ky^ 
 
 1(1181 Bt'i' jiHir'u* 
 
 i
 
 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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