank cheques for inane drawing-
room ballads with easy accompaniments. Every even-
ing he went from his lodging in Church Street to some
public entertainment at which he had to play or con-
duct, or to the house of some lady of fashion who
considered her reception incomplete without him ; for
•'society" found relief and excitement in the eccentric
and often rude manner of the Welsh musician, and
recognized his authority to behave as he pleased. At
such receptions he received fresh invitations, some of
which he flatly declined. Others he accepted, pre-
senting himself duly, except when he forgot the invita-
tion. When he did forget, and was reproached by the
disappointed hostess, he denied all knowledge of her
entertainment, and said that had he been asked he
should have come, as he never forgot anything. He
made no calls, left no cards, and paid little attention
to his dress.

One afternoon he went to the house of Mr. Phipson,
who had been of service to him at the Antient
Orpheus. Among the guests there was Lady Geral-
dine Porter, Mrs. Herbert's friend, whom Jack did not

228

Love Among the Artists 229

know. She was a lady of strong common sense,
resolutely intolerant of the eccentricities and affecta-
tions of artists. No man who wore a velveteen jacket
and long hair had a chance of an introduction to or an
invitation from Lady Geraldine. These people, she
said, can behave themselves properly if they like. We
have to learn manners before we go into society: let
them do the same, since they are so clever. As to
Jack, he was her pet aversion. Society, in her opinion,
had one clear duty to Jack — to boycott him until he
conformed to its reasonable usages. And she set an
unavailing example, by refusing all intercourse with
him in the drawing-rooms where they frequently
found themselves together.

When the inevitable entreaty from Mrs. Phipson
brought Jack to the piano, Lady Geraldine was sitting
close behind him and next to Mrs. Herbert. There
was a buzz of conversation going on ; and he struck a
few chords to stop it. Those who affected Jack-worship
h'shed at the talkers, and assumed an expression of
enthusiastic expectation. The buzz subsided, but did
not quite cease. Jack waited patiently, thrumming
the keyboard. Still there was not silence. He turned
round, and saw Lady Geraldine speaking earnestly to
Mrs. Herbert, heedless of what was passing in the
room. He waited still, with his body twisted towards
her and his right hand behind him on the keys, until
her unconscious breach of good manners, becoming
generally observed, brought about an awful pause.
Mrs. Herbert hastily warned her by a stealthy
twitch. She stopped; looked up; took in the situa-
tion; and regarded Jack's attitude with marked dis-
pleasure.

230 Love Among the Artists

"You mustn't talk," he said, corrugating his nose
"You must listen to me."

Lady Geraldine's color rose slightly, a phenomenon
which no one present had ever witnessed before. "I
beg your pardon, " she said, bowing. Jack appreciated
the dignity of her tone and gesture. He nodded
approvingly — to her disappointment, for she had
intended to abash him — and, turning to the piano,
gave out his theme in the apposite form of a stately
minuet. Upon this he improvised for twenty-five
minutes, to the delight of the few genuine amateurs
present. The rest, though much fatigued, were loud
in admiration of Jack's genius; and many of them
crowded about him in the hope of inducing him to give
a similar performance at their own houses.

"Oh, how I adore music!" said one of them to him
later on, when he came and sat by her. "If I were
only a great genius like you!" Instead of replying he
looked indignantly at her. "I really do not see why
I am not to be supposed capable of appreciating any-
thing," she continued, protesting against his expres-
sion. "I am very fond of music."

"Nobody says you are not," said Jack. "You are
fond enough of music when it walks in its silver
slippers — as Mr. By-ends was fond of religion."

The lady, who was a born Irish Protestant, a Roman
Catholic by conversion, a sort of freethinker, after the
fashionable broad-church manner, by habit, by con-
viction nothing at all, and very superstitious by
nature, always suspected some personal application in
allusions to religion. She looked askance at him, and
said pettishly, "I wonder you condescend to converse
with me at all, since you have such a low opinion of me. ' '

Love Among the Artists 231

"I like talking to you — except when you go into
rhapsodies over music. Do you know why?"

"I am sure I don't," she said, with a little laugh
and a glance at him. "Why?"

"Because you are a chatterbox," said Jack, relish-
ing the glance. "Don't think, madame, that it is
because you are a kindred spirit and musical. I hate
musical people. Who is that lady sitting next Mrs.
Herbert?"

"What! You don't know! That explains your
temerity. She is Lady Geraldine Porter; and you are
the first mortal that ever ventured to rebuke her. It
was delicious."

"Is that the lady who would not have me at her
house?"

"Yes, You have revenged yourself, though."

"Plenty of fools will say so; and therefore I am
sorry I spoke to her. However, I cannot be expected
to know trifles of this kind, though I am in the con-
fidence of pretty Mrs. Saunders. Have you any
wicked stories to tell me to-day?"

"No. Except what everybody knows, and what I
suppose you knew before anybody — about your friend
Miss Sutherland and Adrian Herbert."

"What about them? Tell me nothing about Miss
Sutherland unless you are sure it is true. I do not
want to hear anything unpleasant of her."

"You need not be so cross," said Mrs. Saunders
coolly. "You can ask her for the particulars. The
main fact is that Mr. Herbert, who was engaged to
her, is going to marry Szczympliga, the pianist."

"Pshaw! That is an old story. He has been seen
speaking to her once or twice; and of course "

232 Love Among the Artists

"Now, Mr. Jack, let me tell you that it is not the old
story, which was mere gossip. I never repeat gossip.
It is a new story, and a true one. Old 'Madame
Szczymplga told me all about it. Her daughter
actually refused Mr. Herbert because of his former
engagement; and then he went straight to Mary
Sutherland, and asked her to give up her claim — which
of course she had to do, poor girl. Then he went
back to the Szczympliga, and prevailed with her.
Miss Sutherland, with all her seriousness, shewed that
she knows her metier as well as the most frivolous of
her sex — as myself, if you like ; for she set to work at
once to express her remorse at having jilted him.
How transparent all our little artifices are after all,
Mr. Jack!"

"I don't believe a word of it."

"You shall see. I did not believe it myself at first.
But Miss Sutherland told me in this very room the
day before yesterday that Mr. Herbert was no longer
engaged to her, and that she particularly wished it to
be understood that if there was any blame in the
matter, it was due to her and not to him. Of course I
took in the situation at once. She said it admirably,
almost implying that she was magnanimously eager to
shield poor Adrian Herbert from my busy tongue.
Poor Mary ! she is well rid of him if she only knew it.
I wonder who will be the next candidate for the post
he has deserted!" Mrs. Saunders, as she wondered,
glanced at Jack's eyes.

"Why need she fill it at all? Every woman's head
is not occupied with stuff of that sort. ' ' Jack spoke
gruffly, and seemed troubled. After a few moments,
during which she leaned back lazily, and smiled at

Love Among the Artists 233

him, he rose. "Goodbye," he said. "You are not
very amusing to-day. I suppose you are telling this
fine stopy of yours to whoever has time to listen to it. ' '

"Not at all, Mr. Jack. Everybody is telling it to
me. I am quite tired of it. "

Jack uttered a grunt, and left her. Meeting Mrs.
Herbert, he made his bow, and asked where Miss
Sutherland was.

"She is in the conservatory," said Mrs. Herbert,
hesitating. "But I think she will be engaged there
for some time." He thanked her, and wandered
through the rooms for five minutes. Then, his
patience being exhausted, he went into the conserva-
tory, where he saw Lady Geraldine apparently argu-
ing some point with Mary, who stood before her
looking obstinately downward.

"It is quixotic nonsense," Lady Geraldine was say-
ing as Jack entered. "He has behaved very badly;
and you know it as well as I do, only you feel bound
to put yourself in a false position to screen him."

"That is where I disagree with you. Lady Geral-
dine. I think my position the true one ; and the one
you would have me take, the false one."

"My dear, listen to me. Do you not see that your
efforts to exculpate Adrian only convince people of
his meanness? The more you declare you deserted
him, the more they are certain that it is a case of sour
grapes, and that you are making the common excuse
of girls who are jilted. Don't be angry with me —
nothing but brutal plain speaking will move you.
You told Belle Woodward — Belle Saunders, I mean —
that the fault was yours. Do you suppose she
believed you?"

234 Love Among the Artists

"Of course,** said Mary, vehemently, but evidently
shocked by this view of the case.

"Then you are mistaken," said Jack, advancing.
**She has just given me the very version that this
lady has so sensibly put to you. ' '

Lady Geraldine turned and looked at him in a way
that would have swept an ordinary man speechless
from the room.

Mary, accustomed to him, did not think of resenting
his interference, and said, after considering distressedly
for a moment, "But it is not my fault if Mrs. Saun-
ders chooses to say what is not true. I cannot adapt
what has really happened to what she or anybody else
may think."

"I don't know what has really happened," said Jack.
"But you can hold your tongue; and that is the
proper thing for you to do. It is none of their
business. It is none of yours, either, to whitewash
Herbert, whether he needs it or not. I beg your
pardon, ma'am," he added, turning ceremoniously to
Lady Geraldine. "I should have retired on seeing
Miss Sutherland engaged, had I not accidentally over-
heard the excellent advice you were giving her."
With that, he made her his best old-fashioned bow,
and went away.

"Well, really!" said Lady Geraldine, staring after
him. "Is this the newest species of artistic affecta-
tion, pray? It used to be priggishness, or loutish-
ness, or exquisite sensibility. But now it seems
to be outspoken common sense; and instead of
being a relief, it is the most insufferable affecta-
tion of all. My dear: I hope I have not distressed
you.*'

Love Among the Artists 235

*'Oh, this world is not fit for any honest woman to
live in," cried Mary, indignantly. "It has some base
construction to put on every effort to be just and tell
the truth. If I had done my best to blacken Adrian
after deserting him, I should be at no loss now for
approval and sympathy. As it is, I am striving to do
what is right; and I am made to appear contemptible
for my pains. ' '

"It is not a very honest world, I grant you," said
Lady Geraldine quietly; "but it is not so bad as you
think. Young people quarrel with it because it will
not permit them to be heroic in season and out of
season. You have made a mistake; and you want to
be heroic out of season on the strength, or rather the
weakness of that mistake. I, who know you well, do
not suppose, as Belle Saunders does, that you are
consciously making a virtue of a necessity; but I
think there is a little spiritual pride in your resolution
not to be betrayed into reproaching Adrian. In fact,
all quixotism is tainted with spiritual vain glory; and
that is the reason that no one likes it, or even admires
it heartily, in real life. Besides, my dear, nobody
really cares a bit how Adrian behaved or how you
behaved: they only care about the facts; and the
facts, I must say, are plain enough. You and Adrian
were unwise enough to enter into a long engagement.
You got tired of one another — wait till I have
finished; and then protest your fill. Adrian went
behind your back and proposed to another woman,
who was more honorable than he, and refused to let
him smuggle her into your place. Then, instead of
coming to demand his freedom straightforwardly, he
came to fish for it — to entrap you into offering it to

236 Love Among the Artists

him; and he succeeded. The honest demand came
from you instead of from him."

"But I fished, too," said Mary, piteously. "I was
only honest when he drove me to it."

"Of course," said Lady Geraldine, impatiently.
"You are not an angel; and the sooner you reconcile
yourself to the few failings which you share with the
rest of us, the happier you will be. None of us are
honest in such matters except when our conscience
drives us to it. The honestest people are only those
who feel the constraint soonest and strongest. If you
had held out a little longer, Adrian might have fore-
stalled you. I say he might; but, in my opinion, he
would most probably fastened a quarrel on you —
about Jack or somebody else — and got out of his
engagement that way. ' '

"Oh, no; for he spoke about Mr. Jack, and said
expressly that he did not mind him at all ; but that if
he had brought about any change in my feelings, I

need not feel bound by the eng There : I know

that is an additional proof of his faithlessness in your
eyes."

"It is a proof of what a thorough fool a man must
be, to expect you to take siich a bait. 'Please release
me, Mr. Herbert, that I may gratify my fancy for M^-.
Jack.' That is such a likely thing for a woman to
say!"

"I hope you are not in earnest about Mr. Jack,
Lady Geraldine. '

"I am not pleased about him, Mary. These friend-
ships stand in a girl's way. Of course I know you are
not in love with him — at least, accustomed as I am to
the folly of men and women about one another, even I

Love Among the Artists 237

cannot conceive such infatuation; but, Mary, do not
flourish your admiration for his genius (I suppose he
has genius) in the faces of other men."

"I will go back to Windsor, and get clear of Mr.
Jack and Mr. Herbert both. I wish people would
mind their own business. ' '

"They never do, dear. But it is time for us to go.
Have I dashed your spirits very much?"

"Not at all," replied Mary absently.

"Then, if you are quite gay, you need not object to
come somewhere with me this evening."

"You mean to go out somewhere? I cannot. Lady
Geraldine. I should only be a wet blanket. I am
not in the vein for society to-day. Thank you, all the
same,^for trying to rescue me from my own thoughts."

"Nonsense, Mary. You must come. It is only to
the theatre. Mrs. Herbert and we two will make a
quiet party. After what has passed you cannot meet
her too soon; and I know she is anxious to shew that
she does not mean to take Adrian's part against you."

"Oh, I have no doubt of that. So far from it, that I
am afraid Adrian will think I am going to her to com-
plain of him. There," she added, seeing that this last
doubt was too much for Lady Geraldine 's patience:
"I will come. I know I am very hard to please ; but
indeed I did not feel in the humor for theatre -going. "

"You will be ready at half -past seven?"

Mary consented ; sighed; and left the conservatory
dejectedly with Lady Geraldine, who, on returning to
the drawing-room had another conference with Mrs.
Herbert.

Meanwhile Jack, after chatting a while with Mrs.
Saunders, prepared to depart. He had put off his

238 Love Among the Artists

afternoon's work in order to be at Mr. Phipson's
disposal ; and he felt indolent and morally lax in con-
sequence, stopping, as he made his way to the door, to
speak to several ladies who seldom received even a
nod from him. On the stairs he met the youngest
Miss Phipson, aged five years; and he lingered a while
to chat with her. He then went down to the hall, and
was about to leave the house when he heard his name
pronounced sweetly behind him. He turned and saw
Lady Geraldine, at whom he gazed in unconcealed
surprise.

"I forgot to thank you for your timely aid in the
conservatory," she said, in her most gracious manner.
"I wonder whether you will allow me to ask for
another and greater favor."

"What is it?" said Jack, suspiciously.

"Mrs. Herbert," replied Lady Geraldine, with a
polite simulation of embarrassment, "is going to make
use of my box at the theatre this evening; and she
has asked me to bring Miss Sutherland there. We are
very anxious that you should accompany us, if you
have no important engagement. As I am the nominal
owner of the box, may I beg you to come with us."

Jack was not satisfied : the invitation was unaccount-
able to him, as he knew perfectly well what Lady
Geraldine thought of him. Instead of answering, he
stood looking at her in a perplexity which expressed
itself unconsciously in hideous grimaces.

"Will you allow me to send my carriage to your
house," she said, when the pause became unbearable.

"Yes. No. I'll join you at the theatre. Will that
do?"

Lady Geraldine, resenting his manner, put strong

Love Among the Artists 239

constraint on herself, as, with careful courtesy she
told him the name of the theatre and the hour of the
performance. He listened to her attentively, but
gave no sign of assent. When she had finished speak-
ing, he looked absently up the staircase ; shewed his
teeth ; and hammered a tune on his chin with the edge
of his hat. The strain on Lady Geraldine's for-
bearance became very great indeed.

"May we depend on your coming?" she said at last.

"Why do you want me to come?" he exclaimed
suddenly. "You don't like me. "

Lady Geraldine drew back a step. Then, losing
patience, she said sharply, "What answer do you
expect me to make to that, Mr. Jack?"

"None," said he with mock gravity. "It is
unanswerable. From Capharsalama on eagle wings
I fly." And after making her another bow, he left
the house chuckling. As he disappeared, Mrs.
Herbert came downstairs and joined Lady Geraldine.

"Well," she said. "Is Mary to be made happy at
our expense?"

"Yes," said Lady Geraldine. "I bearded the
monster here, and got what I deserved for my pains.
The man is a savage."

"I told you what to expect."

"That did not make it a bit pleasanter. You had
better come and dine with me. Sir John is going to
Greenwich; and we may as well enjoy ourselves
together up to the last moment."

That evening Mary Sutherland reluctantly accom-
panied Mrs. Herbert and Lady Geraldine to the
theatre, to witness the first performance in England
of a newly translated French drama. When she had

240 Love Among the Artists

been a few minutes seated in their box, she was sur-
prised by the entry of Jack, whose black silk kerchief,
which he persisted in wearing instead of a necktie,
was secured with a white pin, shewing that he had
dressed himself with unusual care.

"Mr. Jack!" exclaimed Mary.

"Just so, Mr. Jack," he said, hanging his only hat,
which had suffered much from wet weather and bad
usage, on a peg behind the door. "Did you not
expect him?"

Mary, about to say no, hesitated, and glanced at
Lady Geraldine.

"I see you did not," said Jack, placing his chair
behind hers. "A surprise, eh?"

"An agreeable surprise," said Mrs. Herbert
smoothly, with her fan before her lips.

"An accidental one," said Lady Geraldine. I for-
got to tell Miss Sutherland that you had been good
enough to promise to come."

"Mrs. Herbert is laughing at me," said Jack, good-
hum oredly. "So are you. It is you who were good
enough to ask me, not I who was good enough to
come. Listen to the band. Those eighteen or twenty
bad players cost more than six good ones would, and
are not half so agreeable to listen to. Do you hear
what they are playing? Can you imagine anyone
writing such stuff?"

"It certainly sounds exceedingly ugly; but I am
notoriously unmusical, so my opinion is not worth
anything."

"Still, so far as you can judge, you don't like it?"

"Certainly not."

"I am beginning to like it," said Mrs. Herbert,

Love Among the Artists 241

coolly. ' ' I am quite aware that it is one of your own
compositions — or some arrangement of one."

"Ha! ha! Souvenirs de Jack, they call it. This is
what a composer has to suffer whenever he goes to a
public entertainment, Lady Geraldine, "

"In revenge for which, he ungenerously lays traps
for others, Mr. Jack."

"You are right," said Jack, suddenly becoming
moody, "It was ungenerous; but I shared the dis-
comfiture. There they go at my fantasia. Accursed

be the man Hark ! The dog has taken it upon

himself to correct the harmony. ' ' He ceased speak-
ing, and leaned forward on his elbows, grinding his
teeth and muttering. Mary, in low spirits herself,
made an effort to soothe him.

"Surely you do not care about such a trifle as that,"
she began. "What harm "

"You call it a trifle," he said, interrupting her
threateningly.

"Certainly, ' ' interposed Lady Geraldine, in ironically
measured tones. "A composer such as you can afford
to overlook an ephemeral travesty to which nobody is
listening. Were I in your place, I would not suffer a
thought of resentment to ruffle the calm surface of my
contempt for it. ' '

"Wouldn't you?" said Jack, sarcastically. "Tell me
one thing. You are very rich — as rich in money as I
am in music. Would you like to be robbed of a
sovereign?"

"I am not fond of being robbed at all, Mr. Jack,"

"Aha! Neither am I. You wouldn't miss the
sovereign — people would think you stingy for thinking
about it. Perhaps I can afford to be misrepresented

242 Love Among the Artists

by a rascally fiddler for a few nights here as well as
you can afford the pound. But I don't like it."

"You are always unanswerable," said Lady Geral-
dine, good humoredly.

Jack stood up and looked round the theatre. "All
the world and his wife are here to-night," he said.
"That white-haired gentleman hiding at the back of
the balcony is the father of an old pupil of mine — a
man cursed with an ungovernable temper. His name
is Brailsford. The youth with the eye-glass in the
stalls is a critic : he called me a promising young com-
poser the other day. Who is that coming into the box
nearly opposite? The Szczympliga, is it not? I see
Madame 's topknot coming through the inner gloom.
She takes the best seat, of course, just as naturally
as if she was a child at her first pantomime. There's
a handsome gentleman with a fair beard dimly visible
behind. It must be Master Adrian. He has a queer
notion of life — that chap," he added, forgetting that
he was in the presence of "that chap's" mother.

Mrs. Herbert looked round gravely at him; and
Lady Geraldine frowned. He did not notice them:
he was watching Mary, who had shrunk for a moment
behind the curtain, but was now sitting in full view of
Herbert, looking straight at the stage, from which the
curtain had just gone up.

Nothing more was said in the box until, at a few
words pronounced behind the scenes by a strange
voice. Jack uttered an inarticulate sound, and stood up.
Then there came upon the stage a lady, very pretty,
very elegantly dressed, a little bold in her manner, a
little over-roughed, fascinating because of these slight
excesses, but stamped by them as foreign to the

Love Among the Artists 243

respectable society into which she was supposed to
have intruded.

"Absurd!" said Mary suddenly, after gazing
incredulously at the actress for a moment. "It cannot
be. And yet I verily believe it is. Lady Geraldine:
is not that Madge Brailsford?"

"I really think it is," said Lady Geraldine, using her
opera glass. "How shockingly she is painted! And
yet I don't believe it is, either. That woman is
evidently very clever, which Madge never was, so far
as I could see. And the voice is quite different."

"Oho!" said Jack. "It was I who found that voice
for her. ' '

"Then it zV Madge," said Mary.

"Of course it is. Rub your eyes and see for your-
self." Mary looked and looked, as if she could hardly
believe it yet. At the end of the act, the principal
performers, including Magdalen, were called before
the curtain and heartily applauded. Jack, though
contemptuous of popular demonstrations, joined in
this, making as much noise as possible, and impatiently
bidding Mary take off her gloves, that she might clap
her hands with more effect. A moment afterwards,
there was a hasty knocking at the door of the box.
Mary looked across the theatre; saw that Adrian's
chair was vacant; and turned red. Jack opened the
door, and admitted, not Adrian, but Mr. Brailsford,
who hurried to the front of the box; shook Lady
Geraldine's hand nervously; made a hasty bow right
and left to Mary and Mrs. Herbert; and, after making
as though he had something particular to say, sat
down in Jack's chair and said nothing. He was
greatly agitated.

244 Love Among the Artists

"Well, Mr. Brailsford, " said Lady Geraldine, smil-
ing. "Dare I congratulate you?"

"Not a word — not a word," he said, as if he were
half-suffocated. "I beg your pardon for coming into
your box. I am a broken man — disgraced by my own
daughter. My favorite daughter, sir — madame — I beg
your pardon again. You can tell this young lady that
she was my favorite daughter,"

"But you must not take her brilliant success in this
way," said Lady Geraldine gently, looking at him
with surprise and pity. "And remember that you
have other girls. ' '

"Psha! Whish-h-h!" hissed the old gentleman,
throwing up his hand and snapping his fingers.
"They are all born fools — like their mother. SJie is
like me, the only one that is like me. Did you ever
see such impudence? A girl bought up as she was,
walking out of a house in Kensington Palace Gardens
on to the stage, and playing a Parisian — a French —
Gad bless me, a drab ! to the life. It was perfection.
I've seen everybody that ever acted — years before
your ladyship was born. I remember Miss O'Neill,
aye, and Mrs. Jordan; Mars, Rachel, Piccolomini!
she's better than any of 'em, except Miss O'Neill — I
was young in her time. She wouldn't be kept from
it. I set my face against it. So did her mother — who
could no more appreciate her than a turnip could. So
did we all. We locked her up; we took her money
from her; I threatened to disown her — and so I will
too; but she had her way in spite of us all. Just like
me: exactly like me. Why, when I was her age, I
cared no more for my family than I did for Buona-
parte. It's in her blood. I should have been on the

Love Among the Artists 245

stage myself only it's a blackguard profession; and a
man who can write tragedy does not need to act it. I
will turn over some of my old manuscripts; and she
shall show the world what her old father can do.
And did you notice how self-possessed she was? I
saw the nerves under it. I felt them. Nervousness
always played the devil with me. I tell you, madame
— and I am qualified to speak on the subject — that she
walks the stage and gives out her lines in the true old
style. You don't know these things, Miss Mary: you
are too young: you never saw great acting. But I
know. I had lessons from the great Young: Edmund
Kean was a mountebank beside him. I was the best pupil
of Charles Mayne Young, and of little Dutch Sam —
but that was another matter. No true lady would
paint her face and make an exhibition of herself on
a public stage for money. Still, it is a most extra-
ordinary thing that a young girl like that, without any
teaching or preparation, should walk out of a drawing
room on to the stage, and take London by storm."

"But has she not had some little experience in
the provinces?" said Mary.

"Certainly not," said Mr. Brailsford impatiently.
"Strolling about with a parcel of vagabond panto-
mimists is not experience — not proper experience for
a young lady. She is the first Brailsford that ever
played for money in a public theatre. She is not a
Brailsford at all. I have forbidden her to use the
name she's disgraced."

"Come," said Lady Geraldine. "You are proud of
her. You know you are."

"I am not. I have refused to see her. I have dis-
owned her. If I caught one of her sisters coming to

246 Love Among the Artists

witness this indecent French play of which she is the
life and soul — what would it be without her, Lady
Geraldine ? Tell me that. ' '

"It would be the dullest business imaginable."

"Ha! ha!" cried Brailsford, with a triumphant
gesture: "I should think so. Dull as ditch water.
Her voice alone would draw all London to listen.
Perhaps you think that I taught her to speak. I tell
you, Mrs. Herbert, I would have slain her with my
own hand as soon as trained her for such a profession.
Who taught her then? Why "

"I did," said Jack. Mr. Brailsford, who had not
noticed his presence before, stared at him, and
stiffened as he did so.

"I believe you are already acquainted with Mr.
Jack," said Lady Geraldine, watching them with
some anxiety.

"You see what she has made of herself," said Jack,
looking hard at him. "I helped her to do it: you
opposed her. Which of us was in the right?"

"I will not go into that question with you, sir," said
Mr. Brailsford, raising his voice, and waving his glove.
"I do not approve of my daughter's proceedings."
He turned from Jack to Mrs. Herbert, and made a
brave effort to chat with her with a jaunty air. "A
distinguished audience, to-night. I think I saw some-
where in the house, your son, not the least dis-
tinguished of us. Painting is a noble art. I remember
when painters did not stand as well in society as they
do now; but never in my life have I failed in respect
for them. Never. A man is the better for contem-
plating a great picture. Your son has an enviable
career before him."

Love Among the Artists 247

"So I am told.'

"Not a doubt of it. He is a fine young man — as he
indeed could not fail to be with such an inheritance of
personal graces and mental endowments."

"He is very like his father."

"Possibly, madame," said Mr. Brailsford, bowing.
"But I never saw his father."

"Whatever his career may be, I shall have little part
in it. I did not encourage him to become an artist. I
opposed his doing so as well as I could. I was mis-
taken, I suppose : it is easier than I thought to become
a popular painter. But children never forgive such
mistakes. ' '

"Forgive!" exclaimed Mr. Brailsford, his withered
cheek reddening faintly. ' ' If you have forgiven him for
disregarding your wishes, you can hardly believe that
he will be so unnatural as to cherish any bad feeling
towards you. Eh?"

"It is not unnatural to resent an unmerited wound
to one's vanity. If I could honestly admire Adrian's
work even now, I have no doubt he would consent to
be reconciled to me in time. But I cannot. His
pictures seem weak and sentimental to me. I can see
the deficiencies of his character in every line of them.
I always thought that genius was an indispensable
condition to success. ' '

"Ha! ha!" said Jack. "What you call success is
the compensation of the man who has no genius. If
you had believed in his genius, and yet wanted suc-
cess for him, you might have opposed him with better
reason. Some men begin by aiming high, and they
have to wait till the world comes up to their level.
Others aim low, and have to lift themselves to success.

248 Love Among the Artists

Happy fellows like Mr. Adrian hit the mark at once,
being neither too good for the Academy people nor
too bad for the public. * '

"Probably you are right," said Mrs. Herbert. "I
should have borne in mind that worse painters than he
enjoy a fair share of toleration. However, I must
abide by my error now."

"But surely," said Mr. Brailsford, harping anxiously
on the point, "you do not find that he persists in any
little feeling of disappointment that you may have
caused him formerly. No, no: he can't do that. He
must see that you were actuated by the truest regard
for his welfare and — and so forth. ' '

"I find that his obstinacy, or perseverance rather,
is as evident in his resentment against me as it was in
his determination to make himself an artist in spite
of me."

Mr. Brailsford, troubled, bit his nail, and glanced
at Mrs. Herbert twice or thrice, without speaking.
Lady Geraldine watched him for a moment, and then
said:

"There is a difference between your case and Mrs.
Herbert's."

"Of course," he said, hurriedly. "Oh, of course.
Quite different. I was not thinking of any such "

"And yet," continued Lady Geraldine, "there is
some likeness too. You both opposed your children's
tastes. But Mrs. Herbert does not believe in
Adrian's talent, although she is glad he has made a
position for himself. You, on the contrary, are
carried away by Magdalen's talent; but you are indig-
nant at the position it has made for her."

"I am not carried away. You entirely misappre-

Love Among the Artists 249

hend my feelings. I deeply deplore her conduct. I
have ceased to correspond with her even, since she set
my feelings at defiance by accepting a London engage-
ment."

"In short," said Lady Geraldine, with good-humored
raillery, "you would not speak to her if she were to
walk into this box."

Mr. Brailsford started and looked round ; but there
was no one behind him: Jack had disappeared.
"No," he said, recovering himself. "Certainly not.
I cannot believe that she would venture into my
presence."

The curtain went up as he spoke. When Madge
again came on the stage, her business was of a more
serious character than in the first act, and displayed
the heartless determination of the adventuress rather
than her amusing impudence. Lady Geraldine,
admiring a certain illustration of this, turned with an
approving glance to Mr. Brailsford. He was looking
fixedly at the stage, no longer triumphant, almost
haggard. He seemed relieved when the actress, being
supposed to recognize an old lover, relented, and
showed some capacity for sentiment. When the act
was over, he still sat staring nervously at the curtain.
Presently the box door opened; and he again looked
round with a start. It was Jack, who, returning his
testy regard with a grim smile, came close to him;
stretched an arm over his head ; and pulled over one
of the curtains of the box so as to seclude it from the
house. Mr. Brailsford rose, trembling.

"I absolutely refuse " he began.

Jack opened the door; and Madge, with her dress
covered by a large domino cloak, hurried in. She

250 Love Among the Artists

threw off the cloak as soon as the door was closed, and
then seized her father and kissed him. He said with
difficulty, "My dear child"; sat down; and bent his
head, overpowered by emotion for the moment. She
stood with her hand on his shoulder, and bowed over
him in a very self-possessed manner to Mary, whom
she addressed at "Miss Sutherland," and to the others.

"I have no business to be here," she said, in a
penetrating whisper. "It is against rules. But when
Mr, Jack came in and told me that my father was here,
I could not let him go without speaking to him. ' '

Lady Geraldine bowed. She and her companions
had been prepared to receive Madge with frank affec-
tion; but her appearance and manner quite discon-
certed them. They recollected her as a pretty,
petulant young lady: they had actually seen her as
one only two minutes before on the stage. Yet here
she was, apparently grown during those two minutes
not only in stature but in frame. The slight and
elegant lady of the play was in the box a large, strong
woman, with resonant voice and measured speech.
Even her hand, as she patted her father's shoulder,
moved rhythmically as if the gesture were studied.
The kindly patronage with which Lady Geraldine had
been willing to receive an impulsive, clever young
girl, was forgotten in the mixture of respect, disap-
pointment, and even aversion inspired by the self-con-
trolled, independent and accomplished woman. Mary
was the first to recover herself.

"Madge," she said: — "that is, if one may venture to
call you Madge. ' '

"Indeed you may," said Madge, nodding and smiling
gracefully.

Love Among the Artists 251

"You are a great deal more like yourself on the
stage than off it."

"Yes," said Madge. "For the last two and a half
years, I have not taken a single holiday. ' '

Mr. Brailsford now sat upright; coughed; and
looked severely round. His lip relaxed as his gaze
fell on Magdalen; and after an apprehensive glance
at her, he lost his assurance even more obviously than
the others.

"You have grown a good deal, I think, my child,"
he said nervously.

"Yes. I hardly expected you to know me. You
are looking better than ever. How are the girls?"

"Quite well, thank you, my dear. Quite well."

"And mother?"

"Oh, she is well. A little rheumatism, of course;
and — a ' '

"I shall come and see you all to-morrow, at one
o'clock. Be sure to stay at home for me, won't you?"

"Certainly. Certainly. We shall be very glad to
see you. ' '

"Now I must run away; and I shall not see you
again to-night except across the footlights. Mr.
Jack: my domino." Jack put the cloak upon her
shoulders. "Is the corridor empty?" Jack looked
out and reported it empty. "I must give you one
more kiss, father." She did so; and on this occasion
Mr. Brailsford did not exhibit emotion, but merely
looked dazed. Then she bowed as sweetly as before
to Lady Geraldine and Mrs. Herbert.

"Good night, Madge," said Mary, putting up her
spectacles, and peering boldly at her.

"Good night, dear," said Madge, passing her arm

252 Love Among the Artists

round Mary's neck, and stooping to kiss her. "Come
to morrow ; and I will tell you all the news about
myself. May I fly now, Mr. Jack?"

"Come along-," said Jack; and she tripped out,
whisking her domino dexterously through the narrow
door, and revealing for an instant her small foot.

There was an awkward silence in the box for some
moments after she left. It was broken by the chuck-
ling of Jack, who presently said aside to Mary, "When
I first saw that young lady, she was a helpless good-
for-nothing piece of finery."

"And now," said Mary, "she is an independent
woman, and an accomplished artist. How I envy her ! ' '

"And pray why?" said Jack.

"Because she is of some use in the world."

"If you will allow me," said Mr. Brailsford, rising
suddenly, "I will return to my own place. I am incom-
moding your friend, doubtless. Good-night." He
offered a trembling hand t6 Lady Geraldine; made
a courtly demonstration towards Mary and Mrs.
Herbert ; and turned to go. On his way to the door
he stopped; confronted Jack; and made him a grave
bow, which was returned with equal dignity. Then
he went out slowly, like an infirm old man, without
any sign of his habitual jauntiness of bearing.

"Poor devil!" said Jack.

"I beg your pardon?" said Lady Geraldine sharply.

"He finds his pet baby changed into a woman; and
he doesn't like it," said Jack, not heeding her remon-
strance. "Now, if she were still the cream-colored,
helpless little beauty she used to be, quite dependent
on him, he would be delighted to have such a pretty
domestic toy to play with. ' '

Love Among the Artists 253

**Perhaps so," said Lady Geraldine. "But there is
such a thing as parental feeling ; and it is possible that
Mr. Brailsford may not be philosopher enough to
rejoice at a change which has widened the distance
between her youth and his age."

"He need not be alarmed," said Jack. "If he can-
not make a toy of her any longer, she can make a toy
of him. She is thinking already of setting up a white
haired father as part of her equipment : I saw the idea
come into the jade's head whilst she was looking
down at him in that chair. He looked effective. This
family affection is half sense of property, and half
sense of superiority. Miss Sutherland — who is no use
in the world, poor young lady — had not such property
in Miss Brailsford as her father expected to have, and
no such comfortable power of inviting her to parties
and getting her married as you look forward to. And
consequently, she was the only one who bore the
change in her with a good grace, and really welcomed
her."

"I am not conscious of having been otherwise than
perfectly friendly to her. ' '

"Ain't you?" said Jack, sceptically. Lady Geraldine
reddened slightly ; then smiled in spite of her vexa-
tion, and said, "Really, Mr. Jack, you are a sort of
grown up enfant terrible. I confess that I was a little
overpowered by her staginess. I can understand
actors being insufferably stagey on the boards, and
quite natural in a room ; but I cannot make out how an
actress can be perfectly natural on the boards, and
stagey in private. ' '

"Acting has become natural to her; and she has lost
the habit of your society; that is all. As you say,

254 Love Among the Artists

acting never becomes natural to bad actors. There
she comes again. ' '

"The charm is considerably weakened," said Lady
Geraldine, turning toward the stage. "She does not
seem half so real as she did before."

The play ended as successfully as it had begun.
The translators responded to calls for the author;
and Miss Madge Lancaster took the lion's share of the
rest of the applause. Then the pit and galleries
emptied themselves into the street with much tramp-
ling of stairs. The occupants of the more expensive
places made their way slowly through the crush-room,
one step at a time : the men sliding their feet forward
at every advance: the women holding warm head
wrappings fast with one hand, and hanging awkwardly
on to the arms of gentlemen with the other. Lady
Geraldine got a glimpse of Mr. Brailsford as she
descended; but he hurried away, as if desirous to
avoid further conversation. Jack, who had amused
her by betraying some emotion at the pathetic pas-
sages in the play, and who had since been silent, walked
gloomily beside Mary. They were detained for some
minutes in the vestibule, Lady Geraldine's footman
not being at hand.

"Come," said Jack, sulkily. "Here is somebody
happy at last."

Mary looked and saw Herbert coming down the
stairs with Aurelie, who was, like Jack, the subject of
some whispering and pointing.

"Yes," said Mary. "He is happy. I do not wonder
at it: she is very gentle and lovely. She is a greater
artist than Madge: yet she has none of Madge's
assurance, which would repel Adrian. ' '

Love Among the Artists 255

"She has plenty of assurance in music, which is her
trade. Miss Madge has plenty of assurance in
manners, which are her trade. ' *

"I am just thinking, Geraldine," said Mrs. Herbert,
"of the difference between Adrian and that girl —
Madge Brailsford. She, capable, sensible, able to hold
her own against the world. She is everything, in
short, that Adrian is not, and that I have often wished
him to be. Yet her father seems as far from being
united to her as Adrian is from me. Query then: is
there any use in caring for one's children? I really
don't believe there is."

"Not the least, after they have become independent
of you," said Lady Geraldine, looking impatiently
towards the door. "Where is Williams? I think he
must have gone mad. ' *

At this moment Aur^lie, recognizing Mrs. Herbert,
made as though she would stop, and said something to
Adrian which threw him into trouble and indecision
at once. Apparently she was urging him, and he
making excuses, taking care not to look towards his
mother. This dumb show was perfectly intelligible
to Mrs. Herbert, who directed Lady Geraldine's
attention to it.

"It is all Williams's fault," said Lady Geraldine.
"We should have been out of this five minutes ago.
You had better take the bull by the horns at once,
Eliza. Go and speak to him — the vacillating idiot!"

"I will not, indeed," said Mrs, Herbert. "I hope
he will have the firmness to make her go away. ' '

The question was settled by the appearance of Lady
Geraldine's servant, who hurried in, and began to
explain the delay.

256 Love Among the Artists

"There. I do not want to hear anything about it,"
said Lady Geraldine. "Now, where is Mary?"

Mary was already hastening- out with Jack. Herbert
saw them go with a sensation of relief. When he
reached his lodgings he was disagreeably relieved from
some remorse for having avoided Mary, On the table
lay a parcel containing all his letters and presents to
her, with a note — beginning "Dear Mr, Herbert" —
in which she said briefly that on second thoughts she
considered it best to follow the usual course, and
begged him to believe that she was, sincerely his,
Mary Sutherland.

CHAPTER XIII

Next day, in the afternoon, Jack left the room, the
establishment of a celebrated firm of pianoforte manu-
facturers, where he gave his lessons, and walked home-
ward across Hyde Park. Here he saw approaching
him a woman, dressed in light peacock blue, with a
pale maize colored scarf on her neck and shoulders,
and a large Spanish hat. Jack stood still and looked
gloomily at her. She put on a pair of eye glasses;
scrutinized him for a moment ; and immediately shook
them off her nose and stopped.

"You have finished work early to-day," she said,
smiling.

"I have not finished it," he replied: "I have put
them off, I want to go home and work : I cannot spend
my life making money — not that I am likely to have
the chance. Four lessons — five guineas — lost. ' '

"You wrote to them, I hope,"

"No. They will find out that I am not there when
they call ; and then they can teach themselves or go
to the devil. They would put me off sooner than lose
a tennis party. I will put them off sooner than lose a
good afternoon's work. I am losing my old inde-
pendence over this money-making and society business
— I don't like it. No matter. Are you on your way
to Cavendish Square?"

"Yes. But you must not turn back. You did not
sacrifice your teaching to gad about the park with me.
You want to compose. I know by your face."

257

258 Love Among the Artists

"Are you in a hurry?"

**/am not; but "

"Then come and gad about, as you call it, for a
while. It is too fine a day to go indoors and grind
tunes. ' '

She turned ; and they strolled away across the plain
between the Serpentine and the Bayswater Road,
crossing a vacant expanse of sward, or picking their
way amongst idlers who lay prone on the grass
asleep, or basked supine in the sun. It was a warm
afternoon ; and the sky was cloudless,

"You would not suppose, seeing the world look so
pleasant, that it is such a rascally place as it is," said
Jack, when they had walked for some time in silence.

"It is not so very bad, though, after all. If you were
a little of a painter, as I am, this sunlit sward and
foliage would repay you for all the stupidities of people
who have eyes, but cannot use them. ' '

"Aye. And painters suppose that their art is an
ennobling one. Suppose I held up a lying, treacher-
ous, cruel woman to the admiration of a painter, and
reviled him as unimaginative if he would not accept
her blue eyes, and silky hair, and fine figure as a com-
pensation for her corrupt heart, he would call me
names — cynical sensualist, and so forth. What better
is he with his boasted loveliness of Nature? There are
moments when I should like to see a good hissing,
scorching shower of brimstone sear all the beauty out
of her false face."

" Oh ! What is the matter to-day?' '

"Spleen — because I am poor. It is the source of
most people's complaints."

"But you are not poor. Recollect that you have

Love Among the Artists 259

just thrown away five guineas, and that you will make
ten to-morrow."

"I know."

"Well?"

"Well, are guineas wealth to a man who wants time
and freedom from base people and base thoughts?
No : I have starved out the first half of my life alone :
I will fight through the second half on the same con-
ditions. I get ten guineas a day at present for teach-
ing female apes to scream, that they may be the better
qualified for the marriage market. That is because I
am the fashion. How long shall I remain the fashion?
Until August, when the world — as it calls itself — will
emigrate, and return next spring to make the fortune
of the next lucky charlatan who makes a bid for my
place. I shall be glad to be rid of them, in spite of
their guineas: teaching them wastes my time, and
does them no good. Then there is the profit on my
compositions, of which I get five per cent, perhaps in
money, with all the honor and glory. The rest goes
into the pockets of publishers and concert givers, some
of whom will go down half-way to posterity on my
back because they have given me, for a symphony with
the fruits of twenty years' hard work in it, about one-
fifth of what is given for a trumpery picture or novel
everyday. That fantasia of mine has been pirated and
played in every musical capital in Europe ; and I could
not afford to buy you a sable jacket out of what I have
made by it. ' '

"It is very hard, certainly. But do you really care
about money?"

"Ha! ha! No, of course not. Music is its own
reward. Composers are not human : they can live on

26o Love Among the Artists

diminished sevenths ; and be contented with a piano-
forte for a wife, and a string quartette for a family.
Come," he added boisterously, "enough of grumbling.
When I took to composing, I knew I was bringing my
pigs to a bad market. But don't pretend to believe
that a composer can satisfy either his appetite or his
affections with music any more than a butcher or a
baker can. I dare say I shall live all the more quietly
for being an old bachelor. ' '

"I never dreamt that you would care to marry."
"And who tells you that I would now?"
"I thought you were regretting your enforced
celibacy," she replied, laughing. He frowned; and
she became serious. "Somehow," she added, "I can-
not fancy you as a married man."

"Why?" he said, turning angrily upon her. "Am I
a fish, or a musical box? Why have I less right to the
common ties of social life than another man?"

"Of course you have as much right," she said,
surprised that her remark should have hurt him.
"But I have known you so long as you are at

present "

"What am I at present?"

"A sort of inspired hermit," she replied, undaunted.
"It seems as if marriage would be an impossible con-
descension on your part. That is only a fancy, I
know. If you could find any woman worthy of you
and able to make you happy, I think you ought to
marry. I should be delighted to see )'ou surrounded
by a pack of naughty children. You would never be
an ogre any more then."

"Do you think I am an ogre, then? Eh?"
"Sometimes. To-day, for instance, I think you are

Love Among the Artists 261

decidedly ogreish. I hope I am not anoying- you with
my frivolity. I am unusually frivolous to-day,"

"Hm! You seem to me to be speaking to the point
pretty forcibly. So you would like to see me
married?"

"Happily married, yes. I should be glad to think
that your lonely, gloomy lodging was changed for a
cheerful hearth ; and that you had some person to take
care of your domestic arrangements, which you are
quite unfit to manage for yourself. Now that you
have suggested the idea, it grows on me rapidly. May
I set to work to find a wife for you?"

"Of course it does not occur to you," he said, with
unabated ill humor, "that I may have chosen for my-
self already — that I might actually have some senti-
mental bias in the business, for instance."

Mary, much puzzled, put on her spectacles, and tried
to find from his expression whether he was serious or
joking. Failing, she laughed, and said, "I don't
believe you ever gave the matter a thought. * '

"Just so. I am a privileged mortal, without heart
or pockets. When you wake up and clap your hands
after the coda of Mr. Jack's symphony, you have
ministered to all his wants, and can keep the rest to
yourself, love, money, and all."

She could no longer doubt that he was in

earnest: his tone touched her. "I had no idea "

she began, "Will you tell me who it is; or am I not
to ask?"

He grinned in spite of himself, "What do you
think of Mrs, Simpson?" said he.

Mary's mood had taken so grave a turn that she was
for a moment unable to follow this relapse into banter.

262 Love Among the Artists

"But," she said, looking shocked, "Mr. Simpson is
alive."

"Hence my unhappiness. " said Jack, with a snarl,
disgusted at her entertaining his suggestion.

' ' I suppose, ' ' she said slowly, after a pause of some
moments, "that you mean to make me feel that I have
no business with your private affairs. I did not
mean "

"You suppose nothing of the sort," said he, losing
his temper. "When have I concealed any of my
affairs from you?"

"Then you do not really intend to I mean, the

person you said you were in love with, is a myth."

"Pshaw I I never said I was in love with anyone."

"I might have known as much if I had thought for
a moment. I am very dull sometimes."

This speech did not satisfy Jack. "What do you
mean by that?" he said testily. "Why might you
have known? I never said I was in love, certainly.
Have I said I was not in love?"

"Come," she said gaily. "You shall not play
shuttlecock with my brains any longer. Answer me
plainly. Are you in love?"

"I tell such things as that to sincere friends only."

Mary suddenly ceased to smile, and made no
reply.

"Well, if you are my friend, what the devil do you
see in my affairs to laugh at? You can be serious
enough with other people."

"I did not mean to laugh at your affairs."

"What are you angry about?"

"I am not angry. A moment ago you reproached
me because I thought you wished to repel my

Love Among the Artists 263

curiosity. The reproach seemed to me to imply that
you considered me a friend worthy of your confidence. "

"So I do."

"And now you tell me that I am an insincere friend. "

"I never said anything of the kind."

"You implied it. However, there is no reason why
you should tell me anything unless you wish to. I do
not complain, of course ; your affairs are your affairs
and not mine. But I do not like to be accused of
insincerity. I have always been as sincere with you as
I know how to be. "

For the next minute Jack walked on in silence, with
his hands clasped behind him, and his head bent
towards the ground. They were crossing a treeless
part of the park, unoccupied save by a few sooty
sheep. The afternoon sun had driven the loiterers
into the shade; and there was no sound except a
distant rattle of traffic from the north, and an
occasional oarsplash from the south. Jack stopped,
and said without looking up :

"Tell me this. Is all that business between you and
Herbert broken off and done with?"

"Completely."

"Then listen to me," he said, taking an attitude in
which she had seen him once or twice before, when he
had been illustrating his method of teaching elocution.
"I am not a man to play the part of a lover with
grace. Nature gave me a rough frame that I might
contend the better with a rough fortune. Neverthe-
less I have a heart and affections like other men; and
those affections have centred themselves on you."
Mary blanched, and looked at him in terror. "You
are accustomed to my ardent temper; but I do not

264 Love Among the Artists

intend that you shall suffer from bad habits of mine,
engendered by a life of solitude and the long deferring
of my access, through my music, to my fellow
creatures. No: I am aware of my failings, and shall
correct them. You know my position ; and so I shall
make no boast of it. You may think me incapable of
tenderness ; but I am not : you will never have to com-
plain that your husband does not love you." He
paused, and looked at Mary's face.

She had never had a thought of marrying Jack.
Now that he had asked her to do so, she felt that
refusal would cause a wound she dared not inflict: she
must sacrifice herself to his demand. To fill the empty
place in Jack's heart seemed to her a duty laid on
her. She summoned all her courage and endurance
to say yes, and consoled herself with the thought that
she should not live long. Meanwhile, Jack was read-
ing her face.

' ' I have committed my last folly, ' ' he said, in a stir-
ring voice, but without any of his habitual abruptness.
"Henceforth I shall devote myself to the only mistress
I am fitted for. Music. She has not many such
masters.

Mary, yielding to an extraordinary emotion, burst
into tears.

"Come," he said: "it is all over. I did not mean
to frighten you. I have broken with the world now;
and my mind is the clearer and the easier for it.
Why need you cry?"

She recovered herself, trying to find something to
say to him. In her disquietude she began to speak
before her agitation had subsided. "It is not," she
said with difficulty, "that I am ungrateful or insen-

Love Among the Artists 265

sible. But you do not know how far you stand beyond
other ' '

"Yes, yes," he said soothingly. "I understand.
You are right: I have no business in the domestic
world, and must stick to music and Mrs. Simpson to
the end of the chapter. Come along; and think no
more of it. I will put you into a cab and send you
home."

She turned with him; and they went together
towards the Marble Arch : he no longer moody, but
placid and benevolent: she disturbed, silent, and
afraid to meet his gaze. It was growing late. One
of the religious congregations which hold their sum-
mer meetings in the park had assembled; and their
hymn could be heard, softened by distance. Jack
hummed a bass to the tune, and looked along the line
of trees that shut out the windows of Park Lane, and
led away to the singular equestrian statue which then
stood at Hyde Park Corner.

"This is a pretty place, after all," he said. "There
is enough blue sky and green sward here to com-
pensate for a good deal of brick and mortar. Down
there in the hollow there is silver water with white
swans on it. I wonder how the swans keep them-
selves white. The sheep can't. "

"Yes, it is an exquisite day," said Mary, trying
hard to interest herself in the scene, and to speak
steadily. "There will be a fine sunset."

"There is a good view of the Duke of Wellington
here."

"Happily, I cannot see so far. But I can imagine
the monster swimming sooty in the ether."

"Leave him in peace," said Jack. "He is the only

266 Love Among the Artists

good statue in London : that is why no one has the
courage to say a word in his defence. His horse is
like a real horse, with real harness. He is not exposed
bareheaded to the weather, but wears a hat as any
other man in the street does. He is not a stupid
imitation of an antique bas relief. He is characteristic
of the century that made him ; and he is unique, as a
work of art should be. He is picturesque too. The —
Come, come. Miss Mary. You have no more cause to
be unhappy than those children tumbling over the
fence there. What are those tears for?"

"Not because I am unhappy," she replied in a
broken voice. "Perhaps because I have such reason
to be proud. Pray do not mind me. I cannot help it."

They were now close to the Marble Arch ; and Jack
hurried on, that she mightthe sooner escape the staring
of the loungers there. Outside, he called a cab, and
assisted her to enter.

"You will never be afraid of me any more, I hope,"
he said, pressing her hand. She attempted to speak;
gulped down a sob ; and nodded and smiled as gaily
as she could, her tears falling meanwhile. He
watched the cab until it was no longer distinguishable
among the crowd of vehicles in Oxford Street, and
then re-entered the Park and turned to the West,
which was now beginning to glow with the fire of
evening. When he reached the bridge beneath which
the Serpentine of Hyde Park is supposed to become
the Long Water of Kensington Gardens, he stopped
to see the sun set behind the steeple of Bayswater
Church, and to admire the clear depths of hazel
green in the pools underneath the foliage on the left
bank. "/ hanker for a. wife!'' he said, as he stood

Love Among the Artists 267

bolt upright, with his knuckles resting lightly on the
parapet, and the ruddy gold of the sun full in his
eyes. "/ grovel after money! What dog's appetites
have this worldly crew infected me with ! No matter :
I am free: I am myself again. Back to thy holy
garret, oh my soul!" And having stared the sunset
out of countenance, which is soon done by a man old
enough to have hackneyed the sentimentality it
inspires, he walked steadfastly away, his mood
becoming still more tranquil as the evening fell darker.

On reaching Church Street, he called for Mrs.
Simpson ; gave her a number of postage stamps which
he had just purchased; and ordered her to write in his
name to all his pupils postponing their lessons until
he should write to them again. Being an indifferent
speller and a slovenly writer, she grumbled that he
was risking his income by treating his pupils so
cavalierly. It was his custom to meet her remon-
strances, even when he acted on them, with oaths and
abuse. This evening he let her say what she wished,
meanwhile arranging his table to write at. His
patience was so far from appeasing her that she at
last ventured to say that she would not write his
letters and turn good money away.

"You will do as you are told," he said; "for the
devils also believe and tremble." And with that
explanation, he bade her make him some coffee, and
put her out of the room.

Whilst Mary was being driven home from the park,
she was for some time afraid that she must succumb
publicly to a fit of hysterics. But after a few painful
minutes, her throat relaxed; a feeling of oppression
at her chest ceased ; and when the cab stopped at Mr.

268 Love Among the Artists

Phipson's house, she was able to offer the fare com-
posedly to the driver, who refused it, saying that the
gentleman had paid it in advance. She then went
upstairs to her own room to weep. When she arrived
there, however, she found that she had no more tears
to shed. She went to the mirror, and stood motion-
less before it. It showed her a face expressing deep
grief. She looked pityingly at it ; and it look back at
her with intensified dolor. This lasted for more than
a minute, during which she conveyed such a pro-
fundity of sadness into her face that she had no atten-
tion to spare for the lightening of her heart which was
proceeding rapidly meanwhile. Then her nostrils
gave a sudden twitch; she burst out laughing; and
the self-reproach which followed this outrage on senti-
ment did not prevent her from immediately laughing
all the more.

"After all," she said, seizing a jug of cold water
and emptying it with a splash into a basin, "it is not
more ridiculous to laugh at nothing than to look
miserable about it." So she washed away the traces
her tears had left, and went down to dinner as gaily as
usual.

A fortnight elapsed, during which she heard nothing
of Jack, and sometimes thought that she had done
better when she had cried at his declaration, than
when she had laughed at her own emotion. Then, one
evening, Mr. Phipson announced that the Antient
Orpheus Society were about to make an important
acquisition — "one," said he, looking at Mary, "that
will specially interest you."

"Something by old Jack?" said Charlie, who was
dining there that day.

Love Among the Artists 269

•*A masterpiece by him, I hope," said Mr. Phipson.
"He has written to say that he has composed music to
the 'Prometheus Unbound' of Shelley: four scenes
with chorus ; a dialogue of Prometheus with the earth ;
an antiphony of the earth and moon; an overture;
and a race of the hours,"

"Shelley!" exclaimed Mary incredulously.

"I should have thought that Dr. Johnson was the
proper poet for Jack, ' ' said Charlie.

"It is a magnificent subject," continued Mr. Phip-
son; "and if he has done justice to it, the work will be
the crowning musical achievement of this century. I
have no doubt whatever that he has succeeded ; for he
says himself that his music is the complement of the
poetry, and fully worthy of it. He would never
venture so say so if he were not conscious of having
done something almost stupendous."

"Modesty never was one of his failings," remarked
Charlie.

"I feel convinced that the music will be — will be — "
said Mr. Phipson, waving his hand, and seeking an
expressive word, "will be something apocalyptic, if I
may use the term. We have agreed to offer him five
hundred pounds for the copyright, with the exclusive
privilege of performance in the British Isles; and we
have reason to believe that he will accept this offer.
Considering that the music will doubtless be very
difficult, and will involve the expense of a chorus and
an enlarged band, with several rehearsals, it is a fairly
liberal offer. Maclagan objected, of course; and
some of the others suggested three hundred and fifty ;
but I insisted on five hundred. We could not
decently offer less. Besides, the Modern Orpheus will

270 Love Among the Artists

try to snatch the work from us. The overture is
actually in the hands of the copyist ; and the rest will
be complete in a month at latest. ' '

"Certainly you must have more money than you
know what to do with, if you are going to pay five
hundred pounds for a thing you have never seen," said
Mrs. Phipson.

"We shall pay it without the least mistrust, " said
Mr. Phipson pompously. "Jack is a great composer:
one whose rugged exterior conceals a wonderful gift,
as a pearl is protected by an oyster shell. "

"But he cannot possibly have composed the whole
work in a fortnight," said Mary.

"Of course not. What makes you suggest a fort-
night?"

"Nothing," said Mary. "At least, I heard that he
had given no lessons during the past fortnight."

"He has been planning it for a long time, you may
depend upon it. Still, there are instances of extra-
ordinary expedition in musical composition. The
Messiah was completed by Handel in twenty-one days;
and Mozart "

Mr. Phipson went on to relate anecdotes of overtures
and whole acts added to operas in one night. He was
a diligent concert goer, and always read the analytical
programmes carefully, so that he had a fund of such
tales, more or less authentic, to relate. Mary, who
had heard most of them before, looked attentive and
let her thoughts wander.

Some days later, however, when Mary asked for
further news of "Prometheus Unbound," she found
his tone changed. On being pressed he admitted that
he had induced the Antient Orpheus Society to make

Love Among the Artists 271

a doubtful bargain. The overture and two of the
scenes had been completed and delivered to the
society by Jack; and no one, said Mr. Phipson, had
been able to contradict Maclagan's verdict that "the
music, most fortunately, was inexecutable. " A letter
had been carefully drawn up to inform Jack as gently
as possible of the fate of his work. "So prodigious,"
it said, "were the technical difficulties of the work;
so large and expensive the forces required to present
it adequately; and so doubtful the prospect of its
acceptance by a miscellaneous audience in the existing
condition of public taste, that the Committee were
obliged to confess, with deep regret, that they dared
not make arrangements for its early production. If
Mr. Jack had by him any more practicable composition,
however short it might fall of the 'Prometheus' in
point of vastness of design, they would be willing to
permit of its being substituted without prejudice to
those conditions in their agreement which had been
inserted in the interest of the composer. ' '

To this Jack had replied that they should have
"Prometheus" or nothing; that there was not a note
in the score which was not practicable with a reason-
able degree of trouble; that he could find no prec-
edents on which to base the slightest regard for the
sagacity of the Society; that he cared not one demi-
semi-quaver whether they held to their bargain or
not, as he would find no difficulty in disposing of his
work; and that he insisted on their either returning
the score at once, or paying the first installment of five
hundred pounds for it, as agreed upon. He added in
a postscript that if they accepted the work, he should
require strict fulfilment of the clause binding the

272 Love Among the Artists

Society to one public performance of it in London.
The Society, which was old enough to have shelved
certain works purchased from Beethoven for similar
reasons to those given to Jack, hesitated; quarrelled
internally; and at last resolved to hold a private
rehearsal of the overture before deciding. Manlius
made earnest efforts to comprehend and like this
section of the work, which was to occupy half an hour
in performance, and was, in fact, a symphony. He
only partially succeeded; and he found the task of
conducting the rehearsal unusually disagreeable. The
players, confident and willing, did wonders in ^ the
estimation of Maclagan ; but the first'repetition broke
down twice ; and those who were at fault lost temper
and cursed mutinously within hearing of Manlius,
who was himself confused and angry. When it was
over at last, a dubious murmur rose from the stalls
where the Committee sat in judgment; and a few of
the older members protested against a second trial.
These were over-ruled ; and the overture was repeated,
this time without any stoppage.

"Certainly," said Mr. Phipson, describing his
sensations to Mary, "it contained grand traits. But
these were only glimpses of form in the midst of
chaos. I had to give in to Maclagan by acknowledg-
ing that the most favorable account I could give of it
was that it impressed me as might the aberrations of
a demented giant. He was quite frantic about it, and
fairly talked us down with examples of false relations
and incorrect progressions from every bar of the score.
Old Brailsford, who is one of the old committee,
turned up for the first time these four years expressly
to support Jack's interests. He said it was the most

Love Among the Artists 273

infernal conglomeration of sounds he had ever listened
to; and I must say many of us privately agreed with
him."

This conversation took place at the dinner table, and
was prolonged by Mrs. Phipson, who taunted her
husband with his disregard of her warning not to pay
five hundred pounds for what she termed a pig in a
poke. She was a talkative woman, shallow, jolly, and
unscrupulous, with a shrewd and selfish side to her
character which indulgent people never saw. Mary
saw it clearly ; and as, to her taste, Mrs. Phipson was
vulgar, she was not very fond of her, and often felt
indignant at her ridicule of her husband's boastful but
sincere love of music. On this occasion, seeing that
Mr. Phipson was getting sulky, and that his wife was
perversely minded to make him worse, she left the
table quietly without waiting for her hostess, and went
upstairs alone to the drawing-room. There, to her
surprise, she found a strange man, lounging on a sofa
with an album in his hands.

"I beg your pardon," said Mary, retreating.

"Not at all," said the man, rising in disorder. "I
hope I'm not in the way. Miss Sutherland, perhaps."

'"Yes," said Mary coldly; for she could not see him
distinctly, and his manner of addressing her, though a
little confused, struck her as being too familiar.

"Very happy to make your acquaintance, Miss
Sutherland. Nanny wrote me word that you were
staying here, I recognize you by your photograph
too. I hope I don't disturb you." He added this
doubtfully, her attitude being still anything but
reassuring.

"Not at all," said Mary, taking the nearest seat,

274 Love Among the Artists

which happened to be a piece of furniture shaped like
the letter S, with a seat in each loop, so that the
occupants, placed opposite one another, could converse
at their ease across the rail. She then settled her
glasses deliberately upon her nose, and looked at him
with a certain hardihood of manner which came to her
whenever she was seized with nervousness, and was
determined not to give way to it. He was a tall,
jovial looking man, not yet quite middle-aged, stout,
or florid, but, as she judged, within five years at most
of being all three. He had sandy hair, and a red
beard cleft into two long whiskers of the shape
formerly known to fashion as "weepers." His expres-
sion was good-natured, and, at this moment, con-
ciliatory, as though he wished to disarm any further
stiffness on her part. But she thought she saw also
signs of admiration in his eyes; and she continued to
gaze at him inflexibly. He looked wistfully at the
conversation chair, but sat down on the sofa, leaning
forward with his elbows on his knees.

"This is a very convenient neighborhood, isn't it?"
he said.

"Very."

"Yes. I am sure you must find it so. You are
within easy distance of both the parks, and all the
theatres. Kensington is too far out of the way for my
fancy. How long does it take to go from here to
Covent Garden Market now, for instance?"

"I am sorry I cannot tell you," said Mary calmly,
looking at him with unflinching eyes: "I never go
there. ' *

"Indeed? I wonder at that. You can get
tremendous bargains in flowers, I believe, if

Love Among the Artists 275

you go there early in the morning. Do you like
flowers?"

" I do not share the fashionable mania for cut flowers.
I like gardening.

"I quite agree with you, Miss Sutherland. I often
think, when I see every little vase or niknak in a room
stuffed with tulips and lilies and things, what a want
of real taste it shews. I was looking at that beautiful
painting over the music stand just before you came
in. May I ask is it one of yours?"

"Yes. If you look closely at it you will see my name
written in large vermilion letters in the left hand
corner."

*'I saw it. That's how I knew it to be yours. It's
a capital picture : I often regret that I never learned
to paint, though I know I should never have done it
half as well as you. It's a very nice occupation for
a lady. It is mere child's play to you, I suppose."

"I have given it up because I find it too difficult."

"But nobody could do it better than you. How-
ever, it runs away with your time, no doubt. Still,
if I were you, I wouldn't give it up altogether."

"You are fond of pictures, I presume."

"Yes. I have a great taste for them. I go to the
National Gallery whenever I come to London, to have
a look at Landseer's pictures. I sometimes see young
ladies copying the pictures there. Did you ever copy
one of Landieer's?"

"No. Strange as it may appear to you, there are
some pictures there which I prefer to Landseer's."

"You understand the old masters, you see. I don't,
unfortunately. I should like to be able to talk to you
about them ; but if I tried it on, you would find out

276 Love Among the Artists

in no time that I know nothing about it. Put me into
a gallery, and I can tell you what pictures I like:
that's about as far as I can go."

"I wish I could go as far."

"I am afraid you are chaffing me, Miss Sutherland."

Mary did not condescend to reply. The strange
man, now somewhat discomfited, rose and stood with
his back to the fireplace, as if to warm himself at the
Japanese umbrella that protruded from it.

"Beautiful weather," he said, after a pause.

"Very beautiful indeed," she replied, gravely.
Then, to prevent herself from laughing at him, "Have
you been long in London?"

"Arrived yesterday morning," he said, brightening.
"I came straight from New York via Liverpool. I'm
always traveling. Have you ever been to the States?"

"No."

"You should go there and see what real life is.
We're all asleep here. I only left England last
March; and I've started six branches of our com-
pany since that, besides obtaining judgment against
two scoundrels who infringed our patent. Quick
work that."

"Is it?"

"I should think so. It would have taken two years
to do here. More: five years perhaps. The Ameri-
cans don't resist a new thing as we do. But no matter.
Unless they look alive here, they will be driven out
of the market by foreign manufacturers using our
cheap power."

"Your cheap power! What is that?"

"I thought you knew. Why, the Conolly electro-
motor, which will drive any machinery at half — aye,

Love Among the Artists 277

at a quarter the cost of steam. You have heard of it,
of course."

*'I think so. I have met Mr. Conolly. He does not
seem like a man who could do anything badly."

"Badly! I should think not. He's an amazing
man. They talk of Seth Jones's motor; and Van
Print claims to be the original inventor of Conolly's
commutator. But they are a couple of thieves.
I can shew you the report of Conolly versus the
Pacific "

"Johnny!" exclaimed Mrs. Phipson, entering. "I
thought it was your voice."

"How d'ye do, Nan?" said he. "How are the
bairns?"

"Oh, we're all first rate. Have you been here
long?"

"It seems only half a minute, Miss Sutherland has
been entertaining me so pleasantly." And he winked
and frowned at Mrs. Phipson, to intimate that he
desired to be introduced.

"Then you know each other already," she said.
"This is my brother, Mr, Hoskyn. I hope you have
not been bothering Mary with your electro business."

"Mr, Hoskyn was giving me a most interesting
account of it when you came in," said Mary.

"You can finish it some other time," said Mrs,
Phipson. "Inflict it on the next person who has the
misfortune to get shut into a railway carriage with
you. When did you come back?"

Mr. Hoskyn glanced apprehensively at Mary, and
did not seem to like his sister's remark, though he
laughed good-humoredly at it. The conversation then
turned upon his recent movements ; the length of time

278 Love Among the Artists

he expected to remain in London; and so forth.
Mary gathered that he had invested money in the
Conolly Electro-Motor Company, and that he occupied
himself in travelling to countries where the electro-
motor was as yet unknown; establishing companies
for its exploitation ; and making them pay for the right
to use it. Mrs. Phipson was evidently tired of the
subject, and made several attempts to prevent his
dwelling on it; but, in spite of her, he boasted a good
deal of the superiority of Conolly 's invention, and
abused and predicted ruin for certain other companies
which had been set on foot to promote rival projects.
He was effectually interrupted at last by the appearance
of the younger children, who were excited by the
arrival of Uncle Johnnie; and, Mary thought, looked
forward to being the richer for his visit. Mr.
Hoskyn's attention to them, however, flagged after
the first few minutes; and Mrs. Phipson, who was
always impatient of her children's presence, presently
bade them go and tell their father that Uncle Johnnie
had come. They were, she added, on no account to
return to the drawing-room. Their faces lengthened
at this dismissal; but they did not venture to dis-
regard it. Then Mr. Phipson came ; and his brother-
in-law said much to him of what he had said before.
Mary took no part in the conversation; but she
occupied a considerable share of Mr. Hoskyn's atten-
tion. Whenever he pronounced an opinion, or cracked
a joke, he glanced at her to see whether she approved
of it, and always found her in the same attitude, self-
possessed, with her upper lip lifted a little from her
teeth by the poise of her head, which she held well
up in order to maintain her glasses in their position ;

Love Among the Artists 279

and by a slight contraction of her brows to shade her
eyes from the superfluous rays,

"I need hardly ask whether Miss Sutherland sings,"
he said, when he had repeated all his news to Mr.
Phipson.

"Very seldom," replied his sister. Now Mary had
a powerful and rather strident contralto voice, which
enabled her to sing dramatic music with startling
expression and energy. Mrs. Phipson, who did not
like these qualities, said "Very seldom," in order to
deter her brother from pressing his suggestion. But
Mr. Phipson, who relished Mary's performances, and
was also fond of playing accompaniments, immediately
went to the piano, and opened it.

"I would give anything to hear you, " said Hoskyn,
*'if you will condescend to sing for such an ignorant
audience as me. * '

' ' I had much rather not, ' ' said Mary, shewing signs
of perturbation for the first time. "I sing nothing
that would amuse you. ' '

"Of course not," said he. "I know you don't sing
ballads and such trash. Something Italian, I should
like to hear. ' '

"Come," said Mr. Phipson. "Give us *Che faro
senza Euridice, ' ' ' And he began to play it.

Mary, after a moment's hesitation, resigned herself,
and went to the instrument. Mrs. Phipson sighed.
Hoskyn sat down on the ottoman; leaned attentively
forward; and smiled continuously until the song was
over, when he cried with enthusiasm:

"Bravo! Splendid, splendid! You are quite equal
to any professional singer I ever heard, Miss Suther-
land. There is nothing like real Italian music after

28o Love Among the Artists

all. Thank you very much : I cannot remember when
I enjoyed anything half so well"

"It is not Italian music," said Mary, resuming her
former attitude in the causeuse. "It is German music
with Italian words."

"It might as well be Chinese music for all he knows
about it," said Mrs. Phipson spitefully.

"I know that I enjoyed it thoroughly, at any rate,"
said Hoskyn. "I have taken such a fancy to that
picture on the wall that I should like to see some of
your sketches, if you will favor me so far. ' '

Mary felt bound to be civil to Mrs. Phipson's
brother: else she might have lost patience with Mr.
Hoskyn. "My sketches are in that book," she said,
pointing to a portfolio. "But they are not intended
for show purposes ; and if you have no real curiosity to
see them, pray do not be at the trouble of turning
them over. I do not paint for the sake of displaying
an extra accomplishment."

"I quite understand that. It is as natural to you to
do all these things as it is to me to walk or sleep. You
can hardly think how much pleasure a song or a
sketch gives to me, because, you see, they are every-
day things with you, whereas I could no more paint
or sing in Italian than little Nettie upstairs. So, if
you'll allow me, I'll take a peep. If I bring them
over here, you can shew them to me better. " And,
on this pretext, he got into the causeuse with her at
last.

"Fool!" commented Mrs. Phipson through her teeth
to Mr. Phipson, who smiled, and strummed on the
piano. Hoskyn meanwhile examined the sketches one
by one ; demanded a particular account of each ; and,

Love Among the Artists 281

when they represented places at which he had been,
related such circumstances of his visit as he could
recollect, usually including the date, the hotel charges,
and particulars of his fellow travellers; as, for
instance, that there were two Italian ladies staying
there ; or that a lot of Russians took the whole of the
first floor, and were really very polite people when
you came to know them. Mary answered his ques-
tions patiently, and occasionally, when he appealed to
her for confirmation of his opinions, gave him a cool
nod, after each of which he grew more pleased and
talkative. He praised her drawings extravagantly;
and she, seeing that the worst satisfied him as well as
the best, made no further attempt to deprecate his
admiration, listening to it with self-possessed indiffer-
ence. Mrs. Phipson yawned conspicuously all the
time. Failing to move him by this means, she at last
asked him whether he would take supper with them,
or return at once to wherever he was staying. He
replied that he was staying round the corner at the
Langham Hotel, and that he would wait for supper,
to which Mrs. Phipson assented with a bad grace.
Just then Mary, hearing screams from the nursery
pretended that she wished to see what was the matter,
and left the room. She did not return ; and Hoskyn,
on going down to supper, was informed, to his heavy
disappointment, that she never partook of that meal.

"So you might have saved yourself the trouble of
staying, after all," said Mrs. Phipson. "Will you
have a wing or a bit of the breast?"

"Anything, please. On my soul, Phipson, I think
she is the nicest girl I ever met. She is really very
handsome."

282 Love Among the Artists

"Handsome!" cried Mrs. Phipson, indignantly.
"Don't be a fool, Johnny."

"Why? Don't you think she is?"

"She isn't even plain: she is downright ugly."

"Oh come, Nanny I That is a little too much.
What fault can you find with her face?"

"What fault is there that I cannot find? To say
nothing of her features, which even you can hardly
defend, look at her coarse black hair and thick eye-
brows. And then she wears spectacles."

"No. Not spectacles. Only nosers, Nanny. They
are quite the fashion now."

"Well, whatever you choose to call them. If you con-
sider a pince-nez ornamental, your taste is peculiar."

"I agree with yo^l^ John," said Mr. Phipson. "I
admire Mary greatly. ' '

"If she were twice as handsome," interposed Mrs.
Phipson, as Hoskyn's eyes brightened triumphantly,
"it would be none the better for you. She is
engaged."

Hoskyn looked at her in dismay. Mr. Phipson
seemed surprised.

"Engaged to Adrian Herbert, the artist," continued
Mrs. Phipson, "who can talk to her about high art
until she fancies him the greatest genius in England:
not like you, who think yourself very clever when you
have spent an hour in shewing her that you know
nothing about it. ' '

"My dear," remonstrated Mr. Phipson: "that
business with Herbert is all broken off. You should
be a little careful. He is going to be married to
Szczympliga. "

"You may believe as much of that as you please,"

Love Among the Artists 283

said Mrs. Phipson, "Even supposing that she really
is done with Herbert, there is Jack. A nice chance
you have Johnny, with the greatest lion in London
for a rival. ' '

"Annie," said Mr, Phipson: "you are talking reck-
lessly. There is no reason to suppose that there is
anything between Mary and Jack. Jack is not — in
that sense, at least — a ladies' man. ' '

"As to that," said Hoskyn, "I will take my chance
beside any artist that ever walked on two legs. They
can talk to her about things that I may not be exactly
au fait at; but, for the matter of that, if / chose to
talk shop, I could tell her a few things that she would
be a long time finding out from them. No, Nanny :
the question is, Is she engaged? If she is, then I'm
off; and there's an end of the business. If not, I
guess I'll try and see some more of her, in spite of all
the painters and musicians in creation. So, which
is it?"

"She is quite free," said Mr. Phipson. "She was
engaged to Herbert ; but it was an old arrangement,
made when they were children, I believe ; and at all
events it was given up some time ago. I think there
will be a little money too, John. And I fancy from
her manner that she was struck with you." Mr.
Phipson winked at his wife, and laughed.

"I don't know about that," said Hosk)^; "but I
am out-and-out struck with her. As to money, that
needn't stand in the way, though I shan't object to
take whatever is going. ' '

"You are so particularly well suited to a girl who
cares for nothing but fine art crazes of which you
don't even know the names," said Mrs. Phipson

284 Love Among the Artists

sourly, "that she will jump at your offer, no doubt.
It is no wonder for her to be shortsighted, she reads
so much. And she knows half the languages of
Europe."

"I should think so," said Hoskyn. "You can see
intellect in her face. That's the sort of woman I like.
None of your empty headed wax dolls. I'm not sur-
prised that you don't approve of her, Nanny. You are
sharp enough; but you never knew anything, and
never will. ' '

"I don't pretend to be clever. And I don't disap-
prove of her; but I disapprove of you, at your age,
thinking of a girl who is in every way unfit for you."

"We shall see all about that. I am quite content to
take my chance, if she is. She can't live on high art;
and I expect she is sensible enough in everyday
matters. Besides, I shall not interfere with her. The
more she paints and sings, the better pleased I shall
be."

"Hear, hear," said Mr. Phipson. "Let us see
about a licence at once. The season will be over in
three weeks ; and of course you would prefer to be
married before then. ' '

"Chaff away," said Hoskyn, rising. "I must be off
now. You may expect to see me pretty soon again;
and if you don't hear people wondering next season
how Johnny Hoskyn managed to get such a clever
wife — why, I shall be worse disappointed than you.
Goodnight."

CHAPTER XIV

During the remaining weeks of the season, Mary
witnessed a series of entertainments of a kind quite
new to her. Since her childhood she had never visited
the Crystal Palace except for the Saturday afternoon
classical concerts. Now she spent a whole day there
with Mr. Hoskyn, his sister, and the children, and
waited for the display of fireworks. She saw acrobats,
conjurors, Christy Minstrels, panoramas, and shows of
cats, goats, and dairy implements; and she felt half
ashamed of herself for enjoying them. She went for
the first time in her life to a circus, to a music hall,
and to athletic sports at Lillie Bridge. After the
athletic sports, she went up the river in a cheap excur-
sion steamer to Hampton Court, where she hardly
looked at the pictures, and occupied herself solely
with the other objects of interest, which she had
neglected on previous visits. Finally she went to
Madame Tussaud's.

Hoskyn had proposed all these amusements on
behalf of the children ; and it was supposed that Mary
and Mrs. Phipson, on going to them, were good-
naturedly co-operating with Uncle Johnny to make the
little Phipsons happy. In the character of Uncle
Johnny, Hoskyn frequented the house in Cavendish
Square at all hours, and was soon on familiar terms
with Mary. He was good humored, and apparently
quite satisfied with himself. In arranging excursions,

285

286 Love Among the Artists

procuring and paying for vehicles, spying out and
pushing his way to seats left accidentally vacant in the
midst of packed audiences, looking after the children,
and getting as much value as possible for his money
on every occasion, he was never embarrassed or
inefficient. He was very inquisitive, and took every
opportunity of entering into conversation with railway
officials, steamboat captains, cabmen, and policemen,
and learning from them all about their various
occupations. When this habit of his caused him to
neglect Mary for a while, he never pestered her with
apologies, and always told her what he had learnt
without any doubt that it would interest her. And it
did interest her more than she could have believed
beforehand, although sometimes its interest arose
from the obvious mendacity of Hoskyn's informants:
he being as credulous of particulars extracted by causal
pumping as he was sceptical of any duly authorized
and published statement. In his company Mary
felt neither the anxiety to appear at her best with
which Herbert's delicate taste and nervous solicitude
for her dignity and comfort had always inspired her,
nor the circumspection which she had found necessary
in order to avoid offending the exacting temper of
Jack. In their different ways both these men had
humbled her. Hoskyn admired her person, and held
her acquirements in awe, without being himself in the
least humbled, although he exalted her v/ithout stint.
She began to feel, too, that she, by her apprenticeship
to the two artists, had earned the right to claim rank
as an adept in modern culture before such men as
Hoskyn. When they went to the Academy, he was
quite delighted to find that she despised all the pictures

Love Among the Artists 287

he preferred. In about an hour, however, both had
had enough of picture seeing- and they finished the day
by the trip to Hampton Court.

When the season was over, it was arranged that Mr,
Phipson should take his family to Trouville for the
month of August. Hoskyn, who was to accompany
them, never doubted that Mary would be one of the
party until she announced the date of her departure
for Sir John Porter's country seat in Devonshire. She
had accepted Lady Geraldine's invitation a month
before. Hoskyn listened in dismay, and instead of
proposing some excursion to pass away the time,
moped about the house during the remainder of the
afternoon. Shortly after luncheon he was alone in
the drawing-room, staring disconsolately out of win-
dow, when Mary entered. She sat down without
ceremony, and opened a book.

"Look here," he said presently. "This is a regular
sell about Trouville."

"How so? Has anything happened?"

"I mean your not coming,"

"But nobody ever supposed that I was coming. It
was arranged long ago that I should go to Devonshire, ' '

"I never heard a word about Devonshire until you
mentioned it at lunch. Couldn't you make some
excuse — tell Lady Porter that you have been ordered
abroad for your health, or that Nanny will be offended
if you don't go with her, or something of that sort?"

"But why? I want to go to Devonshire and I don't
want to go to Trouville, ' '

"Oh! In that case I suppose you will leave us,"

"Certainly, I hope you are not going to make a
grievance of my desertion."

2 88 Love Among the Artists

"Oh no. But it knocks all the fun of the thing on
the head."

"What a pity!"

"I am quite in earnest, you know."

"Nobody could doubt it, looking at your face. Can
nothing be done to console you?"

"Poking fun at me is not the way to console me.
Why do you want to go to Devonshire? It's about
the worst climate in England for anyone with a weak
chest: muggy, damp, and tepid."

"I have not a weak chest I am glad to say. Have
you ever been in Devonshire?"

"No. But I have heard about it from people who
lived there for years, and had to leave it at last."

"I am going for a month only."

Hoskyn began to twirl the cord of the blind round his
forefinger. "When he had dashed the tassel twice
against the pane, Mary interfered.

"Would it not be better to open the window if you
wish to let in the fresh air?"

"All I can say is," said he, dropping the tassel ,
"that you really might come with us."

"Very true. But there are many things I really
might do, which I really won't do. And one of them
is to disappoint Lady Geraldine."

"Hang Lady Geraldine. At least, not if she is a
friend of yours but I wish she had invited you at any
other time."

"I think you have now made quite enough fuss
about my going away. I am flattered, Mr. Hoskyn,
and feel how poignantly you will all miss me. So
let us drop the subject."

"When shall I see you again, then?"

Love Among the Artists 289

"Really I do not know. I hope I shall have the
pleasure of meeting you next season. Until then I
shall probably be lost to view in Windsor."

"If you mean that we may meet at dances, and that
sort of thing, we are likely never to meet at all; for I
never go to them."

"Then you had better take lessons in dancing, and
change your habits."

"Not I. It is bad enough to be made a fool of by
you without making one of myself."

Mary grew nervous. "I think we are going back to
the old subject," she said.

"No. I was thinking of something else. Miss

Sutherland " here he suddenly raised his voice,

which broke, and compelled him to pause and clear his
throat — "Miss Sutherland: I hope I am not going to
bungle this business by being too hasty — too pre-
cipitate, as it were. But if you are really going away,
would you mind telling me first whether you have any
objection to think over becoming Mrs. Hoskyn. Just
to think over it, you know. ' '

"Are you serious?" said Mary, incredulously.

"Of course I am. You don't suppose I would say
such a thing in jest?"

Mary discomfited, privately deplored her womanly
disability to make friends with a man without being
proposed to. "I think we had better drop this subject,
too, Mr. Hoskyn," she replied. Then, recovering her
courage, she added, "Of all the arrangements you
have proposed, I think this is the most injudicious.'

"We will drop it of you like. I am in no hurry — at
least I mean that I don't wish to hurry you. But
you will think it over won't you?"

290 Love Among the Artists

"Had you not better think over it yourself, Mr.
Hoskyn?"

"I have thought of it — let me see! I guess I saw
you first about twenty-one days and two hours ago.
Well, I have been thinking over it constantly all that
time."

"Think better of it."

"I will. The more I think of it, the better I think
of it. And if you will only say yes, I shan't think the
worse of it in this world. Tell me one thing, Miss
Sutherland, did you ever know me make a mistake
yet?"

"Not in my twenty-two days and one hour's experi-
ence of you. ' '

"Twenty-one days and two hours. Well, I am not
making a mistake now. Don't concern yourself about
my prospects: stick to your own. If you can hit it off
with me, depend upon it, my family affairs are settled
to my satisfaction for ever. What do you think?"

"I still think we had better abandon the subject."

"For the present?"

"For ever, if you please, Mr. Hoskyn."

"For ever is a long word. I've been too abrupt.
But you can turn the matter over in your mind whilst
you are amusing yourself in Devonshire. There is no
use in bothering yourself about it now, when we are
all separating. Hush. Here's Nanny."

Mary was prevented by the entrance of Mrs. Phip-
son from distinctly refusing Mr. Hoskyn 's proposal.
He, during the rest of the day, seemed to have
regained his usual good spirits, and chatted with Mary
without embarrassment, although he contrived not to
be left alone with her. When she retired for the

Love Among the Artists 291

night, he had a short conversation with his sister, who
asked whether he had said an5''thing to Mary.

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

"She didn't say much. She was rather floored : I
knew I was beginning too soon. We agreed to let the
matter stand over. But I expect it will be all right. ' '

"What on earth do you mean by agreeing to let the
matter stand over? Did she say yes or no?"

"She did not jump at me. In fact she said no; but
she didn't mean it."

"Hoity toity! I wonder whom she would consider
good enough for her. She may refuse once too often. "

"She won't refuse me. Though, if she does, I don't
see why you should lose your temper on that score,
since you have always maintained that I had no
chance."

"I am not losing my temper. I knew perfectly well
that she would refuse ; but I think she may go further
and fare worse. * '

"She hasn't refused. And — now you mind what I
am telling you, Nanny — not a word to her on the sub-
ject. Hold your tongue ; and don't pretend to know
anything about my plans. Do you hear?"

"You need not make such a to-do about it, Johnny.
I don't want to speak to her. I am sure I don't care
whether she marries you or not. ' '

"So much the better. If you give her a hint about
going further and faring worse — I know you would
like to — it is all up with me. "

Mary heard no more about Mr. Hoskyn's suit just
then. She left Cavendish Square next day, and went
with Lady Geraldine to the south-west of Devonshire,

292 Love Among the Artists

where Sir John Porter owned a large white house with
a Doric portico, standing in a park surrounded by
wooded hills. Mary began sketching on the third
day, in spite of her former resolution to discontinue
the practice. Lady Geraldine was too busy recovering
the management of her house and dairy farm after her
season's absence, to interfere with the occupation of
her guest; but at the end of a week she remarked one
evening with a sigh :

"No more solitude for us, Mary. Sir John is coming
to-morrow. He is bringing Mr. Conolly as a pioneer
of the invading army of autumn visitors. Since Sir
John became a director of the Electro-motor company,
he has become bent on having everything here done
by electricity. We shall have a couple of electro-
motors harnessed to the pony phaeton shortly."

"Mr. Conolly is coming on business, then."

"Of course he is coming to pay a visit and make a
holiday. But he will incidentally take notes of how
the place can be most inconveniently upset with his
machinery. ' '

"You are not glad that he is coming."

"I am indifferent. So many people come here in
the autumn whom I don't care for, that I have become
hardened to the labor of entertaining them. I like
to have young people about me. Sir John, of course,
has to do with men of business and politicians; and
he invites them all to run down for a fortnight in the
off season. So they run down; and it is seldom by
any means possible to wind them up for conversational
purposes until they go away again."

"Mr. Conolly never seems to require winding up.
Don't you like him?"

Love Among the Artists 293

"He never seems to require anything, and it is partly
for that reason that I don't like him. I have no fault
to find with him — that is another reason, I think.
Since I met him I have become ever so much more
tolerant of human frailty. I respect the brute ; but I
don't like him.

This Mr. Conolly was known to Mary as a man who,
having been an obscure workman, had suddenly
become famous as the inventor of something called an
electro-motor, by which he had made much money.
He had then married a highly born young lady,
celebrated in society for her beauty. Not long after-
wards she had eloped with a gentleman of her own
rank, whom she had known all her life. Conolly had
thereupon divorced her, and resumed his bachelor life,
displaying so little concern, that many who knew her
had since regarded him with mistrust and dislike, feel-
ing that he was not the man to make a home for a
young woman accustomed to the tenderest considera-
tion and most chivalrous courtesy in her father's set.
Even women, whose sympathy he would not keep in
countenance by any pretence of broken-heartedness,
had taken his wife's part so far as to say that he ought
never to have married her. Mary had heard this
much of his history in the course of gossip, and had
met him a few times in society in London.

"I don't dislike him," she said, in reply to Lady
Geraldine's last remark; "but he is an unanswerable
sort of person; and I doubt if it would make the
slightest difference to him whether the whole world
hated or loved him. ' '

"Just so. Can anything be more unamiable? Such
a man ought to be a judge, or an executioner."

294 Love Among the Artists

"After all, he is only a man,; and he must have
some feeling," said Mary,

" If he has he ought to show it, ' ' said Lady Geraldine.
A servant just then entered with letters which had
come by the evening mail. There were some for
Mary; among them one addressed in a rapid business
hand which she did not recognize. She opened them
absently, thinking that a little experience of Herbert
and Jack would soon remove Lady Geraldine's objec-
tion to Conolly's power of self-control. Then she
read the letters. One was from Miss Cairns, who
was at a hydropathic establishment in Derbyshire.
Another was from her father, who was glad she had
arrived safely at Devonshire ; hoped she would enjoy
herself; was sure that the country air would benefit
her health; and had nothing more to say at present
but would write soon again. The third letter, a long
one in a strange hand, roused her attention.

Langham Hotel, London, W.
loth August.
Dear Miss Sutherland : — I have returned for a few
days from Trouville, where I left Nanny and the chil-
dren comfortably settled. I was recalled by a telegram
from our head office ; and now that my business there
is transacted, I have nothing to do except lounge
around this great barrack of a hotel until I take it into
my head to go back to Trouville. I miss Cavendish
Square greatly. Three or four times a day I find
myself preparing to go there, forgetting that there is
nobody in the house, unless Nanny has left the cat to
starve, as she did two years ago. You cannot imagine
how lonely I find London. The hotel is full of
Americans; and I have scraped acquaintance with
most of them; but I am none the livelier for that:
somebody or something has left a hole in this

Love Among the Artists 295

metropolis that all the Americans alive cannot fill.
To-night after dinner I felt especially dull. There
are no plays worth seeing at this season; and even if
there were, it is no pleasure to me to go to the theatre
by myself. I have got out of the way of doing so
lately; and I don't feel as if I could ever get into it
again. So I thought that writing to you would pass
the time as pleasantly as anything.

You remember, I hope, a certain conversation we
had on the 2nd inst. I agreed not to return to the
subject until you came back from Lady Porter's; but
I was so flurried by having to speak to you sooner
than I intended, that I have been doubtful ever since
whether I put it to you in the right way. I am afraid
I was rather vague ; and though it does not do to be
too business-like on such occasions, still, you have a
right to know to a fraction what my proposal means.
I know you are too sensible to suppose that I am going
into particulars from want of the good old-fashioned
sentiment which ought to be the main point in all such
matters, or by way of offering you an additional
inducement. If you had only j^ourself to look to, I
think I should have pluck enough to ask you to shut
your eyes and open your mouth so far as money is
concerned ; but when other interested parties who may
come on the scene hereafter are to be considered, it is
not only allowable but right to go into figures.

There are just four points, as I reckon it, i, I am
thirty-five years of age, and have no person depending
on me for support. 2, I can arrange matters so that
if anything happens to me you shall have a permanent
income of five hundred pounds per annum. 3, I can
afford to spend a thousand a year at present, without
crippling myself. 4, These figures are calculated at a
percentage off the minimum, and far understate what 1
may reasonably expect my resources to be in the course of
a few years.

I won't go any closer into money matters with you,
because I feel that bargaining would be out of place

296 Love Among the Artists

between us. You may trust me that you shall want

for nothing-, if ! ! ! I wish you would help me

over that if. We got along- very well together in July
— at least I thought so; and you seemed to think so
too. Our tastes fit in together to a T. You have
genius; and I admire it. If I had it myself, I should
be jealous of you, don't you see? As it is, the more
you sing and read and paint and play, the better
pleased am I, though I don't say that I would not be
■writing this letter all the same if you didn't know B
flat from a bull's foot. If you will just for this once
screw up your courage and say yes, I undertake on my
part that you shall never regret it.

An early answer will shorten my suspense. Not
that I want you to write without taking plenty of time
for consideration; but just remember that it will
appear cent, per cent, longer to me than to you.
Hoping you will excuse me if I have been unreason-
able in following up my wishes,

I am, dear Miss Sutherland,

Most sincerely yours,

John Hoskyn.

Mary thrust the letter back into its envelope, and knit
her brows. Lady Geraldine watched her, pretending
meanwhile to be occupied with her own corre-
spondence.

"Do you know any of Mrs. Phipson's family?" said
Mary slowly, after some minutes.

"No," replied Lady Geraldine, somewhat contemp-
tuously. Then, recollecting that Mrs. Phipson's
daughter was Mary's sister-in-law, she added, "There
are brothers in Australia and Columbia who are very
rich; and the youngest is a friend of Sir John's. He's
in the Conolly Company, and is said to be a shrewd
man of business. They all were, I believe. Then
there were two sisters, Sarah and Lizzie Hoskyn. I

Love Among the Artists 297

can remember Lizzie when she was exactly like your
brother Dick's wife. She married a great Cornhill
goldsmith in her first season. Altogether, they are a
wonderful family: making money, marrying money,
putting each other in the way of making and marrying
more, and falling on their feet everywhere."

"Are they the sort of people you like?"

"What do you mean by that, my dear?"

"I think I mean what I say," said Mary laughing.
"But do you think, for example, that Mrs. Phipson's
brothers and sisters are ladies and gentlemen?"

"Whether Dick's wife's aunts or uncles are ladies
and gentlemen, eh?"

"Never mind about Dick. I have a reason for
asking. ' '

"Well then, I think it must be sufficiently obvious
to everybody that they are not what used to be called
ladies and gentlemen. But what has that to do with
it? Rich middle class tradespeople have had their
own way in society and in everything else as long as
I can remember. Even if we could go back to the
ladies and gentlemen now, we could not stand them.
Look at the county set here — either vapid people with
affected manners, or pigheaded people with no manners
at all. Each set seems the worst until you try
another."

"I quite agree with you — I mean about the
Hoskyns," said Mary. And she changed the subject.
But at bedtime, when she bade Lady Geraldine
goodnight, she handed her Hoskyn's letter, saying,
"Read that; and tell me to-morrow what you think
of it."

Lady Geraldine read the letter in bed, and lay

298 Love Among the Artists

awake, thinking of it for half an hour later than usual.
In the morning, Mary, before leaving her room,
received a note. It ran:

''''Sir John will come by the three train. We can chat
afterzvards — zvhen he and Mr. Conolly are settled here
and off my mind. — G. P.'*

Mary understood from this that she was not to
approach the subject of Mr. Hoskyn until Lady
Geraldine invited her. At breakfast no allusion was
made to him, except that once, when they chanced to
look at one another, they laughed. But Lady Geral-
dine immediately afterwards became graver than
usual, and began to talk about the dairy farm.

At three o'clock Sir John, heavy, double chinned,
and white haired, arrived with a younger man in a
grey suit.

"Well, Mr. Conolly," said Sir John, as they passed
under the Doric portico. "Here we are at last."

"At home," said Conolly, contentedly. Lady
Geraldine, who was there to welcome them, looked
at him quickly, her hospitality gratified by the word.
Then the thought of what he had made of his own
home hardened her heart against him. Her habitual
candid manner and abundance of shrewd comment
forsook her in his presence. She was silent and
scrupulously polite ; and by that Mary and Sir John
knew that she was under the constraint of strong
dislike to her guest.

Later in the afternoon, Conolly asked permission to
visit the farm, and inquired whether there was any
running water in the neighborhood. Sir John pro-
posed to accompany him; but he declined, on the
ground that a prospecting engineer was the worst of

Love Among the Artists 299

bad company. When he was gone, Lady Geraldine's
bosom heaved with relief: she recovered her spirits,
and presently followed Sir John to the library, where
they had a long conversation together. Having con-
cluded it to her satisfaction, she was leaving the room,
when Sir John, who was seated at a writing table,
coughed and said mildly:

"My dear."

Lady Geraldine closed the door again, and turned to
listen,

"I was thinking, as we came down together," said
Sir John slowly, smiling and combing his beard with
his fingers, "that perhaps he might take a fancy that
way."

"Who?"

" Conolly, my dear. "

"Stuff!" said Lady Geraldine sharply. Sir John
smiled in deprecation. "At least," she added, repent-
ing, ' ' I mean that he is married already. ' '

"But he is free to marry again."

"Besides, he is not a gentleman."

"Well," said Sir John, good humoredly, "I think we
agreed just now that that did not matter."

"Yes, in Hoskyn's case."

"Just so. Now Conolly is a man of greater culture
than Hoskyn. Of course, it is only a notion of mine ;
and I dare say you are quite right if you disapprove
of it. But since Mary is a girl with nice tastes — for
art and so forth — I thought that perhaps she might
not suit a thorough man of business. Hoskyn is only
an Americanized commercial traveller."

"Conolly is an American too. But that has nothing
to do with it. Conolly treated his wife badly : that is

300 Love Among the Artists

enough for me. I am certain he would make any
woman miserable,"

"If he really did "

"But, dear," interrupted Lady Geraldine, with
restrained impatience, "don't you know he did?
Everybody knows it."

Sir John shrugged himself placidly. "They say
so," he said. "I am afraid he was not all that he
should have been to her. She was a charming
creature — great beauty and, I thought, great rectitude.
Dear me ! You are right, as usual, Joldie. It would
not suit."

Lady Geraldine left the library, and went to dress
for dinner, disturbed by the possibility which Sir John
had suggested. At dinner she watched Conolly, and
observed that he conversed chiefly with Mary, and
seemed to know more than she on all her favorite sub-
jects. Afterwards, when they were in the drawing
room, Mary asked him whether he played the piano.
As he replied in the afifirmative. Lady Geraldine was
compelled to ask him to favor her with a performance.
At their request he played some of Jack's music, much
more calmly and accurately than Jack himself played it.
Then he made Mary sing, and was struck by her
declamatory style, which jarred Lady Geraldine 's
nerves nearly as much as it had Mrs. Phipson's. He
next sang himself, Mary accompanying him, and at
first soothed Lady Geraldine by his rich baritone voice,
and then roused her suspicions by singing a serenade
with great expression, which she privately set down as
a cold-blooded hypocrisy on his part. She at last
persuaded herself that he was deliberately trying to
engage the affections of Mary, with the intention of

Love Among the Artists 301

making her his second wife. Afterwards, he went out
with Sir John, who often smoked cigars after dinner
in the portico, and was fond of having a companion
on such occasions.

"Thank goodness!" said Lady Geraldine, "Blue-
beard has gone ; and we can have our chat at last. ' '

"Why Bluebeard?" said Mary, laughing. "His
beard is auburn. Has he been married more than
once?"

"No. But mark my words, he will marry at least
half-a-dozen times; and he will kill all his wives,
unless they run away from him, as poor Marian did.
However, so long as he does not marry us, he can do
as he likes. The question of the day is, what are you
going to say to Mr. John Hoskyn?"

"Oh!" said Mary, her face clouding. "Let Mr.
John Hoskyn wait. I wish he were in America. ' '

"And why?" said Lady Geraldine in an obstinate
tone.

"Because I want to enjoy my visit here and not be
worried by his proposals."

"You can answer him in five minutes, and then
enjoy your visit as much as if he actually were in
America. ' '

"That is true. Except that it will take much longer
than five minutes to devise a letter that will not hurt
his feelings too much. ' '

"I could write a sensible letter for you that would
not hurt his feelings at all. ' '

"Will you? I shall be so much obliged. I hate
refusing people."

"Mary: I hope you are not going to be foolish about
this offer."

302 Love Among the Artists

"Do you mean," said Mary, astonished, "that you
advise me to accept it."

"Most decidedly."

"But you said last night that he was not even a
gentleman."

"Oh, a gentleman! Nonsense! What is a gentle-
man? Who is a gentleman nowadays? Is Mr. Conolly,
with whom you seem so well pleased" (Mary opened
her eyes widely) "a gentleman? Or Mr. Jack?"

"Do you not consider Mr. Herbert a gentleman?"

"Yes, I grant you that. I forgot him; but I only
conclude from your experience of him that a mere
gentleman would not do for you at all. Do you dis-
like Mr. Hoskyn?"

"No, But then I do not absolutely dislike any man ;
and I know nearly a hundred."

"Is there anyone whom you like better?"

"N-no. Of course I am speaking only of people
whom I could marry. Still, that is not saying much.
If I heard that he was leaving the country for ever,
I should be rather relieved than otherwise."

"Yes, my dear, I know it is very anoying to be
forced to make up one's mind. But you will gain
nothing by putting it off. I have been speaking to Sir
John about Mr. Hoskyn; and everything he has told
me is satisfactory in the highest degree. ' '

"I am sure of it. Respectable, well off, rising,
devotedly attached to me, calculates his figures at a
percentage off the minimum, and so forth."

"Mary," said Lady Geraldine gravely: "have I
mentioned even one of those points to you?"

"No," said Mary, taken a little aback. "But what
other light can you see him in?"

Love Among the Artists 303

"In the best of all lights: that of a comfortable
husband. I am in dread for you lest your notions of
high art should make you do something foolish.
When you have had as much experience as I, you will
know that genius no more qualifies a man to be a
husband than good looks, or fine manners, or noble
birth, or anything else out of a story book."

"But want of genius is still less a qualification."
"Genius, Mary, is a positive disqualification.
Geniuses are morbid, intolerant, easily offended,
sleeplessly self-conscious men, who expect their wives
to be angels with no further business in life than to
pet and worship their husbands. Even at the best
they are not comfortable men to live with; and a
perfect husband is one who is perfectly comfortable
to live with. Look at the matter practically. Do you
suppose, you foolish child, that I am a bit less happy
because Sir John does not know a Raphael from a
Redgrave, and would accept the last waltz cheerfully
as a genuine something-or-other by Bach in B minor?
Our tastes are quite different; and, to confess the
truth, I was no more romantically in love with him
when we were married than you are at present with
Mr. Hoskyn. Yet where will you find such a modern
Darby and Joan as we are? You hear Belle Saunders
complaining that she has 'nothing in common* with her
husband. What cant! As if any two beings living
in the same world must not have more things in
common than not; especially a husband and wife
living in the same house, on the same income, and
owning the same children. Why, I have something
in common with Macalister, the gardener. I can find
you a warning as well as an example. I knew Mr.

304 Love Among the Artists

Conolly's wife very well before she was married. She
was a woman of whom it was impossible to believe
anything bad. In an evil hour she met Conolly at a
charity concert where they had both promised to sing.
Of course he sang as if he was all softness and gentle-
ness, much as he did just now, probably. Then there
was a charming romance. She, like you, was fond of
books, pictures, and music. He knew all about them.
She was very honest and candid: he a statue of
probity. He was a genius too ; and his fame was a
novelty then: everybody talked of him. Never was
there such an auspicious match. She was the only
woman in England worthy of him : he the only man
worthy of her. Well, she married him, in spite of
the patent fact that with all his genius, he is a most
uncomfortable person. She endured him for two
years, and then ran away with an arrogant blockhead
who had nothing to recommend him to her except an
imposing appearance and an extreme unlikeness to
her husband. She has never been heard of since. If
she had married a domestic man like Hoskyn, she
would have been a happy wife and mother to-day.
But she was like you : she thought that taking a hus-
band was the same thing as engaging a gentleman to
talk art criticism with."

"I think I had better advertise, 'Wanted: a com-
fortable husband. Applicants need not be handsome,
as the lady is shortsighted. ' It sounds very prosaic.
Lady Geraldine. "

"It is prosaic. I told you once before that the world
is not a stage for you to play the heroine on. Like all
young people, you want an exalted motive for every
step you take. ' '

Love Among the Artists 305

**I confess I do. However, you have forgotten to
apply your argument to Mr. Hoskyn's case. If people
with artistic tastes are all uncomfortable, I must be
uncomfortable; and that is not fair to him."

"No matter. He is in love with you. Besides, you
are not artistic enough to be uncomfortable. You
have been your father's housekeeper too long."

"And you really advise me to marry Mr. Hoskyn?"

Lady Geraldine hesitated, "I think you can hardly
expect me to take the responsibility of directly advis-
ing you to marry any man. It is one of the things
that people must do for themselves. But I certainly
advise you not to be deterred from marrying him by
any supposed incompatibility in your tastes, or by his
not being a man of genius. "

"I wonder would Mr. Con oily marry me."

"Mary!"

"It was an unmaidenly remark," said Mary,
laughing.

"It is undignified for a sensible girl to play at being
silly, Mary. I hope you have no serious intention
beneath your jesting. If you have, I shall be very
sorry indeed for having allowed Mr. Conolly to meet
you here. ' '

"Not the slightest, I assure you. Why, Lady
Geraldine, you look quite alarmed."

"I do not trust Mr. Conolly much. Marian Lind
was infatuated by him ; and another woman may share
her fate — unless she happens to share my feeling
towards him, in which case she may be regarded as
perfectly safe. He is a dangerous subject. Let us
leave him and come back to our main business. Is
Mr. Hoskyn to be made happy or not?"

3o6 Love Among the Artists

"I don't want to marry at all. Let him have Miss
Cairns : she would suit him exactly. ' '

"Well, if you don't want to marry at all, my dear,
there is an end of it. I have said all I can. You must
decide for yourself."

Mary, perceiving that Lady Geraldine felt offended,
was about to make a soothing speech, when she heard
a chair move, and, looking up, saw that Conolly was
in the room.

"Do I disturb you?" he said.

"Not at all," said Lady Geraldine with dignity,
looking at him rather severely, and wondering how
long he had been there.

"We were discussing sociology," said Mary.

"Ah!" said he serenely. "And have you arrived at
any important generalizations?"

"Most important ones."

"What about?— if I may ask."

"About marriage." Lady Geraldine stamped hastily
on Mary's foot, and looked reproachfully at her.
Mary felt her color deepen, but she faced him boldly.

"And have you come to the usual conclusions?" he
said, sitting down near them.

"What are the usual conclusions?" said Mary.

"That marriage is a mistake. That men who
surrender their liberty, and women who surrender
their independence, are fools. That children are a
nuisance. And so forth."

"We have not come to any such conclusions. We
rather started in with the assumption that marriage is
a necessary evil, and were debating how to make the
best of it. ' '

"On which point you differed, of course."

Love Among the Artists 307

"Why of course?"

"Because Lady Geraldine is married and you are
not. Can I help you to arrive at a compromise? I
am peculiarly fitted for the task, because I am not
married, and yet I have been married."

Lady Geraldine, who had turned her chair so as to
avert her face from him, looked round. Disregarding
this mute protest, he continued, addressing Mary.
"Will 3^ou tell me the point at issue?"

"It is not so very important," said Mary, a little
confused. "We were only exchanging a few casual
remarks. A question arose as to whether the best
men make the best husbands. I mean the cleverest
men — men of genius, for instance. Lady Geraldine
said no. She maintains that a good-natured block-
head makes a far better husband than a Csesar or a
Shakspere. "

"Did you say that?" said Conolly to Lady Geraldine,
with a smile.

"No," she replied, almost uncivilly. "Blockheads
are never good-natured. At best, they are only lazy.
I said that a man might be a very good husband
without any special culture in the arts and sciences.
Mary seemed to think that any person who under-
stands as much of painting as an artist, is a person
who sympathizes with that artist, and therefore a
suitable match for her — or him. I disagree with her.
I believe that community of taste for art has just as
much to do with matrimonial happiness as com-
munity of taste for geography or roast mutton, and no
more."

"And no more," repeated Conolly. "You are quite
right. Heroes are ill adapted to domestic purposes.

3o8 Love Among the Artists

That is what you mean, is it not? Perhaps Miss
Sutherland will be content with nothing less than a
hero."

" No, " said Mary. ' ' But I will never admit that a man
is not the better for being a hero. According to you,
he is the worse. I heartily despise a woman who
marries a fool in order that she may be comfortably
despotic in her own house. I do not make absolute
heroism an indispensable condition — I do not know
exactly what heroism means ; but I think a man may
reasonably be expected to be free from vulgar preju-
dices against the efforts of artists to make life beauti-
ful; and to have so disciplined himself that his wife
can always depend on his self-control and moral
rectitude. It must be terrible to live in constant
dread of childish explosions of temper from one's
husband ; or to fear, at every crisis, that he will not
act like a man of sense and honor."

Conolly looked at her curiously, and then, with an
intent deliberation which gave the fullest emphasis to
his words, leaned a little towards her with his hands
on his knees, and said, "Did you ever live with a per-
son whose temper was imperturbable — who never
hesitated to apply his principles, and never swerved
from acting as they dictated? One who, whatever he
might be to himself, was to you so void of the petty
jealousies, irritabilities, and superstitions of ordinary
men, that, as far as you understood his view of life,
you could calculate upon his correct behavior before-
hand in every crisis with as much certainty as upon
the striking of a clock?"

"No," said Lady Geraldine emphatically, before
Mary could reply; "and I should not like to, either."

Love Among the Artists 309

"You are always right," said Conolly. "Yet such a
person would fulfil Miss Sutherland's conditions.
Like Hamlet," he continued, turning to Mary, "you
want a man that is not Passion's slave. I hope you
may never get him ; for I assure you you will not like
him. He would make an excellent God, but a most
unpleasant man, and an unbearable husband. What
could you be to a wholly self-sufficient man? Affec-
tion would be a superfluity with which you would be
ashamed to trouble him. I once knew a lady whom I
thought the most beautiful, the most accomplished,
and the most honest of her sex. This lady met a man
who had learned to stand alone in the world — a hard
lesson, but one that is relentlessly forced on every
sensitive but unlovable boy who has his own way to
make, and who knows that, outside himself, there is
no God to help him. This man had realized all that
is humanly possible in your ideal of a self-disciplined
man. The lady was young, and, unlike Lady Geral-
dine, not wise. Instead of avoiding his imperturbable
self-sufficiency, she admired it; loved it; and married
it. She found in her husband all that you demand.
She never had reason to dread his temper, or to doubt
his sense and honor. He needed no petting, no
counsel, no support. He had no vulgar prejudices
against art, and, indeed, was fonder of it than she
was. What she felt about him I can only conjecture.
But I know that she ceased to love him, whilst around
her thousands of wives were clinging fondly to
husbands who bullied and beat them, to fools, savages,
drunkards, knaves, Passion's slaves of many patterns,
but all weak enough to need caresses and forgiveness
occasionally. Eventually she left him, and it served

3IO Love Among the Artists

him right; for this model husband, who had never
forfeited his wife's esteem, or tried her forbearance
by word or deed, had led her to believe that he would
be as happy without her as with her, A man who is
complete in himself needs no wife. If you value your
happiness, seek for someone who needs you, who
begs for you, and who, because loneliness is death to
him, will never cease to need you. Have I made my-
self clear?"

"Yes," said Mary. "I think I understand; though
I do not say I agree. ' '

Sir John came in just then, opportunely enough ; and
he found ConoUy quite willing to talk about the pro-
jects of the Company, although the ladies were there-
by excluded from any part or interest in the con-
versation. Mary took the opportunity to slip away,
unnoticed save by her hostess. When Conolly's atten-
tion was released by Sir John going to the library for
some papers, he found himself alone with Lady
Geraldine.

"Mr. Conolly," said Lady Geraldine, overcoming,
with obvious effort, her reluctance to speak to him:
"although you were of course not aware of it, you
chose a most unfortunate moment for explaining your
views to Miss Sutherland. There are circumstances
which render it very undesirable that her judgment
should be biassed against marriage just at present."

"I hardly follow you," said Conolly, with a
benignant self-possession which made Lady Geraldine
privately quail. "Are you opposed to the suit of Mr.
Hoskyn?" She looked at him in consternation. "I
see you are surprised by my knowledge of Miss Suther-
land's affairs," he continued. "But that only con-

Love Among the Artists 311

vinces me that you do not know Mr. Hoskyn. In
business matters he can sometimes keep a secret. In
personal matters he is indiscretion personified.
Everybody in Queen Victoria Street, from the messen-
ger to the Chairman, is informed of the state of his
affections."

"But why, if you knew this, did you talk as you
did?"

"Because," said he, smiling at her impatience, "I
did not then know that you disapproved of his
proposal. ' '

"Mr. Conolly," said Lady Geraldine, trying to
speak politely: "I don't disapprove of it."

"Then we are somehow at cross purposes. I too,
approve; and as Hoskyn is not, to my knowledge,
likely to be a hero in the eyes of a young lady of Miss
Sutherland's culture, I ventured to warn her that he
might be all the better qualified to make her happy."

"I told her so myself. But if you want to encourage
a young girl to marry, surely it is not a very judicious
thing to give such a bad account of your own married
life "

"Of my own married life?"

"I mean," said Lady Geraldine, coloring deeply, "of
your own experience of married life — what you have
observed in others." She stopped, feeling that this
was a paltry evasion, and added, "I beg your pardon.
I fear I have made a very painful blunder. ' '

"No. An allusion to my marriage — from you —
does not pain me. I know your sympathies are not
with me; and I am pleased to think that they are
therefore where they are most needed and deserved.
As to Miss Sutherland, I do not think that what I said

312 Love Among the Artists

will have the effect you fear. In any case, my words
are beyond recall. If she refuses Mr. Hoskyn, I shall
bear the blame. If she accepts him, I will claim to
have been your ally. ' '

"She would be angry if she knew that you were
av/are, all the time you were talking, of her position, ' *

"Angry with me: yes. That does not matter. But
if she knew that Mr. Hoskyn had told me she would
be angry with him; and that would matter very
much. ' '

Before Lady Geraldine could reply, her husband
returned; and Conolly withdrew shortly afterwards
for the night.

Next day, Mary received from Hoskyn a second
letter begging her to postpone her answer until he
had seen her, as he had now become convinced that
such matters ought to be conducted personally instead
of by writing. As soon as he had ascertained which
hotel was the nearest to Sir John's house, he would,
he wrote, put up there, and ask Mary to contrive one
long interview. She was not to mention his presence
to Lady Geraldine, lest she should think he expected
to be asked on a visit. Mary immediately made Lady
Geraldine promise that he should not be asked on a
visit; and then, to avoid the threatened interview,
made up her mind and wrote to him as follows:

Dear Mr. Hoskyn : — I shall not give you the trouble
of coming down here to urge what you so frankly
proposed in your first letter. I trust it will relieve
your anxiety to learn that I have decided to accept
your offer. However, as the position we are now in
is one that we could not properly maintain whilst
visiting at the house of a friend, I beg that you will

Love Among the Artists 313

give up all idea of seeing me until I leave Devonshire.
My social duties here are so heavy that I can hardly,
without seeming rude, absent myself to write a long
letter. I suppose you will go back to Trouville until
we all return to London.

I am, dear Mr. Hoskyn,

Yours sincerely,
Mary Sutherland.

Mary composed this letter with difficulty, and sub-
mitted it to Lady Geraldine, who said, "It is not very
loving. That about your social duties is a fib. And
you want him to go to Trouville because he cannot
write so often. ' '

"I can do no better," said Mary. "But you are
right. I will burn it and write him another, refusing
him point blank. That will be the shortest."

"No, thank you. This will do very well." And
Lady Geraldine closed it with her own hands and sent
it to the post. Later in the afternoon Mary said, "I
am exceedingly sorry I sent that letter. I have found
out my real mind about Mr. Hoskyn at last. I detest
him."

Lady Geraldine only laughed at her.

BOOK II

315

CHAPTER I

One evening the concert room in St. James's Hall
was crowded with people waiting to hear the first public
performance of a work by Mr. Owen Jack, entitled
"Prometheus Unbound." It wanted but a minute to
eight o'clock; the stalls were filling rapidly; the
choristers were already in their seats; and there was
a din of tuning from the band. Not far from the
orchestra sat Mr. John Hoskyn, with a solemn air of
being prepared for the worst, and carefully finished
at the tie, gloves and hair. Next him was his wife, in
a Venetian dress of garnet colored plush. Her black
hair was gathered upon her neck by a knot of deep sea
green; and her dark eyes peered through lenses
framed in massive gold.

On the foremost side bench, still nearer to the
orchestra, was a young lady with a beautiful and
intelligent face. She was more delicately shaped than
Mrs. Hoskyn, and was dressed in white. Her
neighbors pointed her out to one another as the
Szczympliga; but she was now Mrs. Adrian Herbert.
Her husband was with her ; and his regular features
seemed no less refined and more thoughtful than those
of his wife. Mrs. Hoskyn looked at him earnestly for
some time. Then she turned as though to look at her
husband; but she checked herself in this movement,
and directed her attention to the entry of Manlius.

"I have counted the band," whispered Hoskyn;

317

3i8 Love Among the Artists

"and it's eighty-five strong. They can't give them
much less than seven and sixpence apiece for the
night, which makes thirty-two pounds all but half a
crown, without counting the singers."

"Nonsense," said Mary, after looking round appre-
hensively to see whether her husband's remark had
been overheard. "Five pounds apiece would be
nearer the — Hush. ' '

The music had just begun; and Hoskyn had to
confine his repudiation of Mary's estimate to an
emphatic shake of the head. The overture, anxiously
conducted by Manlius, who was very nervous, lasted
nearly half an hour. When it was over, there was
silence for some m.oments, then faint applause, then
sounds of disapproval, then sufficient applause to
overpower these, and finally a buzz of conversation.
A popular baritone singer, looking very uncomfort-
able, rose to carry on his part of a dialogue between
Prometheus and the earth, which was the next number
of the work. The chorus singers also rose, and fixed
their eyes stolidly but desperately on the conductor,
who hardly ventured to look at them. The dialogue
commenced; but the attention of the audience was
presently diverted from it by the appearance of Jack
himself, who was seen to cross the room with an
angry countenance, and go out. The conclusion of
the dialogue was followed by unbroken silence, in the
midst of which the popular baritone sat down with an
air of relief.

"I find that the music is beginning to grow upon
me," said Mrs. Hoskyn.

"Do you?" said Hoskyn. "I wish it would grow
quicker. I'm only joking," he added, seeing that she

Love Among the Artists 319

was disappointed. "It's splendid. I wish I knew
enough about it to like it; but I can see that it has
the real classical style. When those brass things come
in, it's magnificent."

Two eminent songstresses now came forward as Asia
and Panthea; and the audience prepared themselves
for the relief of a pretty duet. But Asia and Panthea
sang as strangely as Prometheus, in spite of which
they gained some slow, uncertain, grudging applause.
The "Race of the Hours," which followed, was of
great length, progressing from a lugubrious midnight
hour in E flat minor to a sunrise in A major, and
culminating with a jubilant clangor of orchestra and
chorus which astounded the audience, and elicited a
partly hysterical mixture of hand clapping and protest-
ing hisses.

"How stupid these people are!" exclaimed Mrs.
Adrian Herbert. "What imbecility! They do not
know that it is good music. Heaven!"

"I must confess that, to my ear, there is not a note
of music in it, ' ' said Adrian.

"Is it possible!" said Aur^lie. "But it is superb!
Splendid!"

"It is ear splitting," said Adrian. "Your ears are
hardier than mine, perhaps. I hope we shall hear
some melody in the next part, by way of variety. ' *

"Without doubt we shall. It is a work full of
melody. ' '

Herbert was confirmed in his opinion by the final
number, entitled, "Antiphony of the Earth and
Moon, ' ' which was listened to in respectful bewilder-
ment by the audience, and executed with symptoms of
exhaustion by the chorus.

320 Love Among the Artists

"By George," said Hoskyn, joining heartily in some
applause which began in the cheaper seats, "that
sounded stupendous, I'd like to hear it again."

The clapping, though not enthusiastic, was now
general, all being good naturedly willing that the com-
poser should be called forward in acknowledgment of
his efforts, if not of his success. Jack, who had
returned to hear the "Race of the Hours," again
arose ; and those who knew him clapped more loudly,
thinking that he was on his way to the orchestra. It
proved that he was on his way to th-e door; for he
went out as ungraciously as before.

"How disappointing!" said Mary. "He is so
hasty."

"Serves them right," said Hoskyn. "I like his
pluck; and you make take my word for it, Mary, that
is a sterling solid piece of music. It reminds me of
the Pacific railroad."

"Of course it is. Even you can see that," said
Mary, who did not quite see it herself. "It is mere
professional jealousy that prevents the people here
from applauding properly. They are all musicians of
some kind or another. ' '

"They are going to give us ten minutes law before
they begin again. Let us take a walk round, and find
what Nanny thinks."

Meanwhile Aurelie was excited and almost in tears.
Mr. Phipson had just come up to them, shaking his
head sadly. "As I feared," he said. "As I
feared."

"It is a shame," she said indignantly, "a shame
unworthy of the English people. Of what use is it to
write music for such a world?"

Love Among the Artists 321

**It is far above their heads," said Phipson. "I
told him so."

"And their insolence is far beneath his feet," said
Aur61ie. "Oh, it is a scene to plunge an artist in
despair. ' '

"It does not plunge me into despair," said Adrian,
with quiet conviction. "The work has failed; and I
venture to say that it deserved to fail. ' '

"It is unworthy of you to say so," exclaimed Aur^lie
passionately, throwing herself back in her seat and
turning away from him.

"Deserved is perhaps a hard word under the cir-
cumstances, Mr. Herbert," said Phipson. "The work
is a very remarkable one, and far beyond the com-
prehension of the public. Jack has been much too
bold. Even our audiences will not listen with
patience to movements of such length and complica-
tion. I greatly regret what has happened; for the
people who are attracted by our concerts are repre-
sentative of the highest musical culture in England.
A work which fails here from its abstruseness has not
the ghost of a chance of success elsewhere. Ah!
Here is Mary."

Some introductions followed. Hoskyn shook
Adrian's hand cordially, and made a low bow to
Aur^lie, whom he stole an occasional glance at, but
did not at first venture to address. Aur61ie looked at
Mary's dress with wonder.

"I am greatly annoyed by the way Mr. Jack has
been treated, " said Mary. "An audience of working
people could not be more insensible to his genius than
the people here have shewn themselves to-night."

"My wife is quite angry with me because I, too,

322 Love Among the Artists

am insensible to the beauties of Mr. Jack's com-
position," said Herbert

"You always were," said Mary. *'Mr. Hoskyn is
delighted with Prometheus. ' '

"Is Mr. Hoskyn musical?"

"More so than you, it appears, since he can
appreciate Mr. Jack."

Phipson then struck in on the merits of the music ;
and he, Mary, and Adrian, being old friends, fell into
conversation together, to the exclusion of the husband
and wife so recently added to their circle. Hoskyn,
under these circumstances, felt bound to entertain
Aur^lie,

"I consider that we have had a most enjoyable
evening," he said. "I think there can be no doubt
that Jack's music is first rate of its kind,"

"Ah? Monsieur Jacques's music. You find it
goodh."

"Very good indeed," said Hoskyn, speaking loudly,
as if to a deaf person. "Jilitroovsplongdeed," he
added rashly.

"You are right, monsieur," said Aur^lie, speaking
rapidly in French. ' ' But it seems to me that there is
something unworthy — infamous, in the icy stupidity
of these people here. Of what use is it to compose
great works when one is but held in contempt because
of them? It is necessary to be a trader here in order
to have success. Commerce is the ruin of England.
It renders the people quite anti-artistic."

"Jinipweevoocomprongder," murmured Hoskyn.
"The fact is," he added, more boldly, "I only dropped
a French word to help you out a little; but you
mustn't take advantage of that to talk to me out of my

Love Among the Artists 323

native language. I can speak French pretty well;
but I never could understand other people speaking
it."

"Ah," said Aur^lie, who listened to his English
with strained attention. "You understand me not
very goodh. It is like me with English. But in this
moment I make much progress. I have lesson every
day from Monsieur Herbert."

"You speak very well. Vooparlaytraybyang —
tootafaycumoononglays. Jinisoray — I mean I should
not know from your speaking that you were a
foreigner — oonaytronzhare. ' '

"Vraiment?" cried Aur61ie, greatly pleased.

"Vraymong," said Hoskyn, nodding emphatically.

"It is sthrench. There is only a few months since I
know not a word of the English."

"You see you knew the universal langfuage before."

"Comment? La langue universelle?"

"I mean music. Music!" he repeated, seeing her
still bewildered.

"Ah, yes," said Aur^lie, her puzzled expression
vanishing. "You call music the universal language.
It is true. You say very goodh. ' '

"It must be easy to learn anything after learning
music. Music is so desperately hard. I am sure
learning it must make people — spiritual, you know."

"Yes, yes. You observe very justly, monsieur. I
am quite of your advice. Understand you?"

"Parfatemong byang," said Hoskyn, confidently.

Here Mary interrupted the conversation by warn-
ing her husband that it was time to return to their
places. As they did so, she said :

"You must excuse me for abandoning you to the

324 Love Among the Artists

Szczympliga, John. I suppose you could not say a
word to one another."

"Why not? She's a very nice woman; and we got
on together splendidly. I always do manage to hit it
off with foreigners. However, it was easy enough in
her case; for she could speak broken English and
couldn't understand it, whereas I could speak French
but couldn't understand the way she talked it — she's
evidently not a Frenchwoman. So she spoke to me
in English ; I answered her in French ; and we talked
as easily as I talk to you."

Meanwhile Adrian could not refrain from comment-
ing on Mary's choice. "I wonder why she married
that man," he said to Aur^lie. "I cannot believe that
she would stoop to marry for money; any yet, seeing
what he is, it is hard to believe that she loves
him."

"But why?" said Aur^lie. "He is a little com-
mercial; but all the English are so. And he is a man
of intelligence. He has very choice ideas."

''Vou think so, Aur^lie!"

"Certainly. He has spoken very well to me. I
assure you he has a very fine perception of music. It
is difficult to understand him, because he does not
speak French as well as I speak English; but it is
evident that he has reflected much. As for her, she is
fortunate to have so good a husband. What an
absurd dress she wears! In any other part of the
world she would be mocked at as a madwoman.
Your scientific Mademoiselle Sutherland is, in my
opinion, no great things."

Adrian looked at his wife with surprise, and with
some displeasure; but the music recommenced just

Love Among the Artists 325

then, and the conversation dropped. Some com-
positions of Mendelssohn were played; and these he
applauded emphatically, whilst she sat silent with
averted face. When the concert was over they saw
the Hoskyns drive away in a neat carriage; and
Herbert, who had never in his bachelor days envied
any man the possession of such a luxury, felt sorry
that he had to hire a hansom for his wife's accommo-
dation.

Adrian had not yet found a suitable permanent
residence. They lived on the first floor of a house in
the Kensington Road. Aurelie, who had always left
domestic matters to her mother, knew little about house-
keeping, and could not be induced to take an interest
in house-hunting. The landlady at Kensington Road
supplied them with food; and Adrian paid a heavy
bill every week, Aurelie exclaiming that the amount
was unheard of, and the woman wicked, but not taking
any steps to introduce a more economical system.

They reached their lodging at a quarter before
twelve ; and Adrian, when Aur61ie had gone upstairs,
turned out the gas and chained the door, knowing
that the rest of the household were in bed. As he
followed her up, he heard the pianoforte, and, entering
the room, saw her seated at it. She did not look
round at him, but continued playing, with her face
turned slightly upward and to one side — an attitude
habitual to her in her musical moments. He moved
uneasily about the room for some time ; put aside his
overcoat; turned down a jet of gas that flared; and
re-arranged some trifles on the mantelpiece. Then
he said:

"Is it not rather late for the pianoforte, Aurelie?

326 Love Among the Artists

It is twelve o'clock ; and the people of the house must
be asleep."

Aur^lie started as if awakened; shrugged her
shoulders; closed the instrument softly; and went to
an easy chair, in which she sat down wearily.

Herbert was dissatisfied with himself for interrupt-
ing her, and angry with her for being the cause of his
dissatisfaction. Nevertheless, looking at her as she
reclined in the chair, and seemed again to have for-
gotten his existence, he became enamored.

"My darling!"

"Eh?" she said, waking again. "Qu'est-ce, quec'est?"

*'It has turned rather cold to-night. Is it wise to sit
in that thin dress when there is no fire?"

"I do not know."

"Shall I get you a shawl?"

"It does not matter: I am not cold." She spoke as
if his solicitude only disturbed her.

"Aur^lie," he said, after a pause: "I heard to-night
that my mother has returned to town."

No answer.

"Aurdlie," he repeated petulantly. "Are you
listening to me?"

"Yes. I listen." But she did not look at him.

"I said that my mother was in town. I think we
had better call on her."

"Doubtless you will call on her, if it pleases you to
do so. Is she not your mother?"

"But you will come with me, Aur61ie, will you not?"

"Never. Never."

"Not to oblige me, Aurdlie?"

"It is not the same thing to oblige you as to oblige
your mother. I am not married to your mother,"

Love Among the Artists 327

Herbert winced. "That is a very harsh speech to
English ears," he said.

* ' I do not speak in English : I speak the language of
my heart. Your mother has insulted me ; and you are
wrong to ask me to go to her. My mother has never
offended you; and yet I sent her away because you
did not like her, and because it is not the English
custom that she [should continue with me. I know
you did not marry her; and I do not reproach you
with harshness because she is separated from me. I
will have the like freedom for myself. ' '

"Aur^lie," cried Herbert, who had been staring
during most of her speech: "you are most unjust.
Have I ever failed in courtesy towards your mother?
Did I ever titter a word expressive of dislike to her?"

"You were towards her as you were towards all the
world. You were very kind: I do not say otherwise."

"In what way can my mother have insulted you?
You have never spoken to her; and since a month
before our wedding she has been in Scotland. ' '

"Where she went lest I should speak to her, no
doubt. Why did she not speak to me when I last met
her? She knew well that I was betrothed to you.
She is proud, perhaps. Well, be it so. I also am
proud. I am an artist; and queens have given me
their hands frankly. Your mother holds that an
English lady is above all queens, I hold that an
artist is above all ladies. We can live without one
another, as we have done hitherto. I do not seek to
hinder you from going to her; but I will not go."

"You mistake my mother's motive altogether. She
is not proud — in that way. She was angry because I
did not allow her to choose a wife for me. ' '

328 Love Among the Artists

"Well, she is angry still, no doubt. Of what use is
it to anger her further?"

"She has too much sense to persist in protesting
against what is irrevocable. You need not fear a cold
welcome, Aur6He. I will make sure, before I allow
you to go, that you shall be properly received."

"I pray you, Adrian, annoy me no more about your
mother. I do not know her: I will not know her. It
is her own choice ; and she must abide by it. Can you
not go to her without me?"

"Why should I go to her without you?" said Adrian,
distressed. "Your love is far more precious to me
than hers. You know how little tenderness there is
between her and me. But family feuds are very
objectionable. They are always in bad taste, and
often lead to serious consequences. I wish you would
for this once sacrifice your personal inclination, and
help me to avert a permanent estrangement."

"Ah yes," exclaimed Aur^lie, rising indignantly.
"You will sacrifice my honor to the conventions of
your world. ' '

"It is an exaggeration to speak of such a trifle as
affecting your honor. However, I will say no more. I
would do much greater things for you than this that
you will not do for me, Aur^lie. But then I love
you. ' '

"I do not want you to love me," said Aur^lie,
turning towards the door with a shrug. "Go and
love somebody else. Love Madame Hoskyn ; and tell
her how badly your wife uses you."

Herbert made a step after her. "Aur^lie, " he said:
"if I submit to this treatment from you, I shall be the
most infatuated slave in England."

Love Among the Artists 329

"I cannot help that. And I do not like you when
you are a slave. It grows late. ' '

"Are you going to bed already?"

"Already! My God, it is half an hour after mid-
night! You are going mad, I think."

"I think I am. Aur61ie: tell me the truth honestly
now : I cannot bear to discover it by the slow torture
of watching you grow colder to me. Do you no longer
love me?"

"Perhaps," she said, indifferently. "I do not love
you to-night, that is certain. You have been very
tiresome." And she left the room without looking at
him. For some moments after her departure he
remained motionless. Then he set his lips together;
went to a bureau and took some money from it; put
on his hat and overcoat; and took a sheet of paper
from his desk. But after dipping a pen in the ink
several times, he cast it aside without writing any-
thing. As he did so, he saw on the mantelpiece a
little brooch which Aur^lie often wore at her throat.
He took this up, and was about to put it into his
pocket, when, giving way to a sudden impulse, he
dashed it violently on the hearthstone. He then
extinguished the light, and went out. When he had
descended one stair, he heard a door above open, and a
light foot fall on the landing above. He stopped and
held his breath.

"Adrian, my dear, art thou there?"

"What is it?"

"When thou comest, bring me the little volume
which lies on the piano. It is red; and my handker-
chief is between the pages for a mark."

He hesitated a moment. Then, saying, "Yes, my

33C? Love Among the Artists

darling," meekly, he stole back into the drawing-
room; undid his preparations for flight; got the red
book; and went upstairs, where he found his wife in
bed, placidly unconscious of his recent proceedings,
with the reading lamp casting a halo on her pillow.

It was Adrian's habit to rise promptly when the
servant knocked at his door at eight o'clock every
morning. Aur^lie, on the contrary, was lazy, and
often left her husband to breakfast by himself. On
the morning after the concert he rose as usual, and
made as much noise as possible in order to wake her.
Not succeeding, he retired to his dressing-room and,
after a great splashing and rubbing, returned clad in
a dressing gown.

*'Aur^lie." A pause, during which her regular
breathing was audible. Then, more loudly, " Aur61ie. "
She replied by a murmur. He added, very loudly
and distinctly, " It is twenty minutes past eight. ' '

She moved a little, and uttered a strange sound,
which he did not understand, but recognized as Polish.
Then she said drowsily, in French, "Presently."

"At once, if you please," he said, putting his hand
on her shoulder. "Must I shake you?"

"No, no," she said, rousing herself a little more.
"Do not shake me, I implore you." Then, petulantly
"I will not be shaken. I am going to get up. Are
there any letters?"

"I have not been downstairs yet."

"Go and see."

"You will be sure not to sleep again."

"Yes, yes. I shall be down almost as soon as yoiL
Bring me up the letters, if there are any. ' '

He returned to his dressing-room; finished his

Love Among the Artists 331

toilet; and went downstairs. There were some
letters. He looked at them, and went back to Aur^lie.
She was fast asleep.

"Oh, Aur61ie! AuriSlie! Really it is too bad. You
are asleep again. ' '

"How you disturb me!" she said, opening her eyes,
and sighing impatiently. "What hour is it?"

"You may well ask. It is twenty-five minutes to nine."

"Is that all?"

"All! Come, Aurelie, there are three letters for
you. Two are from Vienna."

Aur61ie sat up, awake and excited. "Quick," she
said. "Give them to me. "

"I left them downstairs."

"Oh," said Aurelie, disgusted. Adrian hurried from
the room lest she should prevail upon him to bring up
the letters. He occupied himself with the newspaper
for the next fifteen minutes, at the end of which she
appeared and addressed herself to her correspondence,
leaving him to pour out tea for himself and for her.
Nothing was said for some time. Then she exclaimed
with emphasis, as though in contradiction of what she
read.

"But it is certain that I will go."

"Go where?" said Adrian, turning pale.

"To Vienna — to Prague — to Budapesth, my beloved
Budapesth. "

"To Vienna!"

"They are going to give a Schumann concert in
Vienna. They want me ; and they shall have me. I
have a specialty for the music of Schumann : no one in
the world can play it as I can. And I long to see
my Viennese friends. It is so stupid here."

332 Love Among the Artists

"But, Aur^lie, I have my work to do, I cannot go
abroad at this season of the year."

"It is not necessary. I did not think of asking- you
to come. No. My mother will accompany me every-
where. She likes our old mode of life."

"You mean, in short, to leave me," he said, looking
shocked.

"My poor Adrian," she said, leaning over to caress
him: "wilt thou be desolate without me? But fret
not thyself : I will return with much money, and con-
sole thee. Music is my destiny, as painting is thine.
We shall be parted but a little time."

Adrian was pained, but could only look wistfully at
her and say, "You seem to enjoy the prospect of leav-
ing me, Aurdlie."

"I am tired of this life. I am forgotten in the
world; and others take my place."

"And will you be happier in Vienna than here?"

"Assuredly. Else wherefore should I desire to go?
When I read in the journals of all the music in which
I have no share, I almost die of impatience."

"And I sometimes, when I am working alone in my
studio, almost die of impatience to return to your
side."

"Bah! That is another reason for my going. It is
not good for you to be so loving. ' '

"I fear that it too true, Aur^lie. But will it
be good for you to have no one near you who loves
you?"

"Oh, those who love me are everywhere. In Vienna
there is a man — a student — six feet high, with fair
hair, who gets a friend to make me deplorable verses
which he pretends are his own. Heaven, how he

Love Among the Artists 333

loves me ! At Leipzig there is an old professor, almost
as foolish as thou, my Adrian. Ah, yes: I shall not
want for lovers anywhere."

"Aurelie, are you mad, or cruel, or merely simple,
that you say these things to me?"

"Are you then jealous? Ha! ha! He is jealous of
my fair-haired student and of my old professor. But
fear nothing, my friend. For all these men my
mother is a veritable dragon. They fear her more
than they fear the devil, in whom, indeed, they do not
believe."

"If I cannot trust you, Aurelie, I cannot trust your
mother. ' *

"You say well. And when you do not trust me,
you shall never see me again. I was only mocking.
But I must start the day after to-morrow. You must
come with me to Victoria, and see that my luggage is
right. I shall not know how to travel without my
mother."

"Until you are in her hands, I will not lose sight of
you, my dear treasure," said Adrian tenderly. "You
will write often to me, will you not, Aurelie?"

"I cannot write — you know it, Adrian. Mamma
shall write to you: she always has abundance to say.
I must practise hard; and I cannot sit down and
cramp my fingers with a pen. I will write occasionally
— I am sure to want something."

Adrian finished his breakfast in silence, glancing at
her now and again with a mixture of rapture and
despair.

"And so," he said, when the meal was over, "I am to
lose you, Aur61ie."

"Go, go," she replied: "I have much preparation to

334 Love Among the Artists

make; and you are in my way. Yon must paint hard
in your studio until very late this evening."

"I thoiight of giving myself a holiday, and staying
at home with you, dearest, as we are so soon to be
separated. ' '

"Impossible," cried Aurelie, alarmed. "My God,
what a proposition! You must stay away more than
ever. I have to practise, and to think of my dresses :
I must absolutely be alone." Adrian took up his hat
dejectedly. "My soul, my life, how I tear thy heart!"
she added fondly, taking his face between her hands,
and kissing him. He went out pained, humiliated,
and ecstatically happy.

Aurelie was busy all the morning. Early in the
afternoon she placed Schumann's concerto in A minor
on the desk of the pianoforte; arranged her seat be-
fore it; and left the room. When she returned,
she had changed her dress, and was habited in
silk. She bore her slender and upright figure more
proudly before her imaginary audience than she
usually ventured to do before a real one ; and when
she had taken her place at the instrument, she played
the concerto as she was not always fortunate enough
to play it in public. Before she had finished the
door was thrown open; and a servant announced
"Mrs. Herbert." Aurelie started up frowning, and
had but just time to regain her thoughtful expres-
sion and native distinction of manner when her
mother-in-law entered, looking as imposing as a well-
bred Englishwoman can without making herself ridic-
ulous.

"I fear I disturbed you," she said, advancing
graciously.

Love Among the Artists ^ 335

"Not at all. I am very honored, madame. Please
to sit down."

Mrs. Herbert had intended to greet her son's wife
with a kiss. But Atir61ie, giving her hand with
dignified courtesy, was not approachable enough for
that. She was not distant; but neither was she
cordial. Mrs. Herbert sat down, a little impressed.

"Is it a long time, madame, that you are in London?"

"I only arrived the day before yesterday," replied
Mrs. Herbert in French, which, like Adrian, she spoke
fluently. "I am always compelled to pass the winter
in Scotland, because of my health. ' '

"The climate of Scotland, then, is softer than that
of England. Is it so?"

"It is perhaps not softer; but it suits me better,"
said Mrs. Herbert, looking hard at Aurelie, who was
gazing pensively at the fireplace.

"Your health is, I hope, perfectly re-established?"

"Perfectly, thank you. Are you quite sure I have
not interrupted you? I heard you playing as I came
in ; and I know how annoying a visit is when it inter-
feres with serious employment."

"I am very content to be entertained by you,
madame, instead of studying solitarily. ' '

"You still study?"

"Undoubtedly."

"You are very fond of playing, then?

"It is my profession."

"Since I am Adrian's mother," said Mrs. Herbert
with some emphasis, as if she thought that fact was
being overlooked, "will you allow me to ask you a
question?"

Aurelie bowed.

336 Love Among the Artists

"Do you study with a view to resuming your public
career at some future time?"

"Surely. I am going to play next week at Vienna."

Mrs. Herbert bent her head in surprised assent to
this intelligence. "I thought Adrian contemplated
your retirement into private life," she said. "How-
ever, let me hasten to add that I think you have shewn
great wisdom in overruling him. Will he accompany
you abroad?"

"It is not necessary that he should. I shall travel,
as usual, with my mother."

"Your mother is qiiite well, I hope?"

"Quite well, thank you, madame."

Then there was a gap in the conversation, Mrs.
Herbert felt that she was being treated as a
distinguished stranger in her son's house ; but she was
uncertain whether this was the effect of timidity or
the execution of a deliberate design on Aur61ie's part.
Inclining to the former opinion, she resolved to make
an advance.

"My dear," she said: "may I ask how your friends
usually call you?"

"Since my marriage, my friends usually call me
Madame Szczympliga "

"I could not call you that," interposed Mrs.
Herbert, smiling. "I could not pronounce it."

"It is incorrect, of course," continued Aur^lie.
without responding to the smile; "but it is customary
for artists to retain, after marriage, the name by
which they have been known. I intend to do so. My
English acquaintances call me Mrs. Herbert."

"But what is your Christian name?"

"Aur^lie. But that is only used by my husband

Love Among the Artists 337

and my mother — and by a few others who are dear
to me."

"Well," said Mrs. Herbert, with some impatience,
"as it is quite] impossible for me to address you as
Mrs. Herbert, I must really ask you to let me call you
Aurelie."

"Whatever is customary, madame," said Aurelie,
bending her head submissively. "You know far
better than I."

Mrs. Herbert watched her in silence after this,
wondering whether she was a knave or fool — whether
to attack or encourage her.

"You enjoyed your voyage in Scotland, I hope."
said Aurelie, dutifully making conversation for her
guest.

"Very much indeed. But I grew a little tired of it,
and shall probably remain in London now until August.
When may I expect to see you at my house?"

"You are very good, madame: I am very sensible of
your kindness. But — " Mrs. Herbert looked up
quickly — "I set out immediately for Vienna, whence
I go to Leipzig and many other cities. I shall not be
at my own disposal again for a long time."

Mrs. Herbert reflected for a moment, and then rose.
Aurelie rose also.

"Adieu," said Mrs. Herbert sauvely, offering her
hand.

"Adieu, madame," said Aurelie, saluting her with
earnest courtesy. Then Mrs. Herbert withdrew. On
reaching the street she hailed a hansom, and drove to
her son's studio in the Fulham Road. She found him
at his easel, working more rapidly and less attentively
than in the old days.

338 Love Among the Artists

"How d'ye do, mother," he said. "Sit down on the
throne." The throne was a chair elevated on a
platform for the accommodation of live models. "We
should have gone to see you; but Aur61ie is going
abroad. She has not a moment to spare."

"No, Adrian, that is precisely what you should not
have done, though doubtless you might have done it.
It was my duty to call upon your wife first; and I
have accordingly just come from your house."

"Indeed?" said Adrian eagerly, and a little
anxiously. "Did you see Aurelie?"

"I saw Aurelie."

"Well? What do you think of her?"

"I think her manners perfect, and her dress and
appearance above criticism."

"And was there — did you get on well together?"

"Your wife is a lady, Adrian; and I am a lady.
Under such circumstances there is no room for
unpleasantness of any kind. It is quite understood,
though unexpressed, that I shall not present myself at
your house again, and that your wife's engagements
will prevent her from returning my visit."

"Mother! Are you serious?"

* ' Quite serious, Adrian. I have come on here to ask
you whether your wife merely carries out your
wishes, or whether she prefers for herself not to
cultivate acquaintances in your family. ' '

"Pshaw! You must have taken some imaginary
offence."

"Is that the most direct and sensible answer you
can think of?"

"There is no lack of sense in the supposition that
Aurelie, being a foreigner, may not understand the

Love Among the Artists 339

English etiquette for the occasion. You may have
mistaken her. Even you are fallible, mother."

"I have already told you that your wife's manners
are perfect. If you assume that my judgment is not
to be relied on, there is no use in our talking to one
another at all. What I wish to know is this. Admit-
ting, for the sake of avoiding argument, that I am
right in my view of the matter, did your wife behave
as she did by your orders, or of her own free will?"

"Most certainly not by my orders," said Adrian,
angrily. "I am not in the habit of giving her orders.
If I were, they should not be of that nature. If
Aur^lie treated you with politeness, I do not see what
more you had any right to expect. She admired you
greatly when she first saw you; but I know she was
hurt by your avoidance of her after our engagement
became known, even when you were in the same
room with her. ' '

"She has not the least right to feel aggrieved on
that account. It was your business to have introduced
her to me as the lady you intended to marry."

"I did not feel encouraged to do so by what had
passed between us on the subject," said Adrian,
coldly.

"Well we need not go over that again. I merely
wish to ask you whether you expect me to make any
further concessions. You have lately acquired a
habit of accusing me of various shortcomings in my
duty to you; and I do not wish you to impute any
estrangement between your wife and me to my
neglect. I have called on her ; and she did not ask me
to call again. I endeavored to treat her as one of my
family: she politely insisted on the most distant

340 Love Among the Artists

acquaintanceship. I asked her to call on me ; and she
excused herself. Could I have done more?"

"I think you might, in the first instance,"

"Can I do more now?"

"You can answer that yourself better than I can. "

"I fear so, since you seem unable to give me a
straightforward or civil answer. However, if you
have nothing to suggest, please let it be understood
in future that I was perfectly willing to receive your
wife ; that I made the usual advances ; and that they
came to nothing through her action, not through
mine."

"Very well, though I do not think the point will
excite much interest in the world."

"Thank you, Adrian. I think I will go now. I
hope you treat your wife in a more manly and con-
siderate way than you have begun to treat me of late."

"She does not complain, mother. And I never
intended to treat you inconsiderately. But you some-
times attack me in a fashion which paralyses my con-
stant wish to conciliate you. I am sorry you have not
succeeded better with Aurelie."

"So am I. I did not think she was long enough
married to have lost the wish to please you. Perhaps,
though, she thought she would please you best by
holding aloof from me."

"You are full of unjust suspicion. The fact is just
the contrary. She knows that I have a horror of
estrangements in families."

"Then she does not study very hard to please you."

Adrian reddened, and was silent.

"And you? Are you still as infatuated as you were
last year?"

Love Among the Artists 341

*'Yes," said Adrian defiantly, with his cheeks burn-
ing. "I love her more than ever. I am longing to be
at home with her at this moment. When she goes
away, I shall be miserable. Of all the lies invented
by people who never felt love, the lie of marriage
extinguishing love is the falsest, as it is the most
worldly and cynical."

Mrs. Herbert looked at him in surprise and doubt.
"You are an extraordinary boy," she said. "Why
then do you not go with her to the Continent?"

"She does not wish me to," said Herbert shortly,
averting his face, and pretending to resume his work.

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Herbert. "And you will not
cross her, even in that?"

"She is quite right to wish me to stay here. I
should only be wasting time ; and I should be out of
place at a string of concerts. I will stay behind — if I
can."

"If you can?"

"Yes, mother, if I can. But I believe I shall rejoin
her before she is absent a week. I may have been an
indifferent son; and I know I am a bad husband; but
I am the most infatuated lover in the world."

"Yet you say you are a bad husband!"

"Not to her. But I fall short in my duty to myself."

Mrs. Herbert laughed. "Do not let that trouble
you," she said. "Time will cure you of that fault, if
it exists anywhere but in your imagination. I never
knew a man who failed in taking care of himself.
Goodbye, Adrian."

"Goodbye, mother."

"What an ass I am to speak of my feelings to her!"
he said to himself, when she was gone. "Well, well:

342 Love Among the Artists

at least if she does not understand them, she does
not pretend to do so. No, she has not sympathy-
enough for that. She did not even ask to see my
pictures. That would have hurt me once. At present
I have exchanged the burden of disliking my mother
for the heavier one of loving my wife. " He sighed,
and resumed his work in spite of the fading light.

CHAPTER II

One moonlit night, in an empty street in Paris, a
door suddenly opened; and three persons were thrust
violently out with much scuffling and cursing. One
of them was a woman, elegantly dressed, but flushed
with drink and excitement. The others were a loose-
jointed, large-boned, fair young Englishman of about
eighteen or twenty, and a slim Frenchman with
pointed black moustaches and a vicious expression.
The Englishman, like the woman, was heated and
intoxicated: his companion was angry, but had not
lost his self-control. The moment they passed the
threshold, the door was slammed; and the younger
man, without heeding the torrent of foul utterance to
which the woman promptly betook herself, began
kicking the panels furiously.

*'Bah!" said the woman, recovering herself with a
shrill laugh. "Come, Anatole." And she drew away
her compatriot, who was watching the door-kicking
process derisively.

"Hallo!" shouted the Englishman, hurrying after
them. "Hallo, you! This lady stays with me, if you
please. I should think that she has had about enough
of you, you damned blackleg, since she has been
pitched out of a gambling hell on your account. You
had better clear out unless you want your neck
broken — and if you were anything like a fair match for
me, I'd break it as soon as look at you."

343

344 Love Among the Artists

"What does he say, Nata?" whispered the French-
man, keeping his eye on the other as if he guessed his
meaning.

The woman, with an insolent snap of her fingers,
made a perfunctory translation of as much of the
Englishman's speech as she understood.

*'Look you, little one." said the Frenchman,
advancing to within a certain distance of his adversary,
"the night air is not good for you. I would counsel
you to go home and put yourself to bed, lest I should
have to give your nurse the trouble of carrying you
thither, ' '

"You advise me to go to bed, do you? I'll let you
see all about that," retorted the young man, posing
himself clumsily in the attitude of an English pugilist,
and breathing scorn at his opponent. Anatole
instantly dealt him a kick beneath the nose which
made him stagger. The pain of it was so intolerable
that he raised his right hand to his mouth. The
moment he thus uncovered his body, the Frenchman
turned swiftly, and, looking back at his adversary over
his shoulder, lashed out his toe with the vigor of a
colt, and sent it into the pit of the young man's
stomach, flinging him into the roadway supine, breath-
less, and all but insensible.

"Ha!" said Anatole, panting after this double feat.
'^ Prrrr'lotte! So much for thy English boxer, Nata."

" 'Cr^ matin! what a devil thou art, Anatole.
Come : let us save ourselves.

A minute later the street was again as quiet, and,
except for the motionless body in the roadway, as
solitary as before. Presently a vehicle entered from
a side street. It was a close carriage like an English

Love Among the Artists 345

brougham, and contained one passenger, a lady with a
white woollen shawl wrapped about her head, and an
opera cloak over her rich dress. She was leaning
back in a deep reverie when the horse stopped so sud-
denly that she was thrown forward; and the coach-
man uttered a warning cry. Recovering herself, she
looked out of the window, and, saw, with a sickening
sensation, a man stagger out on his hands and knees
from between the horse's feet, and then roll over on
his back with a long groaning sigh,

"My God!" exclaimed the lady, hastily opening the
carriage door, and alighting, "Bring me one of the
lamps. It is a young gentleman. Pray God he be not
dead."

The coachman reluctantly descended from his
box, and approached with a lamp. The lady looked
at him impatiently, expecting him to lift the insensible
stranger; but he only looked down dubiously at him,
and kept aloof.

"Can you not rouse him, or help him to stand up?"
she said indignantly.

"I am not such a fool as that," said the man,
"Better not meddle with him. It is an affair for the
police."

The lady pouted scornfully and stooped over the
sufferer, who lifted his eyes feebly. Seeing her face,
he opened his eyes widely and quickly, looking up at
her with wonder, and raising his hand appealingly.
She caught it without hesitation, and said anxiously:

"You are better now, monsieur, are you not? I
hope you are not seriously hurt."

"Wha's matter?" said the 5''oung man indistinctly.

"Are you hurt?" she repeated in English.

34^ Love Among the Artists

"Nor' at all," he replied, with drunken joviality.
Then he attempted to laugh, but immediately winced,
and after a few plunges staggered to his feet. The
coachman recoiled ; but the lady did not move,

"Where is he?" he continued, looking round. **Yah!
You'll kick, will you? Come out, you coward. Come
out and shew yourself. Yah ! Kick and then run away
and hide ! I'll slog the kicking out of you. Will you face
me with your fists like a man?" He uttered the last
sentence with a sudden accession of fury, and menaced
the coachman, who retreated. The stranger struck at
him, but the blow, reaching nothing, swung the striker
round until he was face to face with the lady, whom
he contemplated with astonishment.

"I beg your par'n, " he said, subsiding into humble-
ness. "I really beg your par'n. The fellow gave me
a fearf ' kick in the face ; and I har'ly know where I
am yet. 'Pon my soul," he added with foolish glee,
"it's the mos' 'xtror'nary thing. Where has he gone?"

"Of whom do you speak?" said the lady in
French,

"Of — of — ^je parle d'un polisson qui m'a donn6 un
affreux coup de pied under the nose. J'ai un grand
d^sir d'enf oncer ce lache maudit. "

"Unhappily, monsieur, it was my horse that hurt
you. I am in despair "

"No, no. I tell you it was a fellow named Annatoal,
a card sharper. If I ever catch him again, I'll teach
him the English version of the savate: I'll kick him
from one end of Paris to the other. " As he spoke he
reeled against the carriage, and, as the horse stirred
uneasily, clutched at the door to save himself from
falling.

Love Among the Artists 347

"Madame," said the coachman, who had been look-
ing anxiously for the approach of the police: *'do you
not see that this is a sot? Better leave him to
himself."

"I am not drunk," said the young man earnestly "I
have been drinking; but upon my solemn word I am
not drunk. I have been attacked and knocked about
the head; and I feel very queer, I can't remember
how you came here exactly, though I remember your
picking me up. I hope you won't leave me."

The lady, moved by his boyish appearance and the
ingenious faith with which he made this appeal, was
much perplexed, pitying, but not knowing what to do
with him. "Where do you live?" she said. "I will
drive you home with pleasure."

He became very red. "Thanks awfully," he said;
"but the fact is, I don't live anywhere in particular.
I must go to some hotel. You are very kind; but I
won't trouble you any further. I am all right now."
But he was evidently not all right ; for after standing
a moment away from the carriage, shamefacedly
waiting for the lady to reply, he sat down hastily on
the kerbstone, and added, after panting a little, "You
must excuse me, Mrs. Herbert. I can't stand very
well yet. You had better leave me here : I shall pick
myself up presently. ' '

'■'■Tiens, tiens, tieiis ! You seem to know me,
monsieur. I, too, recollect your face, but not your
name. ' '

"Everybody knows you. You may have seen me at
Mrs. Phipson's, in London. I've been there when you
were there. But really you'd better drive on. This
house is a gambling den ; and the people may come

34^ Love Among the Artists

out at any minute. Don t let your carriage be seen
stopping here."

"But I hardly like to leave you here alone and hurt. "

"Never mind me: it serves me right. Besides, I'd
rather you'd leave me, I would indeed."

She turned reluctantly towards the carriage ; put her
foot on the step ; and looked back. He was gazing wist-
fully after her. "But it is inhuman!" she exclaimed,
returning. "Come, monsieur, I dare not leave you
in such a condition : it is the fault of my horse. I will
bring you where you shall be taken care of until you
are restored."

"It's awfully good of you," he murmured, rising
unsteadily and making his way to the carriage door,
which he held whilst she got in. He followed, and
was about to place himself bashfully on the front seat,
when the coachman, ill-humoredly using his whip,
started the vehicle and upset him into the vacant space
next Aur61ie. He muttered an imprecation, and sat
bolt upright for a moment. Then, sinking back
against the cushion, and moving his hand until it
touched her dress, he said drowsily, "It's really mos'
awf'ly good of you;" and fell asleep.

He was roused by a shaking which made his head
ache. An old and ugly woman held him by one
shoulder; and the coachman, cursing him for a
besotted pig, was about to drag him out by the other.
He started up and got out of the carriage, the two
roughly saving him from stumbling forward. In spite
of his protests that he could walk alone they pulled
him indoors between them. He struggled to free him-
self ; but the woman was too strong for him : he was
hauled ignominiously into a decent room, where a sofa

Love Among the Artists 349

had been prepared for him with a couple of rugs and
a woman's shawl. Here he was forced to lie down,
and bidden to be quiet until the doctor came. The
coachman, with a parting curse, then withdrew; and
his voice, deferentially pitched, was audible as he
reported what he had done to the lady without.
There was another person speaking also; but she
spoke in a tone of vehement remonstrance, and in a
strange language.

"Look here, ma'am," said the young man from the
sofa. "You needn't trouble sending for a doctor.
There's nothing the matter with me."

"Silence, great sot," chattered the old woman. "I
have other things to do than to listen to thy gib-
berish. Lay thyself down this instant."

"Will I, by Jove!" he said, kicking off the rug and
sitting up. "Can you buy soda water anywhere at
this hour?"

"Ah, ingrate! Is it thus that thou obey est the
noble lady who succored thee. Fie!"

"What is the matter, madame," said Aur^lie,
entering.

"I was only asking her not to send for a doctor. I
have no bones broken ; and a doctor is no use. Please
don't fetch one. If I could have a little plain water —
or even soda water — to drink, I should be all right."
Whilst he was speaking, an old lady appeared behind
Aur^lie. She seemed to suffer from a severe cold;
for she had tied up her face in a red handkerchief,
which gave her a grim aspect as she looked resentfully
at him.

"I shall bring you some drink," said Aurelie quietly.
"Mamma," she added, turning to the older lady:

350 Love Among the Artists

"pray return to your bed. Your face will be swollen
again if you stand in the draught. I have but to get
this young gentleman what he asks for."

"The young gentleman has no business here," said
the lady. "You are imprudent, Aurelie, and fright-
fully self-willed." She then disappeared. The
stranger reddened and attempted to rise; but Aurelie,
also blushing, quieted him by a gesture, whilst the old
woman shook her fist at him. Aurelie then left the
room, promising to return, and leaving him alone with
the woman, who seized the opportunity to recommence
her reproaches, which were too voluble to be intel-
ligible to the English ears of the patient.

"You may just as well hold your tongue," he said,
as she paused at last for a reply; "for I don't under-
stand a word you say. ' '

"Say then, coquin," repeated the woman, "what
wert thou doing in the roadway there when thou
gotst beneath the horse's feet?"

"Je' m'6tais evanoui. "

"How? Ah, I understand. But why? What
brought thee to such a pass?"

"N'importe. C'est pas convenablepour une jeune
femme d'entendre des pareilles choses. That ought
to fetch you, if you can understand it. ' '

"Ah, thou mockest me. Knowest thou, profligate,
that thou art in my apartment, and that I have the
right to throw thee out through the door if I please.
Eh?"

"Votre discours se fait tr^s p^nible, ma m^re.
Voulez vous avoir la bont€ de shut up?"

"What does that mean?" said the woman, checked
by the unknown verb.

Love Among the Artists 351

"Oh, you are talking too much," said Aur^lie,
returning with some soda water. "You must not
encourage him to speak, madame."

"He needs little encouragement," said the old
woman, "You are far too good for him, made-
moiselle."

"How do you feel now, monsieur? Better, I hope."

"Thanks very much: I feel quite happy. I have

something to shew you. Just wait a " Here he

twisted himself round upon his elbow, and after some
struggling with the rug and his coat, pulled from his
breast pocket some old letters, which presently slipped
from his hand and were scattered on the floor.

"Sot," cried the old woman, darting at them, and
angrily pushing back the hand with which he was
groping for them. "Here — put them up again.
What has madame to do with thy letters, thinkst thou?"

"Don't you be in a hurry, Mrs. Jones," he retorted
confidently, beginning to fumble at the letters. ' ' Where
the — I'll take my oath I had it this mor — oh, here it
is. Did you ever see him before?" he asked trium-
phantly, handing a photograph to Aurelie.

''Tiens! it is Adrian," she exclaimed. "My hus-
band^^" she added, to the old woman, who received the
explanation sardonica^.^S "Are you then a friend of
Monsieur Herbert?"

"I have known him since I was a boy," said the
youth. Aurelie smiled : she thought him a boy still.
"But this was only taken last week," she said. "I
have only just received a copy for myself. Did he
send it to you?"

"My sister sent it to me. I suppose you know who
I am now. ' '

352 Love Among the Artists

"No, truly, monsieur. I have seen you certainly;
but I cannot recall your name. ' '

"You've seen me at Phipson's, talking to Mr. Jack,
Can't you guess?"

Aur^lie shook her head. The old woman, curious,
but unable to follow a conversation carried on by one
party in French and by the other in English, muttered
impatiently, "What gibberish! It is a horror."

The youth looked shyly at Aurdlie. Then, as if
struck by a new thought, he said, "My name is —
Beatty. ' '

Aur^lie bowed. "Yes," she said, "I have assuredly
heard my husband speak of that name. I am greatly
troubled to think that your misfortune should have
been brought about by my carriage, Madame : Mon-
sieur Beatty will need a pillow. Will you do me the
kindness to bring one from my room?"

Monsieur Beatty began to protest that he would
prefer to remain as he was ; but he was checked by a
gesture from the woman, who silently pointed to a
pillow which was in readiness on a chair.

"Ah, true. Thank you," said Aur61ie. "Now, let
me see. Yes, he had better have my little gong, in
case he should become wor'se in the night, and need
to summon help. It is < m 'ly dressing table, I
believe."

The old woman looked hard at Aur^lie for a
moment, and withdrew slowly.

"Now that that lady is gone," said the patient,
blushing, "I want to tell you how grateful I am for
the way you have helped me. If you knew what I
felt when I opened my eyes as I lay there on the stones,
and saw your face looking down at me, you would feel

Love Among the Artists 353

sure, without being told, that I am ready to do any-
thing to prove my gratitude. I wish I could die for
you. Not that that would be much; for my life is
not worth a straw to me or anyone else. I am old
enough to be tired of it. ' '

"Young enough to be tired of it, you mean," said
Aur^lie, laughing, but pleased by his earnestness.
"Well, I do not doubt that you are very grateful.
How did you come under my carriage? Were you
really knocked down; or did you only dream it?"

"I was really knocked down. I can't tell you how
it came about. It served me right; for I was where
I had no business to be — in bad company."

"Ah," said Aurelie gravely, approaching him with
the pillow. "You must not do so any more, if we are
to remain friends."

"I will never do so again, so help me God!" he pro-
tested. "You have cured me of all taste for that sort
of thing. ' '

"Raise yourself for one moment — so," said Aurelie,
stooping over him and placing the pillow beneath his
head. His color rose as he looked up at her. Then,
as she was in the act of withdrawing, he uttered, a
stifled exclamation; threw his arm about her; and
pressing his lips to her cheek, was about to kiss her,
when he fell back with a sharp groan, and lay bathed
in perspiration, and flinching from the pain of his
wounded face. Aurelie, astonished and outraged,
stood erect and regarded him indignantly.

"Ah," she said. "That was an unworthy act.
You^ whom I have succored — my husband's friend!
My God, is it possible that an English gentleman can
be so base!"

354 Love Among the Artists

"Curse the fellow!" cried the young man, writhing
and shedding tears of pain. "Give me something to
stop this agony — some chloroform or something.
Send for a doctor. I shall go mad. Oh, Lord!"

"You deserve it well," said Aurelie. "Come, mon-
sieur, control yourself. This is childish. " As he sub-
sided, exhausted, and only fetching a deep sigh at
intervals, she relented and called the old woman, who
seemed to have been waiting outside; for she came
at once.

"He has hurt his wound," said Aurelie in an under-
tone. "What can we do for him?"

The woman shrugged herself, and had nothing to
suggest. "Let him make the best of it," she said.
"I can do nothing for him."

They stood by the sofa and watched him for some
time in silence. At last he opened his eyes, and began
to appear more at his ease.

"Would you like to drink something?" said Aur61ie,
coldly.

"Yes."

"Give him some soda water," she said to the old
woman.

"Never mind," he said, speaking indistinctly in his
effort to avoid stirring his upper lip. "I don't want
anything. The cartilage of my nose is frightfully
tender; but the pain is going off."

"It is now very late; and I must retire, monsieur.
Can we do anything further to insure your comfort?"

"Nothing, thank you." Aurelie turned to go.
"Mrs. Herbert." She paused. "I suppose no one
could behave worse than I have. Never mind my
speaking before the old lady: she doesn't understand

Love Among the Artists 355

me. I wish you would forgive me. I have been
severely punished. You cannot even imagine the
torture I have undergone in the last ten minutes."

'*If you regret your conduct as you ought," began
Aur^lie severely.

"I am ashamed of it and of myself; and I will try
hard to be sorry — in fact, I am very sorry I was dis-
appointed, I should be more than mortal if I felt
otherwise. But I will never do such a thing again."

"Adieu, monsieur," said Aur^lie coldly. "I shall
not see you again, as you will be gone before I am
abroad to-morrow." And she left the room with a
gravity that quelled him.

"What hast thou been doing now, rogue?" said the
old woman, preparing to follow Aurelie. "What is it
thou shouldst regret? "

By way of reply, he leered at her, and stretched out
his arms invitingly.

"Thou shalt go out from my house to-morrow," she
said threateningly; and went out, taking the lamp
with her. He laughed, and composed himself for sleep.
But he was thirsty and restless, and his face began
to pain him continuously. The moon was still shining;
and by its light he rose and prowled about softly in
his stockings, prying into drawers and chiffoniers, and
bringing portable objects to the window, where he
could see them better. When he had examined every-
thing, he sparred at the mantelpiece, and imagined
himself taking vengeance on Anatole. At last, having
finished the soda water, he lay down again, and slept
uneasily until six o'clock, when he rose and looked at
himself in a mirror. His hair was dishevelled and
dusty; his lip discolored; his eyes were inflamed; but

356 Love Among the Artists

the thought of rubbing his soiled face with a towel, or
even touching it with water, made him wince. Seeing
that he was unpresentable, and being sober enough to
judge of his last night's conduct, he resolved to make
off before any of the household were astir. Accord-
ingly, he made himself as clean as he could without
hurting himself. From his vest pockets, which con-
tained fourteen francs, an English halfcrown, a
latchkey, a lead pencil, and a return ticket to Charing
Cross, he took ten francs and left them on the table
with a scrap of paper inscribed "Pour la belle pro-
prietaire — Hommage du miserable Anglais." Then,
after some hesitation, he wrote on another scrap,
which he directed to Aur61ie, as follows :

"I hope you will forgive me for behaving like an
unmitigated cad last night. As I was not sober and
had had my sense almost knocked out of me by a foul
blow, I was hardly accountable for what I was doing.
I can never repay your kindness nor expiate my
own ingratitude; but please do not say anything
about me to Mr, Herbert, as you would get me into
no end of trouble by doing so. I am running away
early because I should be ashamed to look you in the
face now that I have recovered my senses.

"Yours most gratefully "

He took several minutes to consider how he should
sign this note. Eventually he put the initial C only.
After draining the soda water bottle of the few flat
and sickly drops he had left in it the night before, he
left the room and crept downstairs, where he suc-
ceeded in letting himself out without alarming the
household. The empty street looked white and
spacious in the morning sun; and the young man —
first lookinof round to see that no one was at hand to

Love Among the Artists 357

misinterpret his movements — took to his heels and ran
until he turned a corner and saw a policeman, who
seemed half disposed to arrest him on suspicion.
Escaping this danger, he went on until he found a
small eating house where some workmen were break-
fasting. Here he procured a cheap but plentiful meal,
and was directed to the railway station, whither he
immediately hastened, A train had just arrived as he
entered. As he stood for a moment to watch the
passengers coming out, a hand was laid gently on his
arm. He turned, and confronted Adrian Herbert,
who looked at him with a quiet smile.

"Well, Charlie," he said: "so this is Hounslow, is
it? What particular branch of engineering are you
studying here?"

"Who told you I was at Hounslow?" said Charlie,
with a grin.

"Your father, whom I met yesterday at Mrs.
Hoskyn's. He told me that you were working very
hard at engineering with a tutor. I am sorry to see
that your exertions have quite knocked you up."

"On the contrary, somebody else's exertions have
knocked me down. No, I ran over here a few days
ago for a little change. Of course I didn't mention it
to the governor: he thinks Paris a sink of iniquity.
You needn't mention it to him either, unless you
like."

"I hope I am too discreet for that. Did you know
that Mrs. Herbert is in Paris?"

'' "Is she? No, I didn't know it: I thought she was
with you in Kensington. I hope you will have a good
time here. ' '

"Thank you. How long do you intend to stay?"

358 Love Among the Artists

"Oh, I am going- back directly. If I don't get a
train soon, I shall starve; for I have only two or three
francs left to keep me in sandwiches during the
voyage. ' '

"Draw on me if you are inconvenienced."

"Thanks," said Charlie, coloring; "but I can get
on well enough with what I have — at least, if you could
spare me five francs — Thanks awfully. I have run a
rig rather this time; for I owe Mary five pounds
already on the strength of this trip. It is a mistake
coming to Paris. I wish I had stayed at home."

"Well, at least you have had some experience for
your money. What has happened to your lip? Is it
a bruise?"

"Yes, I got a toss. It's nothing. I'm awfully
obliged to you for "

"Not at all. Have you breakfasted yet? What,
already! You are an early bird. I was thinking of
asking you to breakfast with me. I do not wish to
disturb my wife too early ; and so will have to kill time
for a while. By the bye, have you ever been intro-
duced to her?"

"No," said Charlie hastily; "but nothing would
induce me to face her in this trim. I know I look a
perfect blackguard. I can't wash my face; and I
have got a blue and green spot right here" — touching
the hollow of his chest — "which would make me
screech if anyone rubbed me with a brush. In fact I
shall take it as a particular favor if you won't mention
to her that you have met me. Not that it matters
much, of course; but still "

"Very well, I shall not breathe a word of it to any-
one. Goodbye. ' '

Love Among the Artists 359

Charlie shook his hand; and they parted. "Now,"
thought Charlie, looking after him with a grin, and
jingling the borrowed money in his pocket, "if his
wife will only hold her tongue, I shall be all right. I
wish she was my wife." And heaving a sigh, he
walked slowly away to inquire about the trains.

Herbert breakfasted alone. When his appetite was
appeased, he sat trying to read, and looking repeatedly
at his watch. He had resolved not to seek his wife
until ten o'clock ; but he had miscalculated his patience;
and he soon convinced himself that half past nine, or
even nine, would be more convenient. Eventually he
arrived at ten minutes to nine, and found Madame
Szczympliga alone at table in an old crimson bedgown,
with her hair as her pillow had left it.

"Monsieur Adrian!" she exclaimed, much discom-
posed. "Ah, you take us by surprise. I had but just
stepped in to make coffee for the little one. She will
be enchanted to see you. And I also."

"Do not let me disturb you. I have breakfasted
already. Is Aurelie up?"

"She will be here immediately. How delighted she
will be! Are you quite well?"

"Not badly, madame. And you?"

"I have suffered frightfully with my face. Last
night I was unable to go to the concert with Aurelie.
It is a great misfortune for me, this neuralgia."

"I am very sorry. It is indeed a terrible affliction.
Are you quite sure that Aurelie is not fast asleep?"

"I have made her coffee, mon cher; and I know
her too well to do that before she is afoot. Trust me,
she will be here in a moment. I hope it is nothing
wrong that has brought you to Paris."

360 Love Among the Artists

"Oh no. I wanted a little change; and when you
came so near, I determined to run over and meet you.
You have been all round Europe since I last saw you."

"Ah, what successes, Monsieur Adrian! You can-
not figure to yourself how she was received at Buda-
pesth. And at Leipzig too! It was — behold her!"

Aur^lie stopped on the threshold and regarded
Adrian with successive expressions of surprise, protest
and resignation. He advanced and kissed her cheek
gently, longing to clasp her in his arms, but restrained
by the presence of her mother. Aurelie paused on
her way to the table just long enough to suffer this
greeting, and then sat down, exclaiming:

"I knew it! I knew it from that last letter! Oh
thou silly one ! Could not Mrs. Hoskyn console thee
for yet another week?"

"How indifferent she is!" said Madame Szczympliga.
"She is glad at heart to see you, Mr. Adrian." Now,
this interference of his mother- in law, though made
with amiable intention, irritated Herbert. He smiled
politely, and turned a little away from her and towards
Aurelie.

"And so you have had nothing but triumphs since
we parted," he said, gazing fondly at her.

"What do you know of my triumphs!" she said,
raising her head. "You only care for the tunes that
one whistles in the streets! At Prague I turned the
world upside down with Monsieur Jacque's fantasia.
How long do you intend to stay here?"

"Until you can return with me, of course."

"A whole week. You will be tired of your life,
unless you go to the Louvre or some such stupidity,
and paint."

Love Among the Artists 361

"I shall be content, Aur^lie, never fear. Perhaps
you will grow a little tired of me,"

"Oh no. I shall be too busy for that. I have to
practise, and to attend rehearsals, and concerts, and
private eng-agements. Oh, I shall not have time to
think of you. ' '

"Private engagements. Do you mean playing at
private houses?"

"Yes. This afternoon I play at the reception of the
Princess — what is she called, mamma?"

"It does not matter what she is called," said
Herbert. "Surely you are not paid for playing on
such occasions?"

"What! You do not suppose that I plaj'' for nothing
for people whom I do not know — whose very names I
forget. No, I play willingly for my friends, or for
the poor; but if the great world wishes to hear me, it
must pay. Why do you look so shocked? Would you,
then, decorate the saloon of the Princess with pictures
for nothing, if she asked you?"

"It is not exactly the same thing — at least the world
does not think so, Aurelie. I do not like the thought
of you going into society as a hired entertainer."

Aurelie shrugged herself. "I must go for some
reason," she said, "If they did not pay me I should
not go at all. It is an artist's business to do such
things."

"My dear Mr, Adrian," said Madame Szczympliga,
"she is always the most honored guest. The most dis-
tinguished persons crowd about her; and the most
beautiful women are deserted for her. It is always a
veritable little court that she holds. ' '

"It is as I thought," said Aurelie. "You came

362 Love Among the Artists

across the Channel only to quarrel with me." Herbert
attempted to protest ; but she went on without heeding
him. "Mamma: have you finished your breakfast?"

"Yes, my child."

"Then go; and put off that terrible robe of thine.
Leave us to ourselves : if ^ we must quarrel, there is
no reason why you should be distressed by our
bickerings. ' '

"1 hope you are not really running away from me,"
said Herbert, politely accompanying Madame Szczym-
pliga to the door, and opening it for her.

"No, no, mon cher,'' she replied with a sigh. "I
must do as I am bidden. I grow old; and she
becomes a greater tyrant daily to all about her."

"Now, malcontent," said Aurdlie, when the door
was closed, "proceed with thy reproaches. How many
thousand things hast thou to complain of? Let us hear
how sad it has made thee to think that I have been
happy and successful, and that thou hast not once been
able to cast my happiness back in my — Heaven!
wouldst thou eat me, Adrian?" He was straining
her to his breast and kissing her vehemently.

"You are right," he said breathlessly. "Love is
altogether selfish. Every fresh account of your tri-
umphs only redoubled my longing to have you back
with me again. You do not know what I suffered
during all these weary weeks. I lived in my studio,
and tried to paint you out of my head; but I could not
paint your out of my heart. My work, which once
seemed a wider and greater thing than my mind could
contain, was only a wearisome trade to me. I
rehearsed imaginary versions of our next meeting for
hours together, whilst my picture hung forgotten

Love Among the Artists 363

before me. I made a hundred sketches of you, and,
in my rage at their badness, destroyed them as fast as
I made them. In the evenings, I either wandered
about the streets thinking of you "

"Or went to see Mrs. Hoskyn?"

"Who told you that?" said Herbert, discomfited.

"Ah!" cried Aur^lie, laughing — almost crowing
with delight, "I guessed it. Oh, that poor Monsieur
Hoskyn! And me also! Is this thy fidelity — this the
end of all thy thoughts of me?"

"I wish your jealousy were real," said Herbert,
with a sort of desperation. "I believe you would not
care if I had gone to Mrs. Hoskyn as her lover. Why
did I go to her? Simply because she was the only
friend I had who would listen patiently whilst I spoke
endlessly of you — she, whose esteem I risked, and
whose respect I fear I lost, for your sake. But I have
ceased to respect myself now, Aurelie. It is my mis-
fortune to love you so much that you make light of
me for being so infatuated."

"Well," said Aurelie soothingly, "you must try and
not love me so much. I will help you as much as I can
by making myself very disagreeable. I am far too
indulgent to you, Adrian. * '

"You hurt me sometimes very keenly, Aurdlie,
though you do not intend it. But I have never loved
you less for that. I fear your plan would make me
worse. ' '

"Ah, I see. You want to be made love to, and
cured in that way. ' '

"I am afraid I should go mad then, Aurelie."

"I will not try, I think you are very injudicious to
care so much for love. To me, it is the most stupid

364 Love Among the Artists

thing in the world. I prefer music. No matter, my
cherished one : I am very fond of thee, in spite of thy
follies. Art thou not my husband? Now I must
make an end here, and go to practise."

"Never mind practising this morning, Aur61ie. Let
us talk. ' '

"Why, have we not already talked? No, when I
miss my little half hour of seeking for my fine touch,
I play as all the world plays; and that is not just to
myself, or to the Princess, who pays me more than she
pays the others. One must be honest, Adrian. There,
your face is clouded again. You are ashamed of me. ' '

"It is because I am so proud of you that I shrink
from the thought of your talent being marketed. Let
us change the subject. Have you met any of our
friends in Paris?"

"Not one. I have not heard an English voice since
we came here. But I must not stop to gossip." She
took his hand; pressed it for an instant against her
bosom ; and left the room, Herbert, troubled by the
effort to enjoy fully the delight this caress gave him,
sat down for a moment, panting. When he was
calmer, he took his hat and went downstairs, intend-
ing to take a stroll in the sunshine. He was arrested
at the door of one of the lower rooms by the porter's
wife, who held in her shaking hand some money and
a scrap of paper, the sight of ^which seemed to frenzy
her; for she was railing volubl)'' at some person
unknown to Adrian. He looked at her with some
curiosity, and was about to pass on, when she stepped
before him,

"Look you, monsieur," she said. "Be so good as to
tell madame that my house is not a hospital for sots.

Love Among the Artists 365

And tell your friend, he whose nose someone has
righteously crushed, that he had better take good care
not to come to see me again. I will make him a bad
quarter of an hour if he does."

''My friend, madame!" said Herbert, alarmed by
her shrewishness.

"Your wife's friend, then, whom she brings home
drunk in her carriage at midnight, and who kicks my
sofa to pieces, and makes shameless advances to me
beneath my husband's roof, and flies like a thief in the
night, leaving for me this insult." And she held out
the scrap of paper to Adrian. "With ten francs.
What is ten francs to me!" Adrian, bewildered,
looked unintelligently at the message. "Come you,
monsieur, and see for yourself that I speak truly,"
she continued, bringing him by a gesture into the
room. "See there, my sofa ripped up and soiled with
his heels. See madame 's fine rug trampled on the
floor. See the pillow which she put under his wicked
head with her own hands "

"What are you talking about?" said Adrian sternly.
"For whom do you take me?"

"Are you not Monsieur Herbert?"

"Yes."

"Yes, I should think so. Well, Monsieur Herbert,
it is your dear friend, who carries your portrait next
^ his heart, who has treated me thus."

"Really," said Adrian, "I do not understand you.
You speak of me — of my wife — of some friend of mine
with my portrait ' '

"And the nose of him crushed."

" all in a breath. What do you mean? As you

know, I only arrived here this morning."

366 Love Among the Artists

"Truly, monsieur, you have arrived a day after the
fair. All I tell you is that madame came home last
night with a drunken robber, a young English sprig,
who slept here. He has run away; and heaven knows
what he has taken with him. He leaves me this
money, and this note to mock me because I scorned
his vile seductions. Behold the table where he left it. ' '

Adrian, hardly venturing to understand the woman,
looked upon the table, and saw a note which had
escaped her attention. She, following his glance,
exclaimed :

"What! Another."

"It is addressed to my wife," said Adrian, taking it,
and losing color as he did so. "Doubtless it contains
an explanation of his conduct. I recognize the hand-
writing as that of a young friend of mine. Did you
hear his name?"

"It was an English name. English names are all
alike to me. ' '

"Did he call himself Sutherland?"

"Yes, it was like that, quite English."

"It is all right then. He is but a foolish boy, the
brother of an old friend of mine."

"Truly a strong boy for his years. He is your old
friend, of course. It is always so. Ah, monsieur, if I
were one to talk and make mischief, I could "

"Thank you," said Adrian, interrupting her firmly.
"I can hear the rest from Madame Herbert, if there
is anything else to hear." And he left the room.
On the landing without, he saw Madame Szczympliga,
who, overlooking him, addressed herself angrily to the
old woman.

"Why is this noise made?" she demanded. "How

Love Among the Artists 367

is it possible for Mademoiselle to practise with this
hurly burly in her ears?"

"And why should I not make a noise," retorted the
woman, "when I am insulted in my own house by the
friends of Mademoi "

"What is the matter?" cried a voice from above.
The woman became silent as if struck dumb ; and for
a moment there was no sound except the light descend-
ing footfall of Aurelie. "What is the matter?" she
repeated, as she came into their view.

"Nothing at all," muttered the old woman sulkily,
glancing apprehensively at Adrian.

"You make a very great noise about nothing at all,"
said Aurelie coolly, pausing with her hand on the
balustrade. "Have you quite done; and may I now
practise in peace?"

"I am sorry to have disturbed you," said the woman
apologetically, but still grumbling. "I was speaking
to Monsieur."

"Monsieur must either go out, or come upstairs and
read the journals quietly," said Aurelie.

"I will come upstairs," said Adrian, in a tone that
made her look at him with momentary curiosity. The
old woman meanwhile retreated into her apartment;
and Madame Szczympliga, who had listened submis-
sively to her daughter, disappeared also. Aurelie, on
returning to the room in which she practised, found
herself once more alone with Adrian.

"Oh, it is a troublesome woman," she said. "All
proprietresses are so. I should like to live in a palace
with silent black slaves to come and go when I clap my
hands. She has spoiled my practice. And you seem
quite put out."

368 Love Among the Artists

*'I Aur^lie: I met Mrs. Hoskyn's brother at the

railway station this morning."

"Really! I thought he was in India."

"I mean her younger brother."

"Ah, I did not know that she had another."

Herbert looked aghast at her. She had spoken care-
lessly, and was brushing some specks of dust from the
keyboard of the pianoforte, as to the cleanliness of
which she was always fastidious.

"He did not tell me that he had seen you, Aur^lie, "
he said, controlling himself. "Under the circum-
stances I thought that rather strange. He even affected
some surprise when I mentioned that you were in
Paris."

She forgot the keyboard, and looked at him with
wonder and some amusement. "You thought it very
strange!" she said. "What are you dreaming of?
What else should he say, since he never saw me, nor
I him, in our lives — except at a concert? Have I not
said that I did not even know of his existence until you
told me?"

"Aurelie!" he exclaimed in a strange voice, turning
pallid. She also changed color; came to him quickly;
and caught his arm, saying, "Heaven! What is the
matter with thee?"

"Aurelie!" he said, recovering his self-control, and
disengaging himself quietly from her hold; "pray be
serious. Why should you, even in jest, deceive me
about Sutherland? If he has done anything wrong,
I will not blame you for it. "

She retreated a step, and slowly raised her head and
poised herself in a haughtier attitude. "You speak of
deceit!" she said. Then, shaking her finger at him,

Love Among the Artists 369

she added indignantly, "Ah, take care, Adrian, take
care."

"Do you mean to tell me," he said sternly, "that
you have not made the acquaintance of Sutherland
here?"

"I do tell you so. And it seems to me that you do
not believe me."

"And that he has not passed the night here."

"Oh!" she cried, and shrank a little.

"Aurelie, " he said, with a menacing expression
which so disfigured and debased his face that she
involuntarily recoiled and covered her eyes with her
hands : "I have never before opened a letter addressed
to you; but I will do so now. There are occasions
when confidence is mere infatuation ; and it is time, I
fear, to shew you that my infatuation is not so blind
as you suppose. This note was left for you this morn-
ing, under circumstances which have been explained
to me by the woman downstairs." A silence followed
whilst he opened the note and read it. Then, looking
up, and finding her looking at him quite calmly, he
said sadly, "There is nothing in it that you need
be ashamed of, Aurelie. You might have told me the
truth. It is in the handwriting of Charlie Suther-
land."

This startled her for a moment. "Ah," she said,
"the scamp gave me a false name. But as for thee,
unhappy one, ' ' she added, as a ray of hope appeared
in Herbert's eyes, "adieu for ever." And she was
gone before he recovered himself.

His first impulse was to follow her and apologize,
so simply and completely did her exclamation that
Sutherland had given her a false name seem to explain

370 Love Among the Artists

her denial of having met him. Then he asked himself
how came she to bring home a young man in her
carriage; and why had she made a secret of it? She
had said, he now remembered, that she had not heard
any English voice except his own since she had cdme
to Paris. Herbert was constitutionally apt to feel at a
disadvantage with other men, and to give credit to
the least suggestion that they were preferred to him-
self. He did not even now accuse his wife of
infidelity ; but he had long felt that she misunderstood
him ; withheld her confidence from him ; and kept him
apart from those friends of hers in whose society she
felt happy and unrestrained. In the thought of this
there was for him more jealousy and mortification
than a coarser man might have suffered from a wicked
woman.

Whilst he was thinking over it all, the door
opened; and Madame Szczympliga, in tears, entered
hastily.

"My God, Monsieur Adrian, what is the matter
betwixt you and Aurelie?"

"Nothing at all," said Herbert, with constrained
politeness. "Nothing of any consequence."

"Do not tell me that," she protested, pathetically.
"I know her too well to believe it. She is going away;
and she will not tell me why. And now you will not
tell me either. I am made nothing of. ' '

"Did you say she is going away?"

"Yes. What have you done to her? — my poor
child!"

Herbert did not feel bound to account for his con-
duct to his mother-in-law: yet he felt that she was
entitled to some answer. "Madame Szczympliga, " he

Love Among the Artists 371

said, after a moment's reflexion: "can you tell me
under what circumstances Aur^lie met the young
gentleman who was here last night?"

•'That is it, is it? I knew it: I told Aurelie that she
was acting foolishly. But there was nothing in that
to quarrel about. ' '

*'I do not say there was. How did it happen?"

"Nothing in the world but this. I had neuralgia;
and Aurelie would not suffer me to accompany her to
the concert. As she was returning, her carriage
knocked down this miserable boy, who was drunk.
You know how impetuous she is. She would not
leave him there insensible ; and she took him into the
carriage and brought him here. She made the woman
below harbor him for the night in her sitting room.
That is all."

"But did he not behave himself badly?"

^''Mon cher, he was drunk — drunk as a beast, with
his nose beaten in."

"It is strange that Aurdlie never told me of such a
remarkable incident."

"Why, you are not an hour arrived; and the poor
child has been full of the joy and surprise of seeing
you so unexpectedly. It is necessary to be reason-
able, Monsieur Adrian."

"The fact is, madame, that I have had a misunder-
standing with Aur61ie in which neither of us was to
blame. I should not have doubted her, perhaps; but
I think, under the circumstances, my mistake was
excusable. I owe her an apology, and will make it at
once."

"Wait a little," said Madame Szczympliga nervously,
as he moved towards the door. "You had better let

372 Love Among the Artists

me go first: I will ask her to receive you. She is
excessively annoyed."

Herbert did not like this suggestion; but he sub-
mitted to it, and sat down at the pianoforte to await
Madame Szczympliga's return. To while away the
time and to persuade himself that he was not too fear-
ful of the result of her mission, he played softly as
much of his favorite Mendelssohnian airs as could be
accompanied by the three chords which exhausted his
knowledge of the art of harmonizing. At last, after a
long absence, his mother-in-law returned, evidently
much troubled.

"I am a most unlucky mother," she said, seating
herself, and trying to keep back her tears. "She will
not listen to me. Oh, Monsieur Adrien, what can
have passed between you to enrage her so? You, who
are always so gentle! — she will not let me mention
your name."

"But have you explained to her ?"

"What is the use of explaining? She is not
rational."

"What does she say?"

"She says absurd things. Recollect that she is as
yet only a child. She says you have betrayed your
real opinion of her at last. I told her that circum-
stances seemed at the time to prove that she had acted
foolishly, but that you now admitted your error. ' '

"And then?"

"Then she said that her maid might have doubted
her, and afterwards admitted her error on the same
ground. Oh, she is a strange creature, is Aurelie!
What can one do with such a terrible child? She is
positive that she will never speak to you again ; and I

Love Among the Artists 373

fear she is in earnest. I can do no more. I have
argued — implored — wept; but she is an ingrate, a
heart of marble. "

Here there was a tap at the door; and a servant
appeared.

"Madame Herbert wishes you to accompany her to
the pianoforte place, madame. She is going thither to
practise."

Herbert only looked downcast; and Madame
Szczympliga left the room stifling a sob. Herbert
knew not what to do. A domestic quarrel involving
the interference of a mother-in-law had always seemed
to him an incident common among vulgar people, but
quite foreign to his own course of life ; and now that it
had actually occurred to him, he felt humiliated. He
found a little relief as the conviction grew upon him
that he, and not Aur^lie, was to blame. There was
nothing new to him in the reflexion that he had been
weak and hasty: there would be pleasure in making
reparation, in begging her forgiveness, in believing in
and loving her more than ever. But this would be on
condition that she ultimately forgave him, of which he
did not feel at all sure, as indeed he never felt sure of
her on any point, not even that she had really loved
him.

In this state of mind he saw her carriage arrive, and
heard her descend the stairs and pass the door of the
room where he was. Whilst he was hesitating as to
whether he should go out and speak to her then, she
drove away ; and the opportunity, now that it was lost,
seemed a precious one. He went downstairs, and
asked the old woman when she expected Madame
Herbert to return. Not until six o'clock, she told

374 Love Among the Artists

him. He resigned himself to eight hours' suspense,
and went to the Luxembourg, where he enjoyed such
pleasure as he could obtain by admiring the works of
men who could paint better than he. It was a long
day ; but it came to an end at last.

"I will announce you, monsieur," said the old
woman hastily, as she admitted him at half-past six.

"No," he said firmly, resolved not to give Aurelie an
opportunity of escaping from him. "I will announce
myself." And he passed the portress, who seemed
disposed, but afraid, to bar his path. As he went up,
he heard the pianoforte played in a style which he
hardly recognized. The touch was hard and
impatient; and false notes were struck, followed by
almost violent repetitions of the passage in which
they occurred. He stood at the door a moment,
listening.

"My child," said Madame Szczympliga's voice:
"that is not practice. You become worse every
moment: and you are spoiling the instrument."

"Let me alone. It is a detestable piano: and I hope
I may break it."

Herbert's courage sank at the angry tone of his
wife's voice.

"You let yourself be put out by nothing at all. Do
I not tell you that everybody thought you played like
an angel?"

"I will not be told so again. I played vilely. I
will give up music. I hate it : and I never shall be
able to play. I have tried and failed. It was a mis-
take for me ever to have attempted it."

At this moment Adrian, hearing the footsteps of the
old woman, who was coming up to listen at the key-

Love Among the Artists 375

hole, entered the room. Madame Szczympliga stared
at him in consternation. He walked quickly across
the room, and sat down close to his wife at the
pianoforte.

"Aurelie," he said: "you must forgive me."

"Never, never, never," she cried, turning quickly
round so as to confront him. "I have this day dis-
graced myself: and it is your fault."

"My fault, Aurelie?"

"Do not call me Aurelie. Now you smile because
you have had your revenge. Am I not unhappy
enough without being forced to see and speak to you,
who have made me unhappy? Go: disembarrass me,
or I will myself seek some other roof. What madness
possessed me, an artist, to marry? Did I not know
that it is ever the end of an artist's career?"

"You cannot believe, " he said, much agitated, "that
I would wilfully cause you a moment's pain. I
love "

"Ah, yes, you love me. It is because you love me
that you insult me. It is because you love me that
you are ashamed of me and reproach me with playing
for hire. It is because you love me that I have failed
before the whole world, and lost the fruit of long
years of work. You will find my mother's scissors in
that box. Why do you not cut off my fingers, since
you have paralysed them?"

Adrian, shuddering in every fibre at the suggestion,
caught her proffered fingers and squeezed them in
his hands. "My darling," he said: "yon pain me
acutely by your reproaches. Will you not forgave
me?"

"You waste your breath," she said obdurately, dis-

376 Love Among the Artists

engaging herself petulantly. ' ' I am not listening to
you." And she began to play again.

"Aur^lie," he said presently.

She played attentively, and did not seem to hear
him.

"Aur^lie, " he repeated urgently. No answer. "Do
cease that horrible thing, my darling, and listen to
me."

This stopped her. She turned with tears in her
eyes, and exclaimed, "Yes, it is horrible. Everything
that I touch is horrible now." She shut the piano as
she spoke. "I will never open it more. Mamma."

"My angel," replied Madame Szczympli9a, starting.

"Tell them to send for it to-morrow. I do not
want even to see it when I come down in the morn-
ing."

"But," said Herbert, "you quite misunderstand me.
Can you suppose that I think your playing horrible,
or that, if I thought it, I would be so brutal as to say
so?"

"You do think it horrible. Everyone finds it
horrible. So you are right. ' '

"It was only what you were playing "

"I was one of Chopin's studies. You used to like
Chopin. You would do better to be silent: every
word you utter betrays your real thoughts."

Herbert gently re-opened the pianoforte. "If it
were the singing of angels, Aurelie, it would be
horrible to me as long as it delayed the assurance I am
waiting for — of your forgiveness."

"You shall never have it. Nor do I believe that
you care for it. ' '

"Never is a long word. You have said it very

Love Among the Artists 377

often this evening, Aur^lie. You will never play-
again. You will never speak to me again. You will
never forgive me."

"Do not argue with me. You fatigue me." She
turned away, and began to improvise, looking upward
at the cornice with a determined expression which
gradually faded and vanished. Herbert, discouraged
by her last retort, did not venture to interrupt her
until the last trace of displeasure had disappeared from
her face. Then he pleaded in a low voice. "Aurelie. "
The frown reappeared instantly. "Do not stop play-
ing. I only wish to assure you that I was not jealous
this morning. ' '

"O — h!" she ejaculated, taking her hands from the
keyboard, and letting them fall supine in her lap.
Herbert, taken aback by the prolonged and expressive
interjection, looked at her in silent discomfiture.
"Mamma: thou hearest him! He says he was not
jealous. Oh, Adrian, how art thou fallen, thou, who
wast truth itself ! Thou art learning to play the hus-
band well. ' '

"I thought you had deceived me, dearest; but I was
not jealous."

"Then you do not love me."

"Let me explain. I thought you had deceived me
in your account of — of that wretched boy whom we
shall never allude to again — "

"There, there. Do not remind me of it. You were
base: you were beneath yourself: no explanation can
change that. But my failure at the Princess's is so
much greater a misfortune that it has put all that out
of my head."

"Aur^lie," remonstrated Herbert involuntarily.

378 Love Among the Artists

"What! You begin to complain already — before I
have half relented?"

"I know too well," he replied sadly, "that your art
is as much dearer to you than I, as you are dearer to
me than mine. Well, well, I plead guilty to every-
thing except want of love for you. Now will you
forgive me?"

Instead of replying she began to play merrily.
Presently she looked over her shoulder, and said, ' ' You
will promise never to commit such a sin again. ' *

"I swear it."

"And you are very sorry?"

"Desolate, Aurelie."

"Be pardoned, then. If thou art truly penitent, I
will accompany thee to the Louvre; and thou shalt
shew me the pictures."

She played away without intermission whilst she
spoke, disregarding the kiss which he, in spite of
Madame Szczympliga's presence, could not refrain from
pressing on her cheek.

CHAPTER III

When the novelty of Mrs. Hoskyn's first baby had
worn off, she successfully resisted the temptation to
abandon it to the care of her servants, as an exacting
little nuisance; but her incorrigible interest in art, no
longer totally eclipsed by the cradle, retook possession
of her mind. This interest, as usual, took the form
of curiosity as to what Adrian Herbert was doing.
Now that her domestic affections were satisfied and
centred by Hoskyn, and that the complete absorption
of Herbert's affections by his wife was beyond all
suspicion, she felt easier and more earnest in her
friendship for him than ever before. Marriage had
indeed considerably deepened her capacity for
friendship.

One morning, Hoskyn looked up from his paper and
said, "Have you looked at the Times. There is some-
thing in it about Herbert that he won't like."

"I hope not. The Times always spoke well of him. ' '

Hoskyn, without a word, handed her the sheet he
had been reading and took up another.

"Oh John," said Mary, putting down the paper in
dismay; "what is to be done?"

"Done! What about?"

"About Adrian."

"I don't know," said Hoskyn, placably. "Why
should we do anything?"

"I for one, shall be very sorry if he loses his
position, after all his early struggling. ' '

379

380 Love Among the Artists

"He won't lose it. Who cares about the Times?^*

"But I am greatly afraid that the Tivies is right."

"If you think so, why, that's another thing. In
that case, Herbert had better work a little harder."

"Yes; but he always used to work so hard."

"Well, he must keep at it, you know."

Mary fell a musing; and Hoskyn went on reading.

"Adrian should never have married," she said
presently.

"Why not, my dear?"

"Because of that," she replied, pointing to the
paper.

"They don't find fault with him for being a married
man, though."

They find fault with him for being what his marriage
has made him. He neither thinks nor cares about
anything but his wife. "

"That needn't prevent his working," said Hoskyn.
"/ contrive to do a goodish deal of work," he added
with an amorous glance, "without caring any the less
for 77iy wife."

"Your wife does not run away from you to the other
end of Europe at a moment's notice, John. She does
not laugh at your business, and treat you as if you
were a little boy who sometimes gets troublesome."

"Still," said Hoskyn reflectively, "she has a sort of
fascination about her."

"Nonsense," said Mary, supposing that her husband
had been paying her a compliment, whereas he had
really referred to Aurelie. "I feel very much in
earnest about this. It is quite pitiable to see a man
like Adrian become the slave of a woman who obviously
does not care for him — or perhaps I should not say

Love Among the Artists 381

that ; but she certainly does not care for him as he
deserves to be caied for. I am beginning" to think
that she cares for nothing but money. ' '

"Oh, come!" remonstrated Hoskyn. "You're too
hard on her, Mary. She certainly doesn't seem to
concern herself much about Herbert: but then I fancy
that he is rather a milk-and-water sort of man. I
know he is a very good fellow, and all that; but there
is a something wanting in him — not exactly stamina,
but — but something or other. "

"There is a great want of worldliness and indifference
in him ; and I hope there always will be, although a
little of both would help him to bring his wife to her
senses. Still, Adrian is weak."

"I should think so. For my part," said Hoskyn,
scratching his beard, and glancing at his wife as if he
were going to make a venturesome remark, "I wonder
how any woman could be bothered with him ! I may
be prejudiced; but that's my opinion."

"Oh, that is absurd," said Mary. "She may con-
sider herself very fortunate in getting so good a man.
He is too good for her : that is where the real difficulty
lies. He is neglecting himself on her account. Do
you think I ought to speak to him seriously about
it?"

"Humph!" muttered Hoskyn cautiously. "It's
generally rather unwise to mix oneself up with other
people's affairs, particularly family affairs. You
don't as a rule get thanked for it."

"I know that. But is it right to hold aloof when one
might do some good by disregarding consideration of
that sort? It is always safest to do nothing. But I
doubt if it is generous."

382 Love Among the Artists

"Well, you can do as you like. If I were in your
place, I wouldn't meddle. "

"You are running away with an idea that I am
going to make mischief, and talk to Adrian about his
wife. I only want to give him a little lecture, such as
I have given him twenty times before. I am in some
sort his fellow student. Don't you think I might
venture? I cannot see how I can do any harm by
speaking to him about what the Times says."

Hoskyn pursed his lips, and shook his head, Mary,
who had made up her mind to exhort Adrian, and
wanted to be advised to do so, added, with some
vexation, "Of course I will not go if you do not wish
me to."

"I ! Oh Lord no, my dear : I don't want to interfere
with you. Go by all means if you like."

"Very well, John. I think I had better." As she
said this as if she were about to go in deference to his
wishes, he for a moment seemed inclined to remon-
strate ; but he thought better of it, and buried himself
in the newspaper until it was time for him to go to the
city.

After luncheon that day, Mary put on her broad hat
and cloak — her matronhood had not yet reconciled her
to bonnets — and walked to South Kensington, where
Herbert still kept his studio. The Avenue, Fulham
Road, resembles a lane leading to the gates of the
back gardens of the neighboring houses rather than
an artist's courtyard. Except when some plaster
colossus, crowded out of a sculptor's studio, appears
incongruously at the extremity of the short perspec-
tive, no person would dream of turning down there in
quest of statues or pictures. Disregarding a gigantic

Love Among the Artists 383

clay horse which ramped in the sun, its nostrils carved
into a snort of a type made familiar to Mary by the
Elgin marbles and the knights in her set of chessmen,
she entered at a door on the right which led to a long
corridor, on each side of which were the studios. In
one of these she found Adrian, with his palette set and
his canvas uncovered on the easel, but with the
Times occupying all his attention as he sat uncom-
fortably on the rung of a broken chair.

"Mrs. Hoskyn!" he exclaimed, rising hastily.

"Yes, Adrian. Mrs. Hoskyn's compliments; and
she is surprised to see Mr. Herbert reading the news-
papers which he once despised, and neglecting the art
in which he once gloried."

"I have taken to doing both since I established my-
self as a family man," he replied with a sigh. "Will
you ascend the ^throne? It is the only seat in the
place that can be depended upon not to break down. ' '

"Thank you. Have you been reading the Times
ever since your breakfast?"

"Have j/^z^ seen it, Mary?"

"Yes."

Herbert laughed, and then glanced anxiously at her.

"It is all very well to laugh," she said, " — and, as
you know, nobody despises newspaper criticism more
thoroughly than I, when it is prejudiced or flippant."

"In this instance, perhaps you agree with the
Times. ' '

Mary immediately put on her glasses, and looked
hardily at him, by which he knew that she was going
to say "I do." When she had said it, he smiled
patiently.

"Adrian," she said, with some remorse: "do you

384 Love Among the Artists

feel it to be true yourself? If you do not, then I shall
admit that I am in error."

"There may be some truth in it — I am hardly an
impartial judge in the matter. It is not easy to
explain my feeling concerning it. To begin with, I
am afraid that when I used to preach to you about
the necessity of devoting oneself wholly and earnestly
to the study of art in order to attain true excellence,
I was talking nonsense — or at least exaggerating mere
practice, which is a condition of success in tinkering
and tailoring as much as in painting, into a great
central principle peculiar to art. I have discovered
since that life is larger than any special craft. The
difficulty once seemed to lie in expanding myself to
the imiversal comprehensiveness of art: now I per-
ceive that it lies in contracting myself within the
limits of my profession ; and I am not sure that that is
quite desirable."

"Well, of course if you have lost your conviction
that it is worth while to be an artist, I do not know
what to say to you. You once thought it worth any
sacrifice."

"Yes, when I was a boy, and had nothing to sacrifice.
But I do not say that it is not worth while to be an
artist; for, you see, I have not given up my
profession."

"But you have brought the Times down on you,"

"True. The Times now sees defects in my work
which I cannot see, just as it formerly failed to see
defects in my early work which are very plain to me
now. It says very truly that I no longer take infinite
pains. I do my best still ; but I confess that I work less
at my pictures than I used to, because then I strove to

Love Among the Artists 385

make up for my shortcomings by being laborious, where-
as I now perceive that mere laboriousness does not and
cannot amend any shortcoming in art except the want
of itself, which is not always a shortcoming — sometimes
quite the reverse. Laboriousness is, at best, only an
appeal ad miseracordiam to oneself and the critics.
*Sir Lancelot' is a bad picture, if you like; but do
you suppose that any expenditure of patience would
have tortured it into a good one? My dear Mary — I

beg Mr. Hoskyn's pardon "

"Beg Mrs. Herbert's, rather. Go on."
"Mrs. Herbert is a very good example of my next
heresy, which is, that earnestness of intention, and
faith in the higher mission of art, are impotent to add
an inch to my artistic capacity. They rather produce
a mental stress fatal to all freedom of conception and
execution. I cannot bring them to bear on drawing
and painting: they seem to me to be more the con-
cern of clergymen and statesmen. Your husband once
told my mother that art was a backwater into which
the soft chaps got to be out of the crush in the
middle of the stream. He was thinking about me, I
suppose — oh, don't apologize, Mary: I quite agree
with him. It is a backwater; and faith and earnest-
ness are of no use in it: mere brute skill carries every-
thing before it. You once asked me how I should like
to be Titian and a lot of other great painters all rolled
into one. At present I should be only too glad to be
as good as Titian alone; but I would not pay five
years of my life for the privilege: it would not be
worth it. What view did Titian take of his mission
in life? Simply that he was to paint pictures and sell
them. He painted religious pictures when the church

386 Love Among the Artists

paid him to do it ; he painted indecent pictures when
licentious noblemen paid him to do it ; and he painted
portraits for the wealthy public generally. Believe
me, Mary, out in the middle of the stream of life,
from the turbulences and vulgarities of which we
agreed to hold aloof, there may be many different sorts
of men — earnest men, frivolous men, faithful men, cyni-
cal men, poetic men, sordid men, and so forth ; but for
the backwater there are only two sorts of painters,
dexterous ones and maladroit ones. I am not a
dexterous one ; and that is all about it : self-criticism
on moral principles, and the culture of the backwater
library won't mend my eyes and fingers. I said that
Aurelie's was a case in point. Even the Times does
not deny that she is a perfect artist. Yet if you spoke
of her being a moral teacher with a great gift and a
great trust, she would not understand you, although
she has some distorted fancy about her touch on the
piano being a moral faculty. She thinks your husband
a most original and profound thinker because he once
happened to remark to her that musical people were
generally clever. As I failed to be duly overwhelmed
by her account of this, she, I believe, thought I was
jealous of him because I had not hit on the observation
myself. ' '

"Perhaps she would play still better if she did
look upon herself as the holder of a great gift and a
great trust. ' '

"Did I paint the Lady of Shalott the better because
I would have mixed the colors with my blood if the
picture would have gained by my doing so? No: I
could paint it twice as well now, though I should not
waste half as much thought on it. But put Aurelie

Love Among the Artists 387

out of the question, since you do not admire her.

Take "

"Oh. Adrian, I ad "

" — the case of Jack. You will admit that he is a
genius : he has the inexhaustible flow of ugly sounds
which constitutes a composer a genius nowadays. I
take Aurelie's word and yours that he is a great
musician, in spite of the evidence of my own ears.
Judging him as a mere unit of society, he is perhaps
the most uncouth savage in London. Does he ever
think of himself as having a mission, or a gift, or a
trust?"

"I am sure he does. Consider how much he endured
formerly because he would not write down to the
level of the popular taste."

"Depend upon it, either he did not get the chance
or he could not. Mozart, I believe, wrote ballets and
Masses in the Italian style. If Jack had Mozart's
versatility, he would, in similar circumstances, act just
as Mozart acted. I do not make a virtue of never
having condescended to draw for the illustrated papers,
because if anyone had asked me to do it, I should
certainly have tried, and probably have failed."

"Adrian," said Mary, coming down from the throne,
and approaching him: "do you know that it gives
me great pain to hear you talk in this way? If there
was one vice more than another which I felt sure
could never taint your nature, it was the vice of
cynicism."

" You reproach me with cynicism!" he said, with a
smile, evidently enjoying some inconsistency in her.

"Why not?"

" There is, of course, no reason why you should not

388 Love Among the Artists

— except that you seem to have come to very similar
conclusions yourself. ' '

"You never made a greater mistake, Adrian, My
faith in the ennobling power of Art, and in the august
mission of the artist is as steadfast as it was years ago,
when you first instilled it into me."

"And that faith has never wavered?"

*' Never."

"Not even for a moment?"

"Not even for a moment."

A slight shrug was his only comment. He took up
his palette, and busied himself with it, with a curious
expression at the corners of his mouth.

"What do you mean, Adrian?"

"Nothing. Nothing."

"You used to be more candid than that."

"I used to be many things that I am not now."

"You admit that you are changed?"

"Surely."

"Then the change in me that you hint at is only a
change in your way of looking at me."

"Perhaps so."

A pause followed, during which he put a few touches
on the canvas, and she watched him in growing
doubt.

"You won't mind my working whilst you are here?"
he said, presently.

"Adrian: do you remember that day on the under-
cliff at Bonchurch, when I announced my falling off,
in principle, from the austerity of our worship of art?"

"I do. Why do you ask?"

"I .little thought, then, which of us would be the
first to fall off in practice. If a prophet had shewn

Love Among the Artists 389

you to me as you are now, contemning loftiness of
purpose and renouncing arduous work, I should have
been at a loss for words strong enough to express my
repudiation of the forecast."

"I cannot say that /did not suspect then who would
be the first to fall off," said Adrian, quietly, though
his color deepened a little. "But I should have been
as sceptical as you, if your prophet had shewn me
you " He checked himself.

"Well, Adrian?"

"No. I beg your pardon: I was going to say some-
thing I have no right to say."

'Whatever it may be, you think it; and I have a
right to hear it, so that I may justify myself. How
could a prophet have shewn me so as to astonish you?"

"As Mrs. Hoskyn," he replied, looking at her
steadily for a moment, and then resuming his work.

"I don't understand," said Mary anxiously, after a
pause.

"I told you there was nothing to understand," said
he, relieved. "I meant that it is odd in the first place
that we are both married, and not to one another — I
suppose you don't mind my alluding to that. It is still
odder that I should be married to Aur^lie, who knows
nothing about painting. But it is oddest that you
should be married to Mr. Hoskyn, who knows nothing
about art at all. "

Mary, understanding him well now, became very
red, and for a moment tried hard to keep back a retort
which came to her lips. He continued to paint
attentively. Then she said indignantly, "Do you
conclude that I do not care for my husband because I
can still work and think and respect myself — because

390 Love Among the Artists

I am not his slave when he is present, and a slave to
my thoughts of him when he is absent?"

"Mary!" exclaimed Herbert, putting down his
palette and confronting her with a color as deep as
her own. She stood her ground without flinching.
Then he recovered himself, and said, "I beg your
pardon. I was quite wrong to say anything about
your marriage. Have I annoyed you?"

"You have let slip your opinion of me, Adrian."

"And you yours of me, I think, Mary."

After this there was another strained pause, dis-
concerting to both. This time Mary gained her self-
possession first. "I was annoyed just now," she said:
"but I did not mean that we should quarrel. I hope
you did not."

"No, indeed," he said fervently. "I trust we shall
never have any such meaning, whatever may pass
between us."

"Then," she rejoined, instinctively responding to
his emotion with an impulse of confession, "let me
tell you candidly how far you were right in what you
said. I married because I discovered, as you have,
that the world is larger than Art, and that there is
plenty of interest in it for those who do not even
know what Art means. But I have never been in
love in the story-book fashion : and I had given up all
belief in the reality of that fashion when I cast in my
lot with John's, though I am very fond of him, and do
not at all regret being Mrs. Hoskyn."

"It is curious that our courses of action should be
so similar and our motives so different! My con-
fession is so obvious that it is hardly worth while to
make it. I did fall in love in the story-book fashion;

Love Among the Artists 391

and that is the true explanation of what the Times
notices in my work. I will not say that I can no longer
work, think, or respect myself — I hope I am not so bad
as that : but the rest is true. I am a slave to her when
she is present, and a slave to my thoughts of her
when she is absent. Perhaps you despise me for it."

"I can hardly despise you for loving your wife. It
would be rather unreasonable. ' '

"There are many things which are not reasonable,
and are yet quite natural. I sometimes despise my-
self. That occurs when I contrast Aurelie's influence
on my work with yours. Before I met her, I worked
steadfastly in this studio, thinking of you whenever
my work palled on me, and never failing to derive
fresh courage from you. I know now, better than I
did then, how much of my first success, and of the
resolute labor that won it, was due to you. The new
influence is a different — a disturbing one. When I
think of Aur^lie, there is an end of my work. Where
in the old time I used to be reinforced and concen-
trated, I am now excited and distracted; impatient for
some vague to-morrow that never comes ; capable of
nothing but trouble or ecstasy. Imagine, then, how
I value your friendship — for you must not think that
you have lost your old power over me. Even to-day,
because I have had this opportunity of talking with
you, I feel more like my old artist self than I have
been for a long time. We understand each other : I
could not say the same to Aurelie. Therefore, Mary,
will you — however ill I may in your opinion have
deserved it — will you still stand my friend, and help
me to regain the ground I have lost, as you formerly
helped me to win it?"

392 Love Among the Artists

"Most willingly, " said Mary with enthusiasm, hold-
ing out both her hands to him. "I will take your word
for my ability to help you, though I know that you
used to help yourself by helping me. Now we are fast
friends again, are we not?"

"Fast friends," he repeated, taking her hands, and
returning her gaze with affectionate admiration and
gratitude,

"Aha!" cried a voice. They released each other's
hands quickly, and turned, pale and startled, towards
the new comer. Aurelie, in a light summer dress,
was smiling at them from the doorway.

"I fear I derange you," she said in English, which
she now spoke easily and carelessly, though with a
soft foreign accent. "How do you do, Madame
Hoskyn? Am I too much? Eh?"

Mary, confused by the surprise of her entry, and still
more by the innocent and caressing manner in which
she spoke, murmured some words of salutation.

"This is a very unusual honor, Aurelie," said
Herbert, affecting to laugh.

"Yes, I did not know of it beforehand myself. I
got into the wrong train, and was carried to South
Kensington instead of to Addison Road. So I said, 'I
will give Adrian a surprise.' And so I have."

"You came in at an interesting moment," said Mary,
who had now partly regained some of her self-
nossession, and all her boldness. "Mr. Herbert and I
have had a serious quarrel; and we are just making it
up, English fashion. ' '

"Oh, it is not an English fashion. People quarrel
like that everywhere. And you are now greater
friends than ever. Is it not so?"

Love Among the Artists 393

"I hope so," said Mary.

"I knew it," said Aur^lie, with a wave of her fin-
gers. "The human nature is the same things
throughout the world. Ah yes. What an untidy
atelier is this ! How can you expect that great ladies
will come here to sit for their portraits?"

"I do not desire that they should, Aurelie. "

"But it is by portraits that the English artists make
great sums of money. Why do you not cure him of
these strange notions, Madame? You have so much
sense; and he respects you so. He mocks at me
when I speak of painting: yet I am sure I am right."

Mary smiled uneasily, not knowing exactly how to
reply. Aurelie wandered about the studio, picking
up sketches and putting them down without looking
at them; peeping into corners; and behaving like a
curious child. At last her husband, seeing her about
to disturb a piece of drapery, cried out to her to take
care.

"What is the matter now?" said she. "Is there
somebody behind it? del! it is a great doll."

"Please do not touch it, " he said, "I am drawing
from it; and the change of a single fold will waste all
my labor. ' *

"Yes; but that is not fair. You should not copy
things into your pictures: you should paint them all
out of your head. " She went over to the easel. "Is
this the great work for next year? Why has that man
a bonnet on?"

"It is not a bonnet: it is a helmet."

"Ah! He is a fireman then. Tiens! you have
drawn him with long curling hair! There — I know
— ^he is a knight of the round table : all your knights

394 Love Among the Artists

are the same. Of what use are such barbarians? I
prefer the Nibelungs and Wotan and Thor — in
Wagner's music. His arm is a great deal too long:
and the little boy's head is not half large enough in
proportion to his height. The poor child is like a man
in miniature. Madame Hoskyn: will you do me a
great favor — that is, if you are disengaged?"

"I have no engagements to-day, happily," said
Mary. "You may command me."

"Then you will come back with us to our house,
and stay to dinner. Oh, you must not refuse me. We
will send a telegram to Mr. Hoskyn to come too. En
faniille^ you understand. Adrian will entertain you;
I will play for you ; and my mother will shew you the
bambino. He is a droll child — you shall see if he is
not."

"You are very kind, " said Mary, wavering. "Mr.
Hoskyn expects me to dine at home with him; but — "
She looked inquiringly at Adrian.

"As Aurelie says, we can ask Mr. Hoskyn by
telegraph. I hope you will come, Mary."

Mary blushed at his use of her Christian name,
accustomed as she was to it. "Thank you," she said.
"I will come with pleasure."

"Ah, that is very good," said Aurelie, apparently
delighted. "Come then," she added in French to
Adrian. "Put away thy sottises; and let us go at
once. ' '

"You hear?" he remarked to Mary. "She calls my
canvas and hvMslies ray sottises.'' He put them away
resignedly, nevertheless, Aurelie chatting light-
heartedly with Mary, meanwhile. When he was
ready, they went out together past the white horse,

Love Among the Artists 395

whose shadow was tending at some length eastward,
and sallied into the Fulham Road, where they halted
to consider whether they should walk or drive.
Whilst they stood, a young man with a serious
expression, long and curly fair hair, and a velveteen
jacket, approached them. He was reading a book as
he walked, taking no note of the persons whom he
passed.

"Why, here is Charlie," exclaimed Mary. The
young man looked up, and immediately stopped and
shut his book, exhibiting a remarkable degree of con-
fusion. Then, to the surprise of his sister, he raised
his hat, and attempted to pass on.

"Charlie," she said: "are you going to cut us?" At
this he stopped again, and stood looking at them
discomfitedly.

"How do you do?" said Adrian, offering his hand,
which was eagerly accepted. Charlie now ventured
to glance at Aurelie, becoming redder as he did so.
She was waiting with perfect composure and apparently
without interest for the upshot of the encounter.

"I thought you knew Mrs. Herbert," said Mary,
puzzled. "My brother, Mrs. Herbert," she added,
turning to Aurelie.

Charlie removed his hat solemnly, and received in
acknowledgement what was rather a droop of the
eyelids than a bow.

Herbert, seeing that an awkward silence was likely
to ensue, interposed goodhumoredly. "What is your
latest project?" he said. "If you are an engineer
still your exterior is singularly unprofessional. Judg-
ing by appearances, I should say that I must be the
engineer and you the artist. ' '

396 Love Among the Artists

"Oh, I've given up engineering," said Charlie.
"It's a mere trade. The fact is, I have come round
at last to your idea that there is nothing like Art. I
have turned my attention to literature of late."

"To poetry, I presume," said Herbert, drawing the
book from beneath his arm and looking at the title.

"I wish I had the least scrap of genius to make me
a poet. In any case I must give up the vagabond life
I have been leading, and settle down to some earnest
pursuit. I may not ever be able to write a decent
book ; but I at least can persevere in the study of Art
and literature and — and so forth."

"Persevere in literature!" repeated Mary. "Oh,
Charlie! How many novels and tragedies have you
begun since we went to live at Beulah? and not one
of them ever got to the second chapter."

"I shewed my good sense in not finishing any of them.
What has become of the pictures you used to work so
hard at, and of the great compositions that were to
have come of your studies with Jack?"

"I think," said Herbert jocularly, "that if we wait
here until you and Mary agree on the subject of your
perseverance, our dinner will be cold. Mrs. Hoskyn
is coming to dine with us this evening, Charlie. Sup-
pose you join us."

"Thank you," he said, hastily: "I should like it of
all things; but I am not dressed; and "

"You can hardly propose to dress for dinner on my
account at this late stage of our acquaintance; and
Mrs. Herbert will excuse you, I think."

"You shall be the welcome, monsieur," said Aur^lie,
who had been gazing abstractedly down the vista at
the white horse.

Love Among the Artists 397

"Thanks, very much indeed," said Charlie. This
decided, it was arranged that they should go by train
to High Street, and walk thence to Herbert's lodging:
for he had never fulfilled his intention of taking a
house, his wife being only nominally more at home in
London than in the other European capitals. They
accordingly moved towards the railway station, Adrian
going first with Mary, and Charlie following with
Aur^lie, who seemed unconscious of his presence,
although his uneasiness, his frequent glances sidelong
at her, and his occasional dumb efforts to nazard some
commonplace remark, were much more obvious than
he suspected. In this way they came within a hundred
yards of the South Kensington station without having
exchanged a word, his dismay increasing at every
step. He stole another look at her, and this time met
her eye, which fixed him as if it had been that of the
ancient mariner: and the longer she looked, the
redder and more disconcerted he became.

"Well Monsieur Beatty," she said composedly.

He glanced apprehensively at Adrian, who was
within earshot. "I hardly know how to tell you," he
said: "but my name is not Beatty."

"Is it possible! I beg your pardon, monsieur; I
mistook you for a zhentleman of that name, whom I
met at Paris. You resemble him very much."

"No, I assure you," said Charlie eagerly. "I am
not in the least like him. I know the fellow you
mean : he was a drunken wretch whom you rescued from
being run over or robbed in the street, and who made
a most miserable ass of himself in return. He is
dead."

'''Jesu Christ!'' ejaculated Aurelie with an irrepress-

398 Love Among the Artists

ible start: "do not say such things. What do you
mean?"

"Dead as a doornail," said Charlie, triumphant at
having shaken her composure, but still very earnest.
"He was killed, scotched, stamped out of existence by
remorse, and by being unable to endure the contrast
between his worthlessness and your — your goodnes'^.
If you would only forget him, and not think of him
whenever you see me, you would confer a very great
favor on me — far greater than I deserve. Will you do
so, please, Mrs. Herbert?"

' ' I believe you will make great success as a poet, ' ' said
Aur^lie, loolsSng coldly at him. "You are — what you
call clever. Ach! This underground railway is a
horror. ' '

They said nothing more to one another until they
left the train at High Street, from which they walked
in the same order as before, Charlie again at a loss for
something to say, but no longer afraid to speak. His
first effort was:

"I hope Madame Szczympliga is quite well."

"Thank you, she is quite well. You will see her
presently."

"What! Is she staying with you?"

"Yes. You are glad of that?"

"No, I'm not," he said bluntly. "How could I be
glad? She remembers that vagabond of whom we
were speaking. What shall I do?"

Aurelie shook her head gravely. "Truly, T do not
know," she replied. "You had better prepare for the
worst. * '

"It is very easy for you to make a jest of the affair,
Mrs. Herbert. If you had as much cause to be

Love Among the Artists 399

ashamed of meeting her as I have, you would not
laugh at me. However, since you have forgiven me,
I think she may very well do so. ' '

Madame Szczympliga did, in fact, receive him with-
out betraying the slightest emotion. She did not
remember him. All her attention was absorbed by
other considerations, which led her to draw her
daughter into a private conversation on the stairs
whilst their guests supposed her to be fetching the
baby.

"My child: have you brought home dinner as well
as guests? What are they to eat? Do you think that
the proprietress can provide a double dinner at a
moment's notice?"

"She must, maman. It is very simple. Let her go
to the shops — to the pastrycooks. Let her go
wherever she will, so that the dinner be ready. Per-
haps there is enough in the house."

"And how "

"There, there. She will manage easily. If not,
how can I help it? I know nothing about such things.
Go for the bambino; and do not fret about the
dinner. All will be well, depend upon it." And she
retreated quickly into the drawing-room. Madame
Szczympliga raised her hands in protest; let them fall
in resignation ; and went upstairs, whence she presently
returned with a small baby who looked very sad and
old.

"Behold it?" said Aurdlie, interlacing her fingers
behind her back, and nodding from a distance towards
her child. "See how solemn he looks! He is a true
Englishman." The baby uttered a plaintive sound
and stretched out one fist. "Aha! Knowest thou

400 Love Among the Artists

thy mother's voice, rogue? Does he not resemble
Adrian?"

Mary took the infant gently; kissed it; shook its
toes; called it endearing names; and elicited several
inarticulate remonstrances from it. Adrian felt
ridiculous, and acknowledged his condition by a faint
smile. Charlie kept cautiously aloof. Mary was in
the act of handing the child carefully back to Madame
Szczympliga, when Aur^lie interposed swiftly; tossed
it up to the ceiling; and caught it dexterously.
Adrian stepped forward in alarm ; Madame uttered a
Polish exclamation; and the baby itself growled
angrily. Being sent aloft a second time, it howled with
all its might.

"Now you shall see," said Aur^lie, suddenly placing
it, supine, kicking and screaming, on the pianoforte.
She then began to play the Skaters' Quadrille from
Meyerbeer's opera of "The Prophet." The baby
immediately ceased to kick; became silent; and lay
still with the bland expression of a dog being
scratched, or a lady having her hair combed.

"It has a vile taste in music," she said, when the
performance was over. "It is old fashioned in every-
thing. Ah yes. Monsieur Sutherland: would you
kindly pass the little one to my mother."

Madame Szczympliga hastily advanced to forestall
Charlie's compliance with this request, made purposely
to embarrass him. But he lifted the baby very
expertly, and even gave it a kiss before he handed it
to the old lady, who watched him as if he were hand-
ling a valuable piece of china.

"There. Take it away," said Aurelie. "You
would make a good nurse, monsieur."

Love Among the Artists 401

"What a mother!" whispered Madame Szczympliga.
"Poor infant!" and she indignantly carried it away.

"I wish he would grow up all at once," said Aur^lie.
"By the time he is a man, I shall be an old woman,
half deaf, with gout in my fingers. He will go to hear
the new players, and wonder how I got my reputation.
Ah, it is a stupid world! One may say so before you,
madame, because you are a philosopher."

Madame Szczympliga soon returned, and was of
much service in maintaining conversation, as she was
not, like the other three, unable to avoid keeping a
furtive watch on her daughter. At dinner, Aur^lie,
when she found that the talk would go on without her
help, said no more, eating but little, and drinking
water. In her abstraction, she engaged their attention
more than ever. Mary, trying to puzzle out the real
nature of Adrian's wife, considered her carefully, but
vainly. The pianist's character appeared as vaguely
to her mind as the face did to her short-sighted eyes.
Even Herbert, though he ate with the appetite of a
husband, often glanced along the table with the
admiration of a lover. Charlie did not dare to look
often ; but he sought for distorted images of her face
in glass vessels and bowls of spoons, and gazed at
them instead. At last Mary, oppressed by her silence,
determined to make her speak.

"Is it possible that you never drink wine?" she said:
"you, who work so hard!"

"Never," said Aurelie, resuming her volition
instantly. "I have in the tip of every finger a sensa-
tion of touch the most subtle, the most delicate, that
you can conceive. It is a — chose — a species of nervous
organization. One single glass of wine would put all

402 Love Among the Artists

those little nerves to sleep. My fingers would become
hammers, like the fingers of all the world; and I
should be excited, and have a great pleasure to
hammer, as all the world has. But I could no longer
make music."

"Aurelie has remarkable theories of what she calls
her fine touch," said Herbert. "Practically, I find
that when she is in a musical humor, and enjoys her
own playing, she says she has 'found her fingers' ; but
when only other people enjoy it, then the touch is gone ;
the fingers are like the fingers of all the world ; and I
receive formal notice that Mdlle. Szczympliga is about
to retire from the musical profession."

"Yes, yes, you are very wise. You have not this
fine touch ; and you do not understand. If you had,
ah, how you would draw ! You would be greater than
no matter what artist in the world. ' '

Mary burned with indignation at Aur^lie, knowing
how it hurt Herbert to be reminded that he was not a
first-rate artist. Aurelie, indifferent to the effect of
her speech, relapsed into meditation until they left the
table, when she seated herself at the pianoforte, and
permitted Charlie to engage her in conversation,
whilst Herbert became engrossed by a discussion with
Mary on painting, and Madame Szczympliga sat still
in a corner, knitting.

"What!" said Aur61ie, when Charlie had been
speaking for some time: "were you at that concert
too?"

"Yes."

"Then you have been at every concert where I have
played since I returned to London. Do you go to all
concerts?"

Love Among the Artists 403

**To all of those at which you play. Not to the
others."

"Oh, I understand. You pay me a compliment. I
am very — very recognizant, do you call it? — of your
appreciation."

"I am musical, you know. I was to have been a
musician, and had lessons from old Jack in the noble
art. But I gave it up, I am sorry to say."

"What presumption! It does not become you to
speak of a great man in that fashion, Monsieur
Charles."

"True, Mrs. Herbert. But then nobody minds what
I say. ' '

'■'Tiens!'" said Aur61ie, with a light laugh. "You
are right. You know how to make everything gay.
And so you gave up the music, and are now to be a
poet. Can you think of no more suitable profession
than that?"

"It's the only one left to me, except the army; and
that is considered closed to me because my brother —
Phipson's daughter's husband, you know — is there
already. First I was to be a college don — a professor.
Then I took to music. Then I tried the bar, the
medical, engineering, the Indian civil service, and
got tired of them all. In fact I only drew the line at
the church "

"What is that? You drew a line at the church!"

"It is what you very properly call an idiotisme. I
mean that I would not condescend to be a parson."

"What a philosopher! Proceed. "

"I am now — if the poetry fails, which it most likely
will — going into business. I shall try for a post in
the Conolly Electro-Motor Company."

404 Love Among the Artists

' ' I think that will suit you best. I will play you some-
thing to encourage you."

She began to play a polonaise by Chopin. Herbert
and Mary ceased speaking, but presently resumed
their conversation in subdued tones. Charlie listened
eagerly. When the polonaise was finished, she did not
stop, but played on, looking at the ceiling, and
occasionally glancing at Charlie's face.

"Aur^lie," said Herbert, raising his voice suddenly:
"where are those sketches that Mrs. Scott left here
last Tuesday?"

"Oh, I say!'' said Charlie, in a tone of strong
remonstrance, as the music ceased. Herbert, not
understanding, looked inquiringly at him. Aurelie
rose ; took the sketches from her music stand ; and
handed them silently to Mrs. Hoskyn.

"I am afraid we have interrupted you," said Mary,
coloring. Aurdlie deprecated the apology by a
gesture, and sat down in a low chair near the
window.

"I wish you'd play again, if you're not tired, Mrs.
Herbert," said Charlie timidly. ■

She shook her head.

"It is hard that I should have to suffer because my
sister has a wooden head with no ears on it," he
whispered, glancing angrily, not at Mary, but at
Adrian. "I was comfortably settled in heaven when
they interrupted you. I wish Jack was here. He
would have given them a piece of his mind."

"Mr. Herbert does not like Monsieur Jacques."

"Monsieur Jacques doesn't like Mr. Herbert either.
There is no love lost between them. Adrian hates
Jack's music; and Jack laughs at Adrian's pictures. "

Love Among the Artists 405

''Maman: ring the bell. Tell them to bring some
tea. ' '

"Yes, my angel."

"The conversation now became general and
desultory. Mary, fearing that she had already been
rudely inattentive to her hostess, thought it better not
to continue her chat with Adrian. "I see our telegram
is of no avail, " she said. "Mr. Hoskyn has probably
dined at his club."

"The more fool he," said Charlie, morosely.

"What is that for?" said Mary, surprised by his
tone. He looked sulkily at the piano, and did not
reply. Then he stole a glance at Aur^lie, and was
much put out to find that she was tendering him her
empty teacup. He took it, and replaced it on the
table in confusion.

"And so," she said, when he was again seated near
her, "you have succeeded in none of your professions. "

This sudden return to a dropped subject put him
out still more. "I — you mean my ?"

"Your metiers — whatever you call them. I am not
surprised. Monsieur Charles. You have no patience. ' '

"I can be patient enough when I like."

"Do you ever like?"

"Sometimes. When you play, for instance, I could
listen for a year without getting tired. ' '

"You would get very hungry. And I should get
very tired of playing. Besides "

A thud, followed by babyish screams, interrupted
her. She listened for a moment, and left the room,
followed by her mother, Mary and Adrian, accustomed
to such incidents, did not stir. Charlie, reassured by
their composure, took up the book of sketches.

4o6 Love Among the Artists

"Adrian," said Mary, in a low voice: "do you think
Mrs. Herbert is annoyed with me?"

"No. Why?"

"I mean, was she annoyed — to-day — in the studio?"

"I should not think so. N-no. Why should she
be annoyed with you?"

* ' Not perhaps with me particularly. But with both
of us. You must know what I mean, Adrian. I felt
in an excessively false position when she came in. I
do not mean exactly that she might be jealous:
but "

"Reassure yourself, Mary," he replied, with a sad
smile. "She is not jealous. I wish she were."

"You wish it!"

"Yes. It would be a proof of love. I doubt if she
is capable of jealousy. "

"I hope not. She must have thought it very odd;
and, of course, we looked as guilty as possible.
Innocent people always do. Hush', here she is.
Have you restored peace to the nursery, Mrs.
Herbert?"

"My mother is doing so," said Aur^lie. "It is a
very unlucky child. It is impossible to find a cot that
it cannot fall out of. But do not rise. Is it possible
that you are going?"

Mary, who in spite of Herbert's assurance was not
comfortable, invented unanswerable reasons for
returning home at once. Charlie had to leave with
her. He tried to bid Aurelie good night uncon-
cernedly, but failed. Mary remarked to Herbert, who
accompanied them to the door, that Charlie had
behaved himself much less awkwardly as a boy than
he did now as a man. Adrian assented ; let them out ;

Love Among the Artists 407

stood for a moment to admire the beauty of the even-
ing; and returned to the drawing-room, where Aur^lie
was sitting on an ottoman, apparently deep in
thought.

"Come!" he said spiritedly: "does not Mrs. Hoskyn
improve on acquaintance ? Is she not a nice
woman?"

Aur^lie looked at him dreamily for a moment, and
then said, "Charming."

"I knew you would like her. That was a happy
thought of yours to ask her to dinner, I am very
glad you did. ' '

"I owed you some reparation, Adrian."

"What for?" he said, instinctively feeling damped.

* ' For interrupting your tete-a-tete. ' '

He laughed. "Yes," he said. "But you owe me
no reparation for that. You came most opportunely. ' '

"That is quite what I thought. Ah, my friend, how
much more I admire you when you are in love with
Mrs. Hoskyn than when you are in love with me!
You are so much more manly and thoughtful. And
you abandoned her to marry me ! What folly!"

Adrian stood open-mouthed, not only astonished, but
anxious that she should perceive his astonishment.
"Aurdlie," he exclaimed: "is it possible — it is hardly
conceivable — that you are jealous?"

"N — no," replied she, after some consideration. "I
do not think I am jealous. Perhaps Mr. Hoskyn will
be, if he happens upon another tSte-a-tete. But you
do not fight in England, so it does not matter."

"Aur61ie: are you serious?"

"Wherefore should I not be serious?" she said,
rousing herself a little.

4o8 Love Among the Artists

"Because," he answered gravely, "your words
imply that you have a vile opinion of Mrs. Hoskyn
and of me."

"Oh, no, no," she said, carelessly reassuring him.
"I do not think that you are a wicked gallant, like
Don Juan. I know you would both think that a great
English sin. I suspect you of nothing except what I
saw in your faces when you had her hands clasped in
yours. You could not look at me so."

"What do you mean?" said he, indignantly.

"I will shew you," she replied calmly, rising and
approaching him. "Give me your hands."

"Aur^lie: this is chil "

"Both your hands. Give them to me."

She took them as she spoke, he looking foolish
meanwhile. "Now," she said, taking a step back so
that they were nearly at arms length, "behold what I
mean. Look at my eyes, as you looked at hers, if you
can." She waited; but his face expressed nothing
but confusion. "You cannot," she added, attempting
to loose his hands. But he grasped her tightly ; drew
her towards him; and kissed her. "Ah," she said,
disengaging herself quietly, "I did not see that part
of it. I was only at the door for a moment before I
spoke. ' '

"Nonsense, Aurdlie. I do not mean that I kissed
Mrs. Hoskyn."

"Then you should have. When a woman gives you
both her hands, that is what she expects. ' '

"But I pledge you my word that you are mistaken.
We were simply shaking hands on a bargain: the
commonest thing possible in England."

"A bargain?"

Love Among the Artists 409

"An agreement — a species of arrangement between
us."

"^// bien! And what was this agreement that called
such a light into your eyes?"

Adrian, about to reply confidently, hesitated when
he realized the impression which his words would
probably convey. "It is rather difficult to explain,"
he began.

"Then do not explain it ; for it is very easy to under-
stand. I know. I know. My poor Adrian: you are
in love without knowing it. Ah! I envy Mrs.
Hoskyn."

"If 3^ou really mean that," he said eagerly, "I will
forgive you all the rest. ' *

"I envy her the power to be in love," rejoined
Aur^lie, sitting down again, and speaking meditatively.
"I cannot love. I can feel it in the music — in the
romance — in the poetry; but in real life — it is
impossible. I am fond of tnanian, fond of the bam-
bino, fond of you sometimes ; but this is not love — not
such love as you used to feel for me — as she feels
now for you. I see people and things too clearly to
love. Ah well! I must content myself with the
music. It is but a shadow. Perhaps it is as real as
love is, after all. ' '

"In short, Aur^lie, you do not love me, and never
have loved me."

"Not in your way."

"Why did you not tell me this before?"

"Because, whilst you loved me, it would have
wounded you. ' '

"I love you still; and you know it. Why did you
not tell me so before we were married?"

4IO Love Among the Artists

"Ah, I had forgotten that. I must have loved you
then. But you were only half real : I did not know
you. What is the matter with you?"

"You ask me what is the matter, after — after "

"Come and sit by me, and be tranquil. You are
making grimaces like a comedian. I do more for
you than you deserve; for I still cherish you as my
husband, whilst you make bargains, as you call it, with
other women."

"Aur^lie," he said, sternly: "there is one course,
and only one, left to us. We must separate."

"Separate! And for why?"

"Because you do not love me. I suspected it
before: now I know it. Your respect for me has
vanished too. I can at least set you free : I owe that
much to myself. You may not see the necessity for
this; and I cannot make you see it. None the less,
we must separate."

"And what shall I do for a husband? Do you for-
get your duty to me, and to my child? Well, it does
not matter. Go. But look you, Adrian, if you
abandon your home only to draw that woman away
from hers, it will be an infamy — one that will estrange
me from you for ever. Do not hope, when you tire of
her — for one tires of all pronounced people, and she,
in face and character, is very pronounced — do not
hope then to console yourself with me. You may be
weak and foolish if you will ; but when you cease to
be a man of honor, you are no longer my Adrian."

"And how, in heaven's name, shall I be the worse
for that, since already I am no longer your Adrian?
You have told me that you never cared for me "

"Chut! I tell thee that I am not of a nature to fall

Love Among the Artists 411

in love. Be calm; and do not talk of separation, and
such silly things. Have I not been good to her and
to you this day?"

"Upon my soul," cried Adrian despairingly, **I
believe you are either mad or anxious to make me
mad."

"He is swearing!" she ejaculated, lifting her hands.

"I am not in love with Mary," he continued. "It
is a gross and absurd libel on both of us to say so. If
anyone be to blame, you are — yes, you, Aur^lie. You
have put the vilest construction on a perfectly inno-
cent action of mine; and now you tell me with the
most cynical coolness that you do not care for me. ' '

Aur^lie, implying by a little shrug that she gave
him up, rose and went to the piano. The moment
her fingers touched the keys, she seemed to forget
him. But she stopped presently, and said with grave
surprise, " W/iaf did you say, Adrian?"

"Nothing," he replied shortly.

"Nothing!" she repeated incredulously.

"Nothing that was intended for your ears. Since
you overheard me, I beg your pardon. I do not often
offend you with such language ; but to-night I do say
with all my soul ' Damn that pianoforte. ' ' '

"Without doubt you have often said so before under
your breath," said Aurelie, closing the instrument
quietly.

"Are you going?" he said anxiously, as she moved
toward the door. "No," he exclaimed, springing
forward, and timidly putting his arm about her, "I
did not mean that I disliked your playing. I only
hate the piano when you make me jealous of it — when
you go to it to forget me."

412 Love Among the Artists

**It does not matter. Be tranquil. I am not
offended," she said coldly, trying to disengage
herself.

"You are indeed, Aurelie. Pray do not be so quick
to "

"Adrian: you are worrying me — you will make me
cry ; and then I will never forgive you. Let me go. ' '

At the threat of crying he released her, and stood
looking piteously at her.

"You should not make scenes with me," she said
plaintively. "Where is my handkerchief? I had it a
moment ago."

"Here it is, my darling," he said humbly, picking it
up from the floor where it had fallen. She took it
without thanking him. Then, glancing petulantly at
him, and seeing him dejected and wistful, she
relented, and stretched out her arms for a caress.

'^Mon dme,'' she whispered soothingly, as she rested
her face against his.

''Ma vie,'' he responded fervently, and clasped her
with a shudder of delight to his breast.

CHAPTER IV

Early in the afernoon of the following day, which was
Sunday, Charlie Sutherland presented himself at
Church Street, Kensington, and asked Mrs. Simpson
who opened the door, if Mr. Jack was within.

"No, sir," said Mrs. Simpson, gravely. "He is not
in just at present."

On being pressed as to when he would be in, Mrs.
Simpson became vague and evasive, although she
expressed sympathy for the evident disappointment of
the visitor. At last he said he would probably call
again, and turned disconsolately away. He had not
gone far when, hearing a shout, he looked back, and
saw Jack, uncombed, unshaven, in broken slippers,
and a stained and tattered coat, running after him,
bareheaded.

"Come up — come back," cried Jack, his brazen
tones somewhat forced by loss of breath. "It's all a
mistake. That jade — come along." He seized
Charlie by the arm, and began to drag him back to
the house as he spoke. The boys of the neighbor-
hood soon assembled to look with awe at the capture of
Charlie, only a few of the older and less reverent
venturing to ridicule the scene by a derisive cheer.
Jack marched his visitor upstairs to a large room,
which occupied nearly the whole of the first floor. A
grand pianoforte in the centre was covered with writing
materials, music in print and manuscript, old news-

413

414 Love Among the Artists

papers, and unwashed coffee cups. The surrounding
carpet was in such a state as to make it appear that
periodically, when the litter became too cumbrous, it
was swept away and permitted to lie on the floor just
as it chanced to fall. The chairs, the cushions of
which seemed to have been much used as penwipers,
were occupied, some with heaps of clothes, others with
books turned inside out to mark the place at which
the reader had put them down, one with a boot, the
fellow of which lay in the fender, and one with a
grimy kettle, which had been recently lifted from the
fire which, in spite of the season, burnt in the grate.
Black, brown and yellow stains of ink, coffee, and yolk
of egg were on everything in the place.

"Sit down," said Jack, impetuously thrusting his
former pupil into the one empty chair, a comfortable
one with elbows, shiny with constant use. He then
sought a seat for himself, and in so doing became
aware of the presence of Mrs. Simpson, who had come
in during his absence with the hopeless project of
making the room ready for the visitor.

"Here," he said. "Get some more coffee, and some
buttered rolls. Where have you taken all the chairs
to? I told you not to touch anything in this — why,
what the devil do you mean by putting the kettle down
on a chair?"

"Not likely, Mr. Jack," said the landlady, "that I
would do such a thing. Oh dear! and one of my
yellow chairs too. It's too bad."

"You must have done it: there was nobody else in
the room. Be off; and get the coffee."

"I did not do it," said Mrs. Simpson, raising her
voice; "and well you know it. And I would be

Love Among the Artists" 415

thankful to you to make up your mind whether you are
to be in or out when people call, and not be making
a liar of me as you did before this gentleman. ' '

"You are a liar ready made, and a slattern to boot,"
retorted Jack. "Look at the state of this room."

"Ah," said Mrs. Simpson, with a sniff. "Look at
it indeed. I ask your pardon, sir," she added, turning
to Charlie, "but what would anybody think of me if
they was told that this was my drawing-room?"

Jack, his attention thus recalled to his guest,
checked himself on the verge of a fresh outburst, and
pointed to the door. Mrs. Simpson looked at him
scornfully, but went out without further ado. Jack
then seized a chair by the back, shook its contents on
to the floor, and sat down near Charlie.

"I should not have spoken as I did just now," he
said, with compunction. "Let me give you a word of
advice, Charles. Never live in the house with an
untidy woman."

"It must be an awful nuisance, Mr. Jack."

"It is sure to lead to bad habits in yourself. How
is your sister, and your father?"

"Mary is just the same as ever; and so is the
governor. I was with him at Birmingham last autumn.
We heard the Prometheus. By Jove, Mr. Jack, that
is something to listen to ! The St. Matthew Passion,
the Ninth Symphony, and the Nibelung's Ring, are
the only works that are fit to be put behind it. The
overture alone is something screeching."

"You like it? That's right, that's right. And what
are you doing at present? Working hard, eh?"

"The old story, Mr. Jack. I have failed in every-
thing just as I failed at the music, though I stuck to

41 6 Love Among the Artists

that better than any of the rest, whilst I had you to
help me. "

"You began everything too young. No matter.
There is plenty of time yet. Well, well. What's the
news?"

"I'm going to an at-home at Madge Lancaster's —
the actress, you know. She made me promise I'd call
on my way and mention casually where I was going.
She thought that you'd perhaps come with me — at
least I expect that was her game."

"She asked me to come some Sunday; and I told
her I would. Is this Sunday?"

"Yes, Mr. Jack. I hope you won't think it cool of
me helping her to collar you in this way."

Jack made some inarticulate reply; pulled his coat
off; and began to throw about the clothes which were
heaped on the chairs. Presently he rang the bell
furiously, and, after waiting about twenty seconds for
a response, went to the door and shouted for Mrs.
Simpson in a stunning voice. This had no more effect
than the bell ; and he returned, muttering execrations,
to resume his search. When he had added consider-
able to the disorder of the room, Mrs. Simpson entered
with ostentatious unconcern, carrying a tray with
coffee and rolls.

"Where would you wish me to put these things,
sir?" she said with a patient air, after looking in vain
for a vacant space on the pianoforte.

"What things? What do you mean by bringing
them? Who asked you for them?"

*'You did, Mr Jack. Perhaps you would like to
deny it to this gentleman's face, who heard you give
the order."

Love Among the Artists 417

"Oh!" said Jack, discomfited. "Charles: will you
take some coffee whilst I am dressing. Put the tray
on the floor if you can't find room for it elsewhere."

Mrs. Simpson immediately placed it at Charlie's
feet.

"Now," said Jack, looking malignantly at her, "be
so good at to find my coat for me; and in future,
when I leave it in a particular place, don't take it
away from there. ' '

"Yes, sir. And where did you leave it last, if I
may make bold to ask?"

"I left it on that chair, " said Jack violently. "Do
you see? On that chair."

"Indeed," said Mrs. Simpson, with open scorn.
' ' You gave it out to me yesterday to brush ; and a nice
job I have had with it: it took a whole bottle of
benzine to fetch out the stains. It's upstairs in your
room; and I beg you will be more careful with it in
future, or else send it to the dyers to be cleaned instead
of to me. Shall I bring it to you?"

"No. Go to the — go to the kitchen; and hold your
tongue. Charlie : I shall be back presently, my boy,
if you will wait. And take some coffee. Put the tray
anywhere. Confound that — that — that — that woman. "
He left the room then, and after some time reappeared
in a clean shirt and a comparatively respectable black
frock coat.

"Where does she live?" he said.

"In the Marylebone Road. Her at-homes are great
fun. Her sisters don't consider it proper for a young
unmarried woman to give at-homes on her own hook;
and so they never go. I believe they would cut her
altogether, only they can't afford to^, because she gives

41 8 Love Among the Artists

them a new dress occasionally. It will be a regular
swagger for me to go in with you. Next to being a
celebrity oneself, the best thing is to know £• celebrity."

Jack only grunted, and allowed Charlie to talk until
they arrived at the house in the Marylebone Road.
The door was opened by a girl in a neat dress of dark
green, with a miniature mob cap on her head.

"I feel half inclined to ask her for a programme,
and tip her sixpence," whispered Charlie, as they
followed her upstairs. "We may consider that she is
conducting us to our stalls. Mr. Jack and Mr. Charles
Sutherland," he added aloud to the girl as they
reached the landing.

"Mr. Sutherland and Mr. Charles Sutherland," she
answered, coldly correcting him.

Jack meanwhile had advanced to where Madge
stood. She wore a dress of pale blue velvet, made in
Venetian style imitated from an old Paul Veronese.
Round her neck was a threefold string of amber beads;
and she was shod with slippers of the same hue and
material as her dress. Her complexion, skilfully put
on, did not disgust Charlie, but rather inspired him
with a gentle regret that it was too good to be
genuine. The arrangement of the rooms was as
remarkable as the costume of the hostess. The fold-
ing doors had been removed, and the partition built
into an arch with a white pillar at each side. A
curtain of silvery plush was gathered to one side of
this arch. The walls were painted a delicate sheeny
grey; and the carpet resembled a piece of thick
whitey-brown paper. The chairs of unvarnished
wood, had rush seats, or else cushions of dull straw
color or cinnamon. In compliance with a freak of

Love Among the Artists 419

fashion which prevailed just then, there were no less
than eight lamps distributed about the apartments.
These lamps had monstrous stems of pottery ware,
gnarled and uncouth in design. Most of them repre-
sented masses of rock with strings of ivy leaves cling-
ing to them. The ceiling was of a light maize color.

Magdalen, surprised by the announcement of Mr.
Sutherland, was looking towards the door for him
over the head of Jack, than whom she was nearly
a head taller.

*'How d'ye do?" he said, startling her with his
brassy voice.

"My dear master," she exclaimed, in the pure, dis-
tinct tone to which she owed much of her success on
the stage. "So you have come to me at last."

"Aye, I have come at last," he said, with a sus-
picious look. ' ' I forgot all about you ; but I was put

in mind of your invitation by Charles where's

Charles?"

Charles was behind him, waiting to be received.

"I am deeply grateful to you," said Magdalen,
pressing his hand. Charles, rather embarrassed than
gratified, replied inarticulately; vouched for the
health of his family ; and retreated into the crowd.

"I had ceased to hope that we should ever meet
again," she said, turning again to Jack. "I have
sent you box after box that you might see your old
pupil in her best parts; but when the nights came, the
boxes were empty always."

"I intended to go — I should have gone. But some-
how I forgot the time, or lost the tickets, or some-
thing. My landlady mislays things of that sort; or
very likely she burns them."

420 Love Among the Artists

"Poor Mrs. Simpson! How is she?"

"Alive, and mischievous, and long tongued as ever.
I must leave that place. I can stand her no longer.
Her slovenliness, her stupidity, and her disregard of
truth are beyond belief."

' ' Dear, dear ! I am very sorry to hear that, Mr. Jack, ' '
Magdalen turned her eyes upon him with an expres-
sion of earnest sympathy which had cost her much
study to perfect. Jack, who seldom recollected that
the subject of Mrs. Simpson's failings was not so
serious to the rest of the world as to himself, thought
Magdalen's concern by no means overstrained, and
was about to enlarge on his domestic discomfort, when
the servant announced "Mr. Brailsford."

Jack slipped away ; and his old enemy advanced, as
sprucely dressed as ever, but a little more uncertain in
his movements. Magdalen kissed him with graceful
respect, as she would have kissed an actor engaged to
impersonate her father for so many pounds a week.
When he passed on and mingled with the crowd like
any other visitor, she forgot him, and looked round
for Jack. But he, in spite of his attempt to avoid
Mr. Brailsford, had just come face to face with him in
a remote corner whither chance had led them both.
Jack at once asked him how he did.

"How de do," said the old gentleman with nervous
haste. "Glad to — I am sure. Here he found his eye-
glass, and was enabled to distinguish Jack's features.

"Sir," said Jack: "I am an ill-mannered man on
occasion ; but perhaps you will overlook that and allow
me to claim your acquaintance."

"Sir," replied Brailsford, tremulously clasping his
proffered hand: "I have always honored and admired

Love Among the Artists 421

men of genius, and protested against the infamous
oppression to which the world subjects them. You
may count upon me always."

"There was a time," said Jack, with a glance at the
maize-colored ceiling, "when neither of us would have
believed that we should come to make two in a crowd
of fashionable celebrities sitting round her footstool."

"She has made a proud position for herself,
certainly. Thanks, as she always acknowledges, above
all things to your guidance. ' '

"Humph," said Jack doubtfully. "I taught her to
make the best of such vowels as there are left in our
spoken language ; but her furniture and her receptions
are her own idea. ' '

"They are the most ridiculous absurdities in Lon-
don," whispered Brailsford with sudden warmth. "To
you, sir, I express my opinion without reserve. I
come here because my presence may give a certain
tone — a sanction — you understand me?" Jack nodded.
"But I do not approve of such entertainments. I am
at a loss to comprehend how the actress can so far
forget the lady. This room is not respectable, Mr.
Jack : it is an outrage on taste and sensibilty. How-
ever, it is not my choice : it is hers ; and de gustibus
non est disputandiini. You will excuse my quoting
my old school books. I never did so, sir, in my
youth, when every fool's mouth was full of scraps of
Latin. ' '

"There is a bad side to this sort of thing," said
Jack. "These fellows waste their time coming here;
and she wastes her money on extravagancies for them
to talk about. But after all, there is a bad side to
everything: she might indulge herself with worse

422 Love Among the Artists

follies. Now that she is her own mistress, we must
all stand further off. Her affairs are not our
business."

The old gentleman nodded several times in a
melancholy manner. "There you have hit the truth,
sir," he said in a low voice. "We must all stand
further off — I as well as others. A very just
observation."

This dialogue, exceptionally long for a crowded
afternoon reception in London, was interrupted by
Magdalen coming to invite Jack to play, which he
peremptorily refused to do, remarking that if the com-
pany were in a humor to listen to music, they had better
go to church. The rebuff created much disappoint-
ment; for Jack's appearances in society, common as
they had been during the season which preceded the
first performance of Prometheus, had since been very
rare. Stories of his eccentricity and inaccessible
solitude had passed from mouth to mouth until they
had become too stale to amuse or too exaggerated to
be believed. His refusal to play was considered so
characteristic that some of the guests withdrew at once
in order that they might be the first to narrate the
circumstances in artistic circles, which are more "at
home" on Sundays than those of the more purely
fashionable class which has nothing particular to do
on week days. Jack was about to go himself when the
blue velvet sleeve touched his arm, and Magdalen
whispered :

"They will all go in a very few minutes now. Will
you stay and let me have a moment with you alone?
It is so long since I have had a word of advice from
you."

Love Among the Artists 423

Jack again looked suspiciously at her; but as she
looked very pretty, he relented, saying good humoredly,
"Get rid of them quickly, then. I have no time to
waste waiting for them. ' '

She set herself to get rid of them as well as she
could, by pretending to mistake the purpose of men
who came up to converse with her, and surprising
them with effusive farewells. To certain guests with
whom she did not stand on ceremony she confided her
desire to clear the room; and they immediately con-
veyed her wishes to their intimate friends, besides
setting an example to others by taking leave osten-
tatiously, or declaring in loud whispers that it was
shamefully late; that dear Madge must be tired to
death ; and that they were full of remorse at having
been induced by her delightful hospitality to stay so
long. In fifteen minutes the company was reduced
to five or six persons, who seemed to think, now that
the crowd was over, that the time had come for enjoy-
ing themselves. A few of them, who knew each
other, relaxed their ceremonious bearing; raised their
voices; and entered into a discussion on theatrical
topics in which they evidently expected Magdalen to
join. The rest wandered about the rooms, and made
the most of their opportunity of having a good look
at the great actress and the great composer, who was
standing at a window with his hands clasped behind
him, frowning unapproachably. Mr. Brailsford also
remained ; and he was the first to notice the air of
exhaustion with which his daughter was mutely
appealing to her superfluous guests.

"My child," he said: "are you fatigued?"

"I am worn out," she replied, in a whisper which

424 Love Among the Artists

reached the furthest corner of the room. "How I
long to be alone!"

"Why did you not tell me so before?" said Brails-
ford, offended, "I shall not trouble you any longer,
Magdalen. Good evening, "

"Hush," she said, laying her arm caressingly on
his, and speaking this time in a real whisper. "I
meant that for the others. I want you to do something
forme. Mr. Jack is waiting to go with you; and I
particularly want to speak to him alone — about a
pupil. Could you slip away without his seeing you?
Do^ dear old daddy; for I may never have another
chance of catching him in a good humor." Magdalen
knew that her father would be jealous of having to
leave before Jack unless she could contrive to make
him do so of his own accord. The stratagem suc-
ceeded, Mr. Brailsford left the room with precaution,
glancing apprehensively at the musician, who still
presented a stolid back view to the company. The
group of talkers, warned by Madge's penetrating
whisper, submissively followed him, leaving only one
young man who was anxious to go, and did not know
how to do it. She relieved him by giving him her
hand, and expressing a hope that she should see him
next Sunday. He promised earnestly, and departed.

"Now," said Jack, wheeling round the instant the
door closed. "What can I do for you? Your few
minutes have spun themselves out to twenty."

"Did they seem so very long?" she said, seating
herself upon an ottoman and throwing her dress into
graceful folds.

"Yes," said Jack, bluntly.

"So they did to me. Won't you sit down?"

Love Among the Artists 425

Jack pushed an oaken stool opposite to her with his
foot, and sat upon it, much as, in a Scandinavian
story, a dwarf might have sat at the feet of a princess.
"Well, mistress," he said. "Things have changed
since I taught you. Eh?"

' ' Some things have. ' '

"You have become great; and so — in my small
way — have I."

"/ have become what you call great," she said.
"But you have not changed. People have found out
your greatness, that is all."

"Well said," said Jack, approvingly. "They
starved me long enough first, damn them. Used I to
swear at you when I was teaching you?"

"I think you used to. Just a little, when I was very
dull."

"It is a bad habit — a stupid one, as all low habits
are. I rarely fall into it. And so you stuck to your
work, and fought your way. That was right. Are
you as fond of the stage as ever?"

"It is my profession," said Madge, with a disparag-
ing shrug. "One's profession is only half of one's
life. Acting in London, where the same play runs
for a whole season, leaves one time to think of other
things. ' '

"Sundays at home, and fine furniture, for instance."

"Things that they vainly pretend to supply. I have
told you that my profession is only half my life — the
public half. Now that I have established that firmly,
I begin to find that the private and personal half, the
half which is concerned with home and — and domestic
ties, must be well established too, or else the life
remains incomplete, and the heart unsatisfied."

426 Love Among the Artists

**In plain English, you have too much leisure,
which you can employ no better than in grum-
bling. ' '

"Perhaps so; but am I much at fault? When I
entered upon my profession, its difficulties so filled my
mind with hopes and fears, and its actual work so fully
occupied my time, that I forgot every other con-
sideration, and cut myself off from my family and
friends with as little hesitation as a child might feel in
exchanging an estate for a plaything. Now that the
difficulties are overcome, the hopes fulfilled (or
abandoned) and the fears dispelled — now that I find
that my profession does not suffice to fill my life, and
that I have not only time, but desire, for other
interests, I find how thoughtless I was when I ran
away from all the affection I had unwittingly gathered
to myself as I grew. ' '

"Why? What have you lost? You have your family
still."

"I am as completely estranged from them by my
profession as if it had transported me to another
world."

"I doubt if they are any great loss to you. The
public are fond of you, ain't they?"

"They pay me to please them. If I disappeared,
they would forget me in a week. ' '

"Why shouldn't they? How long do you think they
should wear mourning for you? Have you made no
friends in your own way of life?"

"Friends? Yes, I suppose so."

"You suppose so! What is the matter, then? What
more do you want?"

Magdalen raised her eyelids for an instant, and

Love Among the Artists 427

looked at him. Then she said, "Nothing," and let the
lids fall with the cadence of her voice.

"Listen tome," said Jack, after a pause, drawing
his seat nearer to her, and watching her keenly.
"You want to be romantic. You won't succeed.
Look at the way we cling to the stage, to music, and
poetry, and so forth. Why do you think we do that?
Just because we long to be romantic, and when we try
it in real life, facts and duties baffle us at every turn.
Men who write plays for you to act, cook up the facts
and duties so as to heighten the romance ; and so we
all say 'How wonderfully true to nature!' and feel that
the theatre is the happiest sphere for us all. Heroes
and heroines are to be depended on : there is no more
chance of their acting prosaically than there is of a
picture in the Royal Academy having stains on its
linen, or blacks in its sky. But in real life it is just
the other way. The incompatibility is not in the
world, but in ourselves. Your father is a romantic
man; and so am I; but how much of our romance
have we ever been able to put into practice?"

"More than you recollect, perhaps," said Madge,
unmoved (for constant preoccupation with her own
person had made her a bad listener), "but more than
I shall ever forget. There has been one piece of
romance in my life — a very practical piece. A per-
fect stranger once gave me, at my mere request, all
the money he had in the world. ' '

"Perhaps he fell in love with you at first sight. Or
perhaps — which is much the same thing — he was a
fool."

"Perhaps so. It occurred at Paddington Station
some years ago."

428 Love Among the Artists

"Oh! Is that what you are thinking of? Well, that
is a good illustration of what I am saying. Did any
romance come out of that? In three weeks, time
you were grubbing away at elocution with me at so
much a lesson."

"I know that no romance came out of it — for you."

"So you think," said Jack complacently; "but
romance comes out of everything for me. Where do
you suppose I get the supplies for my music? And
what passion there is in that! — what fire — what dis-
regard of conventionality ! In the music, you under-
stand: not in my everyday life."

"Your art, then, is enough for you," said Madge, in
a touching tone.

"I like to hear you speak," observed Jack: "you do
it very well. Yes: my art is enough for me, more
than I have time and energy for occasionally. How-
ever, I will tell you a little romance about myself
which may do you some good. Eh? Have you the
patience to listen?"

' ' Patience ! ' ' echoed Madge, in a low steady voice.
"Try whether you can tire me."

"Very well: you shall hear. You must know that
when, after a good many years of poverty and
neglect, I found myself a known man, earning over a
hundred a year, I felt for a while as if my house was
built and I had no more to do than to put it in repair
from time to time — much as you think you have
mastered the art of acting, and need only learn a new
part occasionally to keep your place on the stage.
And so it came about that I — Owen Jack — began to
languish in my solitude ; to pine for a partner ; and, in
short, to suffer from all those symptoms which you so

Love Among the Artists 429

admirably described just now." He gave this
account of himself with a derision so uncouth that
Madge lost for the moment her studied calm, and
shrank back a little. ' ' I was quite proud to think that
I had the affections of a man as well as the inspiration
of a musician ; and I selected the lady ; fell in love as
hard as I could; and made my proposals in due form.
I was luckier than I deserved to be. Her admiration
of me was strictly impersonal ; and she nearly had a
fit at the idea of marrying me. She is now the wife
of a city speculator; and I have gone back to my old
profession of musical student, and quite renounced
the dignity of past master of the art. I sometimes
shudder when I think that I was once within an ace of
getting a wife and family. ' '

'*And so your heart is dead?"

"No: it is marriage that kills the heart and keeps it
dead. Better starve the heart than overfeed it.
Better still to feed it only on fine food, like music.
Besides, I sometimes think I will marry Mrs. Simpson
when I grow a little older. ' '

"You are jesting: you have been jesting all along.
It is not possible that a woman refused your love. ' '

"It is quite possible, and has happened. And,"
here he rose and prepared to go, "I should do the
same good service to a woman, if one were so foolish
as to persuade herself on the same grounds that she
loved me."

"You would not believe that she could love you on
any deeper and truer grounds?" said Madge, rising
slowly without taking her eyes off his face.

"Stuff! Wake up, Miss Madge; and realize what
nonsense you are talking. Rub your eyes and look at

430 Love Among the Artists

me, a Kobold — a Cyclop, as that fine woman Mrs.
Herbert once described me. What sane person under
forty would be likely to fall in love with me? And
what do I care about women over forty, except
perhaps Mrs. Herbert — or Mrs. Simpson? I like them
young and beautiful, like you." Madge, as if uncon-
sciously, raised her hand, half offering it to him. He
took it promptly, and continued humorously, "And I
love you, and have always done so. Who could know
such a lovely woman and fine genius as you without
loving her? But," he added, shaking her fingers
warningly, "you must not love me. My time for
playing Romeo was over before you ever saw me;
and Juliet must not fall in love with Friar Lawrence,
even when he is a great composer,"

"Not if he forbids her — and she can help it," said
Madge with solemn sadness, letting her hand drop as
he released it.

"Not on any account," said Jack. "Come," he
added, turning on her imperiously: "we are not a pair,
you and I. I know how to respect myself: do you
learn to know yourself. We two are artists, as you are
aware. Well, there is an art that is inspired by noth-
ing but a passion for shamming; and that is yours, so
far. There is an art which is inspired by a passion
for beauty, but only in men who can never associate
beauty with a lie. That is my art. Master that and
you will be able to make true love. At present you
only know how to make scenes, which is too common
an accomplishment to interest me. You see you have
not quite finished you lessons yet. Goodbye."

"Adieu," said Madge, like a statue.

He walked out in the most prosaic manner possible ;

Love Among the Artists 431

and she sank on the ottoman in an attitude of despair,
and — finding herself at her ease in it, and not under-
standing him in the least — kept it up long after he, by
closing the door, had, as it were, let fall the curtain.
For it was her habit to attitudinize herself when alone
quite as often as to her people, in whose minds the
pleasure of attitudinizing is unalloyed by association
with the labor of breadwinning.

Jack, meanwhile, had let himself out of the house.
It had become dusk by this time; and he walked
away in a sombre mood, from which he presently
roused himself to shake his head at the house he had
just left, and to say aloud, "You are a bold-faced jade. "
This remark, which was followed by muttered impre-
cations, was ill-received by a passing woman who,
applying it to herself, only waited until he was at a
safe distance before retorting with copious and shrill
abuse, which soon caused many persons to stop and
stare after him. But he, hardly conscious of the
tumult, and not suspecting that it had anything to do
with him, walked on without raising his head, and
was presently lost to them in the deepening dark-
ness.

All this time, Charlie, who had been among the
first to leave Madge's rooms, was wandering about
Kensington in the neighborhood of Herbert's lodging.
He felt restless and unsatisfied, shrinking from the
observation of the passers-by, with a notion that they
might suspect and ridicule the motive of his lurking,
there. He turned into Campden Hill at last, and
went to his sister's, Mary usually had visitors on
Sunday evenings; and some of them might help him
to pass away the evening pleasantly in spite of Hoskyn's

432 Love Among the Artists

prose Perhaps even — but here he shook off further
speculation, and knocked at the door.

"Anyone upstairs?" he asked carelessly of the maid,
as he hung up his hat.

"Only one lady, sir, Mrs, Herbert."

Something within him seemed to make a spring at
the name. He glanced at himself in the mirror before
going into the drawing-room, where, to his extreme
disappointment, he found Mary conversing, not with
Herbert's wife, but with his mother. She had but
just arrived, and was explaining to Mary that she had
returned the day before from a prolonged absence in
Scotland. Charlie never enjoyed his encounters with
Mrs. Herbert; for she had known him as a boy, and
had not yet got out the habit of treating him as one.
So, hearing that Hoskyn was in another room, smok-
ing, he pleaded a desire for a cigar, and went off to
join him, leaving the two ladies together,

"You were saying — ?" said Mary, resuming the
conversation which his entrance had interrupted,

"I was saying," said Mrs. Herbert, "that I have
never been able to sympathize with the interest which
you take in Adrian's life and opinions, Geraldine
tells me that I have no maternal instinct; but then
Geraldine has no sons, and does not quite know what
she it talking about. I look on Adrian as a failure ;
and I really cannot take an interest in a man who is a
failure. His being my son only makes the fact disap-
pointing to me personally. I retain a kind of nursery
affection for my boy ; but of what use is that to him,
since he has given up his practice of stabbing me
through it? I would go to him if he were ill; and
help him if he were in trouble; but as to maintain-

Love Among the Artists 433

ing a constant concern on his account, really I do not
see why I should. You, with your own little dear
one a fresh possession — almost a part of yourself still,
doubtless think me very heartless; but you will learn
that children have their separate lives and interests as
completely independent of their parents as the
remotest strangers. I do not think Adrian would
even like me, were it not for his sense of duty. You
will understand some day that the common notion of
parental and filial relations are more unpractical than
even those of love and marriage. ' '

Mary, who had already made some discoveries in
this direction, did not protest as she would have done
in her maiden time. "What surprises me chiefly is
that Mrs. Herbert should have been rude to you," she
said. "I doubt whether she is particularly fond of
me: indeed, lam sure she is not; but nothing could
be more exquisitely polite and kind than her manner
to me, especially in her own house."

"I grant you the perfection of her manners, dear.
She was not rude to me. Not that they are exactly the
manners of good society ; but they are perfect of their
kind, for all that. Hush! I think — did I not hear
Adrian's voice that time?"

Adrian was, in fact, speaking in the hall to Hoskyn,
who had just appeared there with Charlie on his way
to the drawing-room. Aur^lie was with her husband.
They all went for a moment into the study, which
served on Sunday evenings as a cloak-room.

*'I assure you, Mrs. Herbert," said Hoskyn,
officiously helping Aur^lie to take off her mantle, "I
am exceedingly glad to see you."

"Ah, yes," said Aur^lie; "but this is quite wrong.

434 Love Among the Artists

It is you who should render me a visit in this moment,
because I ask you to dine with me; and you do not
come."

"You have turned up at a very good time," said
Charlie mischievously. "Mrs. Herbert is upstairs. "

"My mother!" said Adrian, in consternation.

"Shall we go upstairs?" said Hoskyn, leading the
way with resolute cheerfulness.

Adrian looked at Aur61ie. She had dropped the
lively manner in which she had spoken to Hoskyn,
and was now moving towards the door with ominous
grace and calm.

"Aurelie," he said, detaining her in the room for a
moment: "my mother is here. You will speak to her
— for my sake — will you not?"

She only raised her hand to signify that she was not
to be troubled, and then, without heeding his look of
pain and disappointment, passed out and followed
Hoskyn to the drawing-room, where Mary and Mrs.
Herbert, having heard her foreign voice, were
waiting, scarcely less disturbed than Adrian by their
fear of how she might act.

"Mrs. Herbert junior has actually condescended to
pay you a visit, Mary," said Hoskyn.

"How do you do?" said Mary, with misgiving. "I
am so very glad to see you."

"So often have I to reproach myself not to have
called on my friends," said Aurelie in her sweetest
voice, "that I yielded to Adrian at the risk of derang-
ing you by coming on the Sunday evening." A pause
followed, during which she looked inquisitively
around. "Ah!" she exclaimed, with an air of sur-
prise and pleasure, as she recognized Mrs. Herbert,

Love Among the Artists 435

**is it possible? You are again in London, madame. "
She advanced and offered her hand. Mrs. Herbert,
who had sat calmly looking at her, made the greeting
as brief as possible, and turned her attention to
Adrian. Nevertheless, Aur^lie drew a chair close to
hers, and sat down there.

"You are looking very well, mother," said Adrian.
"When did you return?"

"Only yesterday, Adrian." There was a brief
silence. Adrian looked anxiously at Aur^lie; and his
mother mutely declined to look at her.

"But behold what is absurd!" said Aurdlie. "You,
madame, who are encore so young — so beautiful—" —
here Mrs. Herbert, who had turned to her with
patient attention, could not hide an expression of
wonder — "you are already a grandmother. Adrian
has what you call a son and heir. It is true."

"Yes, I am aware of that," said Mrs. Herbert
coolly.

A slight change appeared for an instant in Aurelie's
face; and she glanced for a moment gravely at her
husband. He, with disgust only half concealed,
said, "You could not broach a subject less interest-
ing to my mother," and turned away to speak to
Mary.

"Adrian," began Mrs. Herbert, who found herself
unexpectedly disturbed by the implied imputation of

want of feeling: "I do not think " Then, as he

was not attending to her, she turned to Aur^lie and
said, "You really must not accept everything that
Adrian says seriously. Pray tell me all about your
boy — my grandson, I should say."

"He is like you," said Aur^lie, trying to conceal the

436 Love Among the Artists

chill which had fallen upon her. ' ' Perhaps you will
like to see him. If so, I shall bring him to you, if
you will permit me. * '

"I shall be very glad," said Mrs. Herbert, rather
surprised. "Let me say that I have been expecting
you to call on me for some time."

"You are very good," said Aurdlie. "But think of
how I live. I am always voyaging; and you also are
seldom in London. Besides, when one is an artist one
neglects things. Forget, I pray you, my — my — ach ! I
do not know how to say it. But I will come to you
with Monsieur Jean Szczympliga Herbert. That
reminds me : I know not your address. ' '

Mrs. Herbert supplied the desired information ; and
the conversation then proceeded amicably with
occasional help from Hoskyn and Charlie. Mary and
Adrian had withdrawn to another part of the room,
and were already engrossed in a discussion. In the
course of it Mary remarked that matters were evidently
smooth between the two Mrs. Herberts.

"I am glad of it," said Adrian, not looking glad.
"I was disposed to think Aur^lie in fault on that point;
but I see plainly enough now how the coolness was
brought about. I should not have blamed Aurdlie at
all if she had repaid my mother's insolence — I do not
think that at all too strong a word — in kind. Poor
Aurelie ! I have all been all this time secretly thinking
hardly of her for having, as I thought, rebuffed my
mother. Unjust and stupid that I am not to have
known better from my lifelong experience of the one,
and my daily observation of the other! Aurelie has
conciliated her to-night solely because I begged her to
do so as we came upstairs. You cannot deny that my

Love Among the Artists 437

wife can be perfectly kind and self-sacrificing when-
ever there is occasion for it."

*'I cannot deny it! Adrian: you speak as though I
were in the habit of disparaging her. You are quite
wrong. No one can admire her more than I. My
only fear is that she is too sweet, and may spoil you.
How could I resist her? Even your mother, preju-
diced as she certainly was against her, has yielded.
You can see by her face that she has given up the
battle. I think we had better join them. We have
a very rude habit of getting into a corner by ourselves.
I am sure, in spit'^ of all you say, that Mrs. Herbert is
too fond of you to like it. ' '

"Mrs. Herbert is a strange being," said Adrian,
rising. "I no longer pretend to understand her likes
and dislikes,"

Mary made a mental note that Aur^lie had probably
had more to say on the subject of what she saw in the
studio than Adrian had expected. The general con-
versation which ensued did not run on personal
matters. Aurelie was allowed to lead it, as it was
tacitly understood that the interest of the occasion in
some manner centred in her. Mrs. Herbert laugh-
ingly asked her for the secret of managing Adrian;
but she adroitly passed on to some other question,
and would not discuss him or in any way treat him
more familiarly than she did Hoskyn or Charlie.

Later on, Hoskyn proposed that they should go
downstairs to a room which communicated with the
garden by a large window and a small grassy terrace.
As the night was sultry, they readily agreed, and were
soon seated below at a light supper, after which
Hoskyn strolled out into the garden with Adrian to

438 Love Among the Artists

smoke another cigar, and to shew a recently purchased
hose and lawnmower, it being his habit to require his
visitors to interest themselves in his latest acquisitions,
whether of children, furniture or gardening imple-
ments. Mrs. Herbert, who, despite the glory of the
moon, could not overcome her belief that fresh air,
to be safely sat in, should be tempered by a roof, did
not venture beyond the carpet; and Mary felt bound
to remain in the room with her. Aurelie walked out
to the edge of the tjrrace; clasped her hands behind
her; and became rapt in contemplation of the cloud-
less sky, which was like a vast moonlit plain. Her
attention was recalled by the voice of Charlie beside
her.

"Awfully jolly night, isn't it. Mrs. Herbert?"

"Yes, it is very fine."

"I suppose you find no end of poetry in all those
stars."

"Poetry! No, I am not at all poetic, Monsieur
Charles."

"I don't altogether believe that, you know. You
look poetic."

"It is therefore that people mistake me. They are
very arbitrary. They say, 'Mademoiselle Szczympliga
has such and such a face and figure. In our minds
such a face and figure associate with poetry. There-
fore must she be poetic. We will have it so ; and if
she disappoint us we will be very angry with her.'
And I do disappoint them. When they talk poetically
of music and things, I am impatient myself to be at home
with maman, who never talks of such things, and the
bambino^ who never talks at all. What, think you,
do I find in those stars? I am looking for Aurelie and

Love Among the Artists 439

Thekla in what you call Charles's wain. Aha! I did
not think of that before. You are Monsieur Charles,
to whom belongs the wain."

"Yes, I have put my hand to the plough and
turned back often enough. What may Aur^lie and
Thekla be?"

"Aurelie is myself ; and Thekla is my doll. In my
infancy I named a star after every one whom I liked.
Only very particular persons were given a place in
Charles's wain. It was the great chariot of honor;
and in the end I found no one worthy of it but my doll
and myself. Behold how I am poetic ! I was a silly
child ; for I forgot to give my mother a star — I forgot
all my family. When my mother found that out one
day, she said I had no heart. And, indeed, I fear I
have none."

"Heaven forbid!"

"Look you, Monsieur Charles," she said, with a
sudden air of shrewdness, unclasping her hands to
shake her finger at him: "I am not what you think me
to be. I am the very other things of it. I have the
soul commercial within me."

"I am glad of that," he said eagerly; "for I want
to make a business proposal to you. Will you give
me lessons?"

"Give you lesson! Lesson of what?"

"Lessons in playing. I want awfully to become a
good pianist ; and I have never had any really good
teaching since I was a boy."

'"''Vraiment? Ah! You think that as you persevered
so well in the different professions, you will find it
easy to become a player. Is it not so?"

"Not at all. I know that playing requires years of

440 Love Among the Artists

perseverance. But I think I can persevere if you will
teach me."

"Monsieur Charles: you are — what shall I call you?
You are an ingenious infant, I think."

"Don't make fun of me, Mrs. Herbert. I'm per-
fectly in ear " Here, to his confusion, his voice

broke with emotion.

"You think I am mocking you?" she said, not seem-
ing to notice the accident.

"I am not fool enough to suppose that you care
what I think," he said bitterly, losing his self-posses-
sion. "I know you won't give me the lessons. I
knew it before."

"And wherefore then did you ask me?"

"Because I love you, "he replied, with symptoms
of hysterical distress. "I love you "

"Ah!" said Aurelie rcverely. "Do you see my
husband there looki: g at you? And do you not know
that it is very wicked to say such a thing to me:
Remember, Monsieur Charles, you are quite sober
now. I shall not excuse you as I did before."

"I couldn't help it," said Charlie, half-crestfallen,
half-desperate. "I know it's hopeless: I felt it the
moment I had said it. But I can't always act like a
man of the world. I wish I had never met you."

"And why? I like you very well when you are
good. But this is already twice that you forget to
be an honest gentleman. Is it not dishonorable thus
to envy your friend? If Monsieur Herbert had a fine
watch, would you wish to possess it? No, the thought
that it was his would impeach — would hinder you to
form such a wish. Well, you must look upon me as
a watch of his. You must not even think such things

Love Among the Artists 441

as you have just said. I will not be angry with you,
Monsieur Sutherland, because you are very young,
and you have admirable qualities. But you have done
wrong."

Before he could reply, she moved away and joined
her husband at the end of the garden. Charlie, with
his mouth hanging open, stared at her for some
seconds, and then went into the supper room, where
he incommoded Mary and Mrs. Herbert by lounging
about, occasionally taking a grape [from the table or
pouring out a glass of wine. At last he strolled to
the drawing-room, where he was found with a book
in his hand, pretending to read, by the others when
they came upstairs some time after. He did not
speak again until he bade farewell to the elder Mrs.
Herbert, who departed under Hoskyn's escort.
Aurelie, before following her example, went to the
nursery with Mary, to have a peep at Master Richard
Hoskyn, as he lay in his cot.

"He smiles," said Aurelie. "What a charming
infant! The bambino never smiles. He is so triste,
like Adrian!" As they turned to leave the room, she
added, "Poor Adrian! I think of going to America this
year; but he does not know. You will take care of
him whilst I am away, will you not?"

Mary, seeing that she was serious, was puzzled how
to reply. "As far as I can, I will, certainly," she
said after some hesitation. Then, laughing, she con-
tinued, "It is rather an odd commission."

"Not at all, not at all," said Aurelie, still serious.
"He has great esteem for you, madame — greater than
for no matter what person in the world."

Mary opened her lips to say, "Except you"; but

442 Love Among the Artists

somehow she did not dare. Instead, she remarked
that perhaps Adrian would accompany his wife to
America. The trip, she suggested, would do him
good.

"No, no," said Aurelie, quickly. "He does not
breathe freely in the artists' room at a concert. He is
out of place there. My mother will come with me.
Do not speak of it to him yet : I know not whether
they will guarantee me a sufficient sum. But even
should I not go, I shall still be much away. As I
have told you, I leave England for six weeks on the
first of next month. You will not suffer Adrian to
mope ; and you will speak to him of his pictures, about
which I am so ^pouvantably stupid."

"I will do my best," said Mary, privately thinking
that Aurelie was truly an unaccountable person.

Whilst she was speaking, they re-entered the draw-
ing-room.

"Now, Adrian, I am ready."

"Yes," said Herbert. "Good-night, Mary."

"I think I heard you say that Mrs. Herbert is going
off on a long tour, ' ' said Charlie, coming forward, and
speaking boldly, though his face was very red.

"Yes, " said Adrian. "Not a very long tour though,
thank goodness. ' *

' ' Then I shall not see her again — at least not for
some time. I have made up my mind to take that
post in the Conolly Company's branch at Leeds; and
I shall be off before Mrs. Herbert returns from the
continent."

"This is a sudden resolution," said Mary, in some
astonishment.

"I hope Mrs. Herbert thinks it a wise one," said

Love Among the Artists 443

Charlie. "She has often made fun of my attempts at
settling myself in the world."

"Yes," said Aur^lie, "it is very wise, and quite
right. Your instinct tells you so. Good-night and
bon voyage^ Monsieur Charles."

"My instinct tells me that it is very foolish and quite
wrong," he said, taking her proJffered hand timidly;
"but I see nothing else for it under the circumstances.
I don't look forward to enjoying myself. Goodbye."
Mary then went downstairs with her guests; but he
turned back into the room, and watched their
departure from the window.

The End

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