"I think, perhaps—dearest, I don't like even to speak of it—but perhaps even your—I mean, if the world lost you, my own beloved——"
"If I died?"
He flinched even at the words that expressed the possibility, but went on—
"That it would cause a more—how can I express my meaning? Well, in one way, possibly, even that would cause a less ever-present gap in my mental life than would the destruction of my love for you.... It's no use hitting me," he laughed; "I can't help it, sweetest!" Then he clasped her closely with sudden eager passion. "But do not think that your dreamer is at all content to worship only in spirit, Evarne."
Then, impulsively, he poured forth a flood of words, ardent, impassioned, throbbing with that fiery sex-love that dominates the entire world—selfish, unheeding, remorseless—words of that terrible overwhelming passion that will not be long denied.
"That's how I want to be loved," she whispered, but flung herself away from his grasp just in order to be drawn close once more.
He seized her convulsively, held her in a cruelly fast grip, covering her cheeks, her brow, her mouth with kisses, violent and tender in turns. At last, pressing his face against hers, he rested motionless. She felt the influence of the contact spread itself slowly throughout her entire frame, subtle and concentrated as electricity, and under its power her breast heaved, and she breathed only in short troubled gasps. The whole room, the whole world, seemed to be throbbing, to be trembling—perhaps it was only the arms that enfolded her that quivered—she neither knew nor cared to know.
A deep silence held sway. The only moment's speech was when Geoffrey murmured a sudden question about their marriage, begging, imploring for an early date. It should be quite soon, Evarne promised. It should be within six weeks, five weeks, a month, less still, if he so desired.
She had hesitated perceptibly before she answered. This definite and verbal plighting of her troth was opposed—actively, violently—for a few moments, by the resurrection of those scruples she fancied had faded away once and for all—false and misleading will-o'-the-wisps of chivalrous truth and honour, leading the unwise into bogs of wild despair and utter misery. When at last she did speak it was in a voice fraught with tremulous emotion, low, yet inexpressibly thrilling—notes softer than the cooing of wood-doves, and which reverberated upon the young artist's highly-strung nerves with subtle emphasis.
More than once Evarne had thought that his nature now was not unlike what her own had been originally, before three years of constant effort to please a jaded, middle-aged man, added to unbroken association with coarse, depraved minds, had sullied her soul, blunted her finer susceptibilities,ruined her taste for the more delicate viands of love's feast. Once upon a time she had sought with all her strength to keep the affection that was offered her free from all savour of passion; now, when devotion, as poetical, refined and idealistic as imagination could devise had been laid at her feet, she had felt starved, chilled, unsatisfied.
But as she looked into her dreamer's altered face and saw its new expression, saw the grey eyes so strangely gleaming, the slight occasional twitching of his lips, the distinct though almost imperceptible veil of moisture that covered his brow, she felt for a moment strangely degraded—curiously identical with the early Christian Fathers' estimate of women. A moment's bitter regret of her own personality cast its shadow. Geoff was too good for her. Ought he not to love a young, innocent girl—one of those sweet maidens who are to be found here and there even in this grimy world, with thoughts white as snow-drifts, and surely invisible halos around their meek downcast heads—pure spirits that were scarcely conscious of possessing bodies, and would assuredly never miss them? Ought not one of these to have been Geoff's bright particular star?
"Are you certain you love me; that you're not deceiving yourself?" she asked again and again, and each time the only response was a long kiss that penetrated to her heart's core; a speaking, all-answering gaze; a closer, almost frantic tightening of the arms in which she reclined.
And her moods changed as a kaleidoscope. Suddenly she laughed aloud in triumphant satisfaction at herself, all that she was, all that she could be. Of course Geoff loved her, and he should love her yet more. Placid snow-maidens—you must be content to shine in heaven; not yours is it to make men thank God for life!
Now to the man who loved her Evarne appeared the very acme of all perfection. And indeed, in that hour she verily was all that is most appealing—most adorable—mostexquisite. Her beauty was transcendent, and her expression remained more noble, more respect-compelling than she knew. And yet, all the while, her soft brown eyes, whether swimming in happy, purposeless tears or shining with inward fire, told, with more convincing eloquence than lies within the power of speech, of the utter abandonment of the soul they mirrored to the domination of the most ardent and enthralling affection. She was all tenderness, passion, charm, fascination. Her powerful magnetism encircled her as an invisible cloud. Who, amid mortals, coming within the radius of its influence, could have saved himself from worshipping this fair woman to the very uttermost limits of his capacity?
The stress of her own emotion was exhausting; a delicious languor, a placid dreaminess, tinged with melancholy; crept upon her. She felt incapable of further movement or speech, and allowed her long-fringed lids to veil her eyes. When she lifted them again it was to behold her lover's gaze fixed upon her in a fresh access of passionate adoration that could not be left unanswered. She smiled up at him, a gentle little smile; it seemed serene and calm, but behind it, like unto a powerful naked figure veiled in gauze, gleamed love that was resolute, indomitable, heroic.
Her inarticulate little murmurs, her half-sighs, all her tiny actions had been enchanting, enthralling; but her smile—always sweet and moving—was now provocative of ecstasy. Dazed, unconscious of his own personality, again Geoff knelt before her, his arms clasped around her waist, his face pressed against her soft body. Oblivious to all of life save love alone, he bathed his spirit in this inexhaustible fund of the gods' best gift.
What said Evarne's most-admired philosopher?
"I say then of all in general, both men and women, that the whole of our race would be happy if we worked out love perfectly, and if each were to meet with his beloved."
Was not Diotima, who taught Socrates, a wise womanindeed, capable of imparting the truest, the most divine of all wisdom?
Thus the winged hours sped past.
A dainty little supper was ready, and finally they sat down side by side and played at eating. Over the little meal the conversation became really quite practical and business-like.
Geoffrey had said nothing of the prospect he had of succeeding sooner or later to his childless cousin's earldom. That startling piece of information seemed to him to be best reserved for discussion on some other less idyllic occasion. But it was partly this that gave emphasis to his inquiry.
"You will not continue posing now, will you, dearie?"
"I have not any choice," laughed Evarne. "There are some people who make me. Let me see, there's the landlord and the tradesmen and——"
"Then come here, won't you? Really, I not only want you—I need you. I'm going to start a big picture—any number of figures in it."
"What is the subject, and who am I to be?"
"I want you for Andromache. I'm going to paint the captured Trojan women."
"I shall make a realistic captive, Geoff, being one in very sooth."
"And I verily believe I was inspired to paint such a subject by the consciousness that I was free no longer, my captor. I shall make a great thing of this picture, Evarne; at least, I ought to. Everything will be in my favour. Poor old Jack! He is still lamenting his unprocurable model—his 'Belle Dame.'"
"How different his work is from yours; poor old Jack!"
"I am going to try hard to persuade him to take up portrait-painting definitely. He really is very clever, you know. He ought to do well. Or sculpture; he's quite strong at that. But he will insist on trying to be imaginative,and he doesn't shine there. Now, when is the earliest day you can come?"
"It so happens that I finish to-morrow with the man I'm sitting for at present. That's Thursday, the twentieth, isn't it? Then I have nothing to do until Monday the twenty-fourth, when I ought—it's all arranged—you see I didn't expect you home until September!"
"A lot of engagements, have you?"
"I've only a few spare days here and there for the next seven weeks."
"But we're going to be married long before that time. Look here, Evarne love, give them all up! Don't sit for anyone else but me. Come, spoil me a bit. Let me be selfish. My picture is all ready and waiting for the model."
"It's terribly unfair to the others, but——"
"Never mind them. Seriously, I mean it."
"It's a shame, when they've been waiting, but there—it's delightful to be unkind to other people, and treat them badly for your sake. It shall be as you wish. It is wrong, though! Aren't you ashamed?"
A little later eleven o'clock struck. Evarne pinned on her hat.
"Oh, don't go yet! It's far too early," cried Geoffrey.
But Evarne only smiled.
"On the contrary, it is rather late. Say good-bye quickly," she responded.
The timepiece ticked on placidly, neither faster nor slower than its usual steady wont.
"Goodness gracious, Geoff, you must send that silly old clock to be mended. It actually has jumped a whole quarter of an hour! It is no use its pretending we have been twenty minutes saying good-bye. Do call a taxi quickly."
"And to-morrow I'm coming to supper with you. Oh dear me! twenty-four hours to wait!"
"Only about twenty now; and remember, if our starsin their courses had not chanced to touch, we might have both lived twenty-four years more—and more still—and been lonely to the end. See what we have escaped."
By midnight Evarne was safely alone in her own little bedroom. She studied her reflection in the mirror before removing her hat, and smiled with pleasure to behold cheeks blooming as a blush rose; lips made up of happy curves; and eyes shining for very joy as brightly as the most brilliant stars in the summer heaven.
OnFriday Evarne was free to give her time to Geoff, and the big Greek picture was duly commenced. Again she wore flowing white draperies, but of a more ornate and ample description than the very simple robe in which she had previously posed in this studio. Her head was encircled by a barbaric fillet, studded with roughly-cut, albeit gleaming stones, and high up on her arms were wide bracelets of chased gold; for although a captive, fair Andromache was a princess. Yet those same arms bore delicate fetters around the wrists, for Hector's widow was now a slave.
On her shoulder was to be borne a terra-cotta vase of classical design. It was very beautiful, both in contour and workmanship, but it was far from small, and Geoff was troubled lest his dear model should grow weary.
"You must stop as soon as you even begin to feel tired; don't wait for the ordinary rests. Will you promise?" he demanded, and smiling her assent, she took up the required position.
The robe she wore was so fine in substance that where the material actually touched her body it appeared to become vaguely hued with the most delicate, the most tender pink. On her arched feet were elaborate many-strapped sandals; her classically beautiful head, inclined meekly downwards, showed to perfection the gracious line at the back of her neck. She was indeed sufficient to arouse and inspire the most negligent of artists.
But it so chanced that Frank Pallister had just received an added impetus to his industry from another quarter.
A day or two before Geoff's unexpected return to England, Frank had paid a solemn afternoon call on Mrs. Vandeleur. This stately matron was Mr. Meridith's widowed sister, who kept house for him and chaperoned pretty little Maudie. She viewed Frank and his suit with a favourable eye, yet approved her brother's decision with regard to the postponed engagement. Thus, while a sense of duty prompted her to hover around with considerable persistence, it was often quite easy for the young people to make opportunities for whispered flirtations.
Thus, after duly listening to her complaints at being still in sultry London when August was practically at hand, from the necessity of Mr. Meridith's remaining in town until Parliament rose, Maudie and Frank found opportunity to exchange secret groans over the unendingness of three years.
"I wish to goodness I could shorten it!" sighed the youth.
"Then why don't you?" demanded the girl. "You know what dad says about it. Now, Frankie, why don't you do something grand, superb, incomparable—something that would cause the whole world to admire and wonder, and make your name famous for ever and ever? I would, if I were you, but you're a lazy boy, I know you are."
"It's easy to talk," was the rueful response. "But you just listen to what I've got on hand. Some day soon, Jack Hardy is to be allowed to do a marble bust of Lord Winborough. I told you, didn't I? If the great man will consent to be so far victimised, Jack is going to start proceedings by taking a life-mask of him. Very well, then, I'm going to watch, and perhaps assist, and when I've learnt how to do it, I shall start and do a bust of somebody or other who is well known. Then I have already got three new pictures and two statuettes on hand. Some of thegalleries are bound to take some of them when they're finished, I should suppose."
"Dear Frankie," was the answer given in all seriousness, "I am so terribly afraid you're a genius!"
"Afraid!"
"Yes, for then you'll never get on in the world. It is only the second-rate people who reach the top of the ladder; the real born geniuses stick on the bottom rung, just because their work is too superior to be understood and appreciated by the common mob. There! What do you think of that? Dreadful, isn't it, poor boy?"
"I'm afraid you needn't upset yourself over my misfortunes in that direction. Who told you all this piffle?"
"Nobody exactly. I overheard two men talking at an 'at home.'"
"Were they neglected geniuses?"
"I don't know. I asked dad what they did, and he said he believed that one composed poetry and that the other wrote tragedies."
"Wouldn't you like Frank to see Sir James's painting of you?" interposed the voice of Mrs. Vandeleur.
The girl sprang to her feet.
"Fancy my forgetting! It's finished at last. It's in the dining-room at present. Come along. But don't expect much. It's not a bit nice; it's really ugly."
And indeed, on beholding the celebrated portrait-painter's production, Frank's loud exclamations of surprise and disdain were as profuse as the most disappointed of sitters could desire.
"Isn't your dad annoyed?" he demanded at length.
"Indeed, he's really vexed. He is paying so highly for it too. You remember the one of my mother that hangs in his study? That was done when she was seventeen, and he thought it would be so nice to have a companion one of his only kiddie at the same age. He wouldn't have minded the big price in the least if the picture had been satisfactory.This has been altered ever so many times, and now Sir James has got tired, and swears it is exactly like me; but it isn't, is it?"
"The old boy must be getting in his dotage. Now, I could paint you just beautifully, I'm sure. You would be such a jolly subject. I say!"
"What?"
Pallister glanced round to make sure that Mrs. Vandeleur was safely out of earshot.
"Don't you think your dad would consent to our engagement without any delay if I made a perfectly lovely picture of you? He would have to believe there was something in me then, wouldn't he?"
"Oh, Frankie, what a perfectly fine idea. I dare say he would. Let's ask him."
But the originator of the idea, with a frown of thought upon his brow, shook his head.
"To really have the proper effect it ought to be sprung upon him as a complete surprise—quite finished. 'Splendid! magnificent! superb!' he will exclaim, when he sees it—at least, I hope that's what he will say! Then he will go on: 'Only tell me what artist has produced this masterpiece.'"
"And then you'll answer——?"
"Nothing. I shan't speak a word—not a word! I shall just quietly and modestly point to my name in the corner. Oh, isn't it just a ripping plan?"
"Lovely! Perfectly delightful!"
"But you'll have to come sometimes to Geoff Danvers's studio and give me sittings, won't you?"
"Then auntie is to be in the secret?"
"It wouldn't be a secret for long if she knew. No, you must come alone. Do! It will be quite all right—really it will. Jack is always there, and we almost always have a woman model, so there would be a sort of a chaperone. You'll come? Remember what depends on it."
"It is awfully venturesome, but I'll do it," promised the girl after a moment's hesitation.
At this point Mrs. Vandeleur approached, and the remaining details of the conspiracy had to be hastily whispered at parting.
"You'll come as often as you can, duckie?"
"Yes, but I shan't be able to let you know long beforehand."
"I'll get the canvas ready at once. Come to-morrow."
"Can't. I'll let you know when. What shall I wear?"
"Any white frock."
"I'll remember. Good-bye."
This arrangement had been entered into over a week ago, and as yet no word had come from Maudie. Nevertheless Pallister was working away with renewed ardour, living in a state of eager expectation. Of course, the little idea had to be confided to Geoff, since he had so unexpectedly reappeared upon the scene. Strangely enough, it did not appeal to him in the light of an unquestionably brilliant notion preordained to success. He was inclined to advise decidedly against it, but finding that his opinion, although formally asked, was in reality not wanted in the least, he raised no actual objection to the carrying out of the plan.
"But, Geoff," persisted the somewhat crushed Pallister, "surely it is an awfully fine idea, so enterprising and original. Don't you think so really?"
"I've told you I fancy it's quite as likely to vex Mr. Meridith as to please him; but of course I may be mistaken. Who can tell what will melt a stern father's stony heart? You know him much better than I do, anyway."
"Well, it's awfully good of you, old chap, not to mind. I hope it won't interfere with your work too much. You know, I rather feel I ought to clear out at once, now you've come back."
"Not a bit of it. Stop at least until Miss Meridith's portrait is done. You couldn't ask her to go to any strangestudio, you know. It's quite different here, where her father knows the whole lot of us."
So much for Frank's enterprise.
Jack Hardy also was working with increased ardour, with renewed interest and hope.
On the afternoon of the very day of his return from Venice, Geoff had called at the Albany to make inquiries regarding Lord Winborough's whereabouts. However far afield his cousin might happen to be, he almost invariably returned to England in the late summer and paid frequent visits to London.
Geoff was anxious to persuade Lord Winborough now definitely to arrange to fulfil his promise of sitting to Jack Hardy. It had not taken Geoff long to discover that his friend was unhappy and dispirited. The allegorical picture had been so far a miserable failure, and had left Jack in exactly the frame of mind to follow the dictates of worldly wisdom. He knew in his heart that portraiture, whether in oils or marble, was hisforte, and the news that Lord Winborough was expected at his chambers in the course of a few days had served to brace him up anew. He would follow up the advantages in obtaining paying "sitters" that would probably result from his exhibiting a successful bust of the earl, and the long-dreamed-of "Belle Dame" picture should really be the last of its type, as far as he was concerned. Having definitely made up his mind to this, he was rewarded by a renewal of enthusiasm and belief in the future.
Saturday was devoted to work, but Geoff and Evarne spent the whole of Sunday up the river. To both it was a time of unmitigated delight. Sunshine, fair placid scenery, youth, health and love—what could have been added to render the hours more idyllic, golden, divine? If Evarne knew much sorrow, she had, as if in recompense, an intimate acquaintance with a far deeper, a more intense happiness than ever falls within the lot of many. She and Geoffagreed that next Sunday should be passed in the same manner. Quite definitely this was decided—"unless it rained!" That was the only possible obstacle that presented itself. Ah well! the mere decision was pleasant, and served to soften the hour of parting.
Mondaymorning dawned. Evarne looked more radiantly lovely than ever after her day in the open air, and work was re-attacked with general ardour. The only interruption to the proceedings was a ring at the door, which came as lunch-time was approaching. It proved to be a man with a letter for Geoff.
"This is rather interesting to us all!" he exclaimed as he read it. "Winborough arrived in London on Saturday. I left a note for him, you know, Jack, and he says he will come at three o'clock on Wednesday to be 'life-masked,' but he is coming in here this afternoon just to see us."
Jack flushed with sudden excitement and apprehension. Geoff laid down the letter and looked at Evarne. These few days of their engagement left her still ignorant of his position and relationship towards Winborough. Geoff could hardly have given any reason for his reticence—there could, indeed, be no rational explanation forthcoming—it was just a purposeless fancy that had not mattered hitherto. But now she must know. She always lunched with him in his sitting-room, while Jack and Pallister sought their mid-day repast out of doors. He would tell her then; and Lord Winborough himself must no longer be kept in ignorance of his heir's forthcoming marriage. There seemed to be an ample dose of "tellings" before Geoffrey that day.
But Pallister all unconsciously relieved him of one.
"I'm really awfully excited," he declared. "I've never seen his lordship, but Mr. Meridith knows him quite well. Maudie calls him a 'dear.' And I'm awfully thrilled, too, at the prospect of taking a life-mask. I shall be longing to try when once I've seen it done. Will you let me practise on you, Miss Stornway?"
"Well, I don't know. It's rather terrible, isn't it?"
"I don't think so. Only a bit unpleasant. Nothing to hurt."
"Have you done many, Mr. Hardy?"
"Several. It's a wonderful help towards getting a likeness, especially if the sitter's time is precious. Still, it is uncommonly hateful to go through."
"Don't tell Lord Winborough that! How do you start?"
"Well, you rub cold-cream or some such decoction well into the skin."
"For the sake of the victim's complexion, I suppose?"
"Partly. Next you put a couple of quills into his nostrils."
"To breathe through?" chipped in Pallister.
"Precisely; and very careful you have to be, I can tell you, considering that it's the one and only way in which a supply of fresh air can be obtained, for the next step is to pour moist plaster all over the face."
"How clammy! Much of it?"
"Not at first—only a thin layer; but after you've laid a piece of string downways on either cheek, you add more plaster until it's about an inch thick. There it has to remain until it hardens. Then you draw up the two strings, thereby cutting the mask into three parts, and take it off, a firm and absolute replica of the features."
"But it does sound rather dangerous," declared Evarne after a moment's thought.
"Not with ordinary care and attention. It's quite safe," Jack assured her; "but it feels much worse than itis really. One's whole life undoubtedly depends on those two breathing-quills. I went through it once myself, and I couldn't help thinking of what would happen if by any accident they got choked up. The operator always keeps a pair of scissors handy to snip off the end in case by any chance a splash of plaster happens to settle on it. Still, it needs a deal of nerve, I must confess. You can't hear a sound except an indistinct sort of rumbling and the thud of your own heart like a sledge-hammer. I should think it's a bit like being buried alive. I tried to lift an eyelid, but the plaster held it in an immovable grip, and of course your lips are so sealed that it is impossible to speak a single word. I assure you, it did make me feel queer!"
"I wonder," inquired Pallister meditatively, "what would happen if you justhadto sneeze?"
But Jack declined to venture an opinion.
"I'm afraid I can't promise to be done," Evarne declared with some degree of emphasis.
"Now, would you expect anybody to consent after that lurid description, Jack?" inquired Geoff, laughing. "It's a good thing Winborough can't hear your vivid reminiscences, or he would suddenly recall some other imperative engagement for Wednesday afternoon."
"Perhaps he won't come anyhow," suggested Pallister, bent on teasing. "You should just have heard a Socialist gentleman—one of your pet pals, I dare say, Jack—who was addressing an attentive and admiring audience in Hyde Park yesterday. 'These bloated haristiscrats, pampered from their cots upwards,' he declared, were, without exception, fickle and false and altogether unreliable, and 'ought to be wiped off the face of the globe altogether!'"
"But Lord Winborough hasn't been 'pampered from his cot upwards,'" returned Jack unperturbed. "He only came into the title about five years ago, so you see he is scarcely one of those whom 'my pet pal, the Socialist,' was referring to."
Pallister ceased grinning at his own wit.
"Oh, of course, I know. He will keep his promise right enough," he said seriously. Then, suddenly recollecting himself: "I say, Geoff, I didn't mean to be personal. If your cousin goes and dies without children, we don't expect you to alter, and be fickle and false and all the rest of it, just because you become Earl of Winborough, eh?"
Evarne's lips parted, and, turning her head, she gazed at Geoff with eyes filled with utter amazement and incredulity. That young man threw down his brushes.
"Look here," he said lightly, "it's a quarter to one. I think we had better stop work and have lunch."
"Right you are," cried Pallister the lazy. "Come along, Jackie, my boy; we had better take plenty of time to strengthen ourselves for this afternoon. We have both got to make a good impression, you know."
Jack partly understood Geoff's evident anxiety to get them gone. He promptly pulled off his painting overall and put on his coat. Pallister, with no such change of costume to effect, was already awaiting him, and in a very few minutes they were both out of the place.
Already Geoff had freed Evarne from her golden fetters. They fastened by means of snaps, and it needed the use of both hands to open them. The long connecting chain was quite unbreakable, though charmingly light and delicate in workmanship. He occupied the time while his friends were dressing in subjecting it to a series of vigorous little tugs, as if to test its strength; but directly the studio door had closed, he cast it aside and turned to Evarne.
"Surely I didn't understand rightly?" she queried, in tones of ill-suppressed anxiety. "I thought Mr. Pallister seemed to say that Lord Winborough was not only your cousin, but that you were his heir?"
Geoff acknowledged this to be verily the truth.
"I'm sure I don't know why I didn't mention it long ago," he continued apologetically. "It's very silly of me toappear to have made any sort of a mystery about it, for naturally it's no secret. It can't be exactly termed a misfortune in itself, can it, while of course it does not make the slightest little bit of difference in our feelings for one another?"
"I am not so sure," rejoined Evarne sadly.
With slow steps she walked across the room and sat down by the open window, gazing out into vacancy with troubled eyes. She felt no pleasurable excitement, no eager interest, in this marvellous piece of news. On the contrary, the fact that her lover held a position of so much greater importance in the estimation of the world than she had for one moment suspected, appeared to her simply and solely as an unqualified misfortune. Viewed in the light of this new discovery, his marriage with a woman who was, after all, only an artist's model, and, moreover, one weighed down by a secret that a very few inquiries on the part of the curious might reveal, became a matter of entirely different import. Such ominous forebodings, such fresh doubts and apprehensions crowded upon her, that tears burned under her eyelids, while an expression of utter misery settled upon her features.
Geoffrey sped over to her side.
"My own dearest darling, please, please don't look so worried about it. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you at once, but left you to find out so suddenly. I was an idiot. If you look like that, I shall never forgive myself. Why does it make you unhappy? I should have thought you'd be rather pleased, if anything. What a sigh! After all, it's not so wonderfully important. It will not make the least bit of difference to us for years and years to come—perhaps never—who can tell?"
Evarne did not answer. The longer she reflected the more overwhelming appeared this unforeseen complication. Of course, as soon as her engagement became common knowledge, all sorts of people would want to learn allabout her; the events of her whole past life would probably be delved into—and then—what? She wished Geoffrey would leave her alone for a time. She wanted to think.
But the more anxious and depressed she appeared, the more concerned and self-reproachful he grew.
"I'm not vexed with you personally, dear," she was at length compelled to explain. "You mustn't think that for a moment. Only—only——"
"Only what?"
"I was thinking of a part of Mrs. Browning's translation of 'Prometheus Bound.' Do you remember it?
"Oh, wise was he, oh, wise was he,Who first within his spirit knew,And with his tongue proclaimed it true,That love comes best that comes untoThe equal of degree!And that the poor and that the lowShould seek no love from those above...."
"Oh, wise was he, oh, wise was he,Who first within his spirit knew,And with his tongue proclaimed it true,That love comes best that comes untoThe equal of degree!And that the poor and that the lowShould seek no love from those above...."
She broke off suddenly.
"Oh, Geoffrey, that is true! I know it is, and it does seem so suited to us now."
"I noticed you discreetly ceased before reaching the last lines, which would make the application I suppose you intend far from complimentary to me, Mistress Evarne. My soul is neither 'proud' nor 'fluttered by rows of ancestral lights,' or anything of that sort. Nothing 'flutters' it except your sweet self, so that verse does not suit at all. How dare you shake your head? Don't you believe me?"
"Yes, yes! I do, of course. But there is your cousin to consider. I shall never gain his goodwill. He will never give his consent."
"Our marriage will be legal without that, my own dearest. But really," and Geoff came out boldly with a thundering big lie, "really I don't anticipate his raising any serious objection. You see, it would be too absurd, considering that it's the merest chance that he has got any title at all. When the old earl and his brother, and bothhis sons and his little grandson all died within three years, it was necessary to go back over a century—if you ever heard of such a thing—before they came to the point at which the line from which we are descended branched off. Why, for my part, I scarcely realised we were related to the family at all. We didn't even know the old earl personally. It would be too absurd of us to put on airs and graces as if we were superior sort of creatures born to wear strawberry-leaves. It's just simply the merest chance. Now, after that long explanation don't let's talk about it any more, since it worries you."
"I must say one thing. We have never spoken at all yet about money or position, or anything of that sort, have we? Still, I have known all along, and you also must have known full well, that in choosing me you were marrying in every respect far below yourself and what your people would deem——"
"Oh!" broke in Geoff, "please, please don't talk in that manner. It isn't generous of you, Evarne. It isn't like you."
"I must finish, though. You are proposing to marry far below what your relations would consider seemly in any case, and most undeniably you have not made a fitting choice when one remembers what the future probably holds for you. You don't see things quite as other people do, you know; but I am more worldly-minded and practical. I think—I do really—that this engagement between us is scarcely suitable, and that it ought not to exist."
Geoff placed his hands heavily on her shoulders with a somewhat frantic grip, and looked at her in serious alarm for a moment. Then he spoke with forced carelessness.
"So you really think to persuade me of your claim to be considered 'worldly-minded' by trying now to get me to give you up, do you—you darling? Listen to me. I shall marry you or nobody! If you won't have me, I shall go down to my grave a morose, disagreeable old bachelor.I shall always be doing my level best to make all around me utterly miserable, and although everyone will fear and hate me, a few discerning folk will explain, 'Oh, don't you know? That poor old man was crossed in love in the days of his youth, and has never got over it!' Would you like to have that on your conscience, Evarne mine? Now, come in to lunch, and we won't speak another word of cousins or earls or prospects or anything of the sort. We will just talk about ourselves. We are by far the most interesting topic in the world, aren't we, darling?"
He caught her hand and commenced to draw her across the room. He looked so young, so happy, so full of life, that Evarne forcibly thrust all her own miseries back into the depth of her heart. She could not endure to see the glad look fade from his eyes even for a minute.
"Very well, Geoff," she said in all meekness. "As long as you are sure that you really want me, I will never leave you of my own accord."
"That's a promise?"
"Very well, it shall be. But remember this, if you do come to believe that perhaps you would do wisely to listen to what I feel convinced your cousin's advice will be, you must not hesitate or think of me at all. I only exist now to please you, and I'm not afraid of spoiling you by telling you so, dear. My first and only wish is that everything shall be well with your life. Remember."
He bent his head and kissed the hand he held, but declined to even discuss this subject with any seriousness.
"Come," he said lightly. "I'm starving hungry! More than anything else in the world at the present moment I want you to give me my lunch."
Noone felt able thoroughly to settle themselves steadily to work that afternoon, for Lord Winborough had not timed his visit, and might be expected at any moment.
They laughed and chatted for some time, but gradually painting was beginning to engross somewhat of its usual meed of attention, when the electric bell rang out.
"That will be Winborough," declared Geoff as he left the room immediately to admit his visitor.
The studio door swung to, so that only a confused murmur of voices came from the hall. In a minute it was opened again, and Geoff was heard saying—
"Oh yes, we're all much the same as usual. You remember Jack Hardy, and this is Frank Pallister."
Evarne was standing with her back towards the door, and as the two young men had at once crossed over in that direction, they had passed out of the range of her vision; for, despite these interruptions, with the instincts of a thoroughly good model she had not stirred unbidden from her pose.
She heard Jack make a brief speech in his most polite style, though obviously with considerable nervousness.
"I want to thank you, Lord Winborough, for so kindly consenting to spare some of your time to sit for me. I know how busy you are, and am more than grateful."
The answer came in smooth, even tones.
"Indeed, Mr. Hardy, it is a pleasure to be able to assist in any degree so talented and—"
At the sound of this voice an icy hand seemed to lay itself upon Evarne's heart, chilling her blood. With parted lips and eyes staring with terror she turned round. There, in the centre of the little group, stood—Morris Kenyon!
Well may the rapidity of thought be employed as a synonym for the uttermost conception of speed. Simultaneously with the tremendous mental shock of beholding this man again under such horrible, such undreamed-of circumstances—above the resultant seeming cessation of all the wheels of life within her body, the sudden uncontrollable shivering that shook her from head to foot—she became conscious that her brain was frantically urging her to instantly do something by which to account for this physical agitation—something to explain this uncontrollable display of emotion. It prompted the method. She followed it without a second's hesitation. Before any of the men had turned their gaze upon her, she had deliberately let go of the vase she carried. It fell heavily, and was smashed into a dozen pieces.
Down on her knees she sank, bending her head low, as, with trembling hands, she gathered together the nearest fragments. Her actions were quite instinctive; her whole mind was bent on the recovery of her self-control. And she succeeded. When, after a minute's respite, she did dare lift her face, it was marked by no traces of greater concern than could easily be accounted for as the result of this embarrassing accident.
If Morris Kenyon, seeing her again with equal unexpectedness, had been guilty of any dramatic start or exclamation, it had passed quite unnoticed. All attention was turned upon Evarne, and Geoff was already by her side.
"My dear, what is the matter?"
She would not meet his eyes; her own might be too full of emotion. She sought to speak, but no words came.
Geoff grew alarmed.
"Are you feeling ill? Can I do anything? Never mind those silly broken pieces. Tell me!"
She made a tremendous effort. She could—she should—answer him rationally and calmly.
"I'm frightened, Geoff," she whispered quickly and very softly—"after what I learnt this morning. You understand? His voice sounded so hard, and he looks so stern. I was frightened."
He put his hand over hers and pressed it sympathetically, but no more could be said in confidence. The three other men had approached.
"What's happened, Miss Stornway?" inquired Jack.
Geoff explained.
"She's tired, that's all. She ought to have rested long ago."
Evarne spoke for herself.
"I'm so dreadfully grieved to have broken this beautiful vase. I can't think how I came to drop it. Oh, I am so sorry."
"It doesn't matter the least bit," Geoff declared emphatically.
Evarne was now seated on the edge of the throne, and for a minute the four men stood in a semicircle, silently surveying her. She could have wrung her hands in agony under this scrutiny.
"Please don't bother about me any longer," she cried, and there were traces of rising excitement in her voice. "I am so sorry to have made such a stupid disturbance. Please, please leave me alone now. There's nothing the matter with me."
Geoff took her at her word.
"Come over here and look at the beginning of my new picture, Winborough," he suggested, after a final keen and anxious glance at Evarne.
While the scarcely-started canvas was being explained, and attention was thus entirely distracted from herself, Evarne brought all the force of her will to bear on gaining complete self-mastery. And for this she had need to call upon that emergency fund of strength, endurance and resolution that a woman's fine nervous system almost invariably produces when great necessity demands. Every moment the horror that assailed her appeared to grow more crushing, more unendurable, yet she sat there silent and motionless, with an unruffled brow and an expression of perfect calm upon her beautiful features.
She could not keep her fascinated gaze from the spectacle of the two cousins going the round of the room together, Geoff chatting gaily as he displayed the various little oddments and curiosities that he had brought from Italy. Finally he produced a portfolio of water-colour sketches and handed them to his cousin one by one, describing, explaining, pointing out various parts that were to be especially noticed. Morris nodded, questioned, admired, held them at arm's-length to be better judged, all apparently without another thought in his mind beyond Art and Venice.
As the two men stood thus side by side, Evarne could most distinctly see traces of the relationship between them—more in the demeanour, the general build and outline, than in feature—but kinship, clear and unmistakable. There was exactly the same carriage of the head, much the same walk, while their hands—slender, long-fingered and especially well-tended—were practically identical.
Morris had changed very little in the seven years that had been lived through since the stormy scene that had marked that final parting on that spring morning in Paris. His dark hair was thinner, perchance, and turning grey upon the temples; there were a few more of Time's scratches upon his brow. But although he must be now somewhere about fifty-five, his figure—thanks probably tohis devotion to fencing—was still as slender, as trim and upright as that of any of the younger men in the room.
Evarne had opportunity of studying his appearance at leisure, for not once did he glance in her direction. She knew this must be intentional, and was so far grateful, though such a mild emotion could find scant place in her mind just then. It was almost unendurable to see those two men standing side by side thus. Not only was the instinct of self-preservation on the alert, but every refined impulse in her nature was outraged by the spectacle. Unconsciously she caught hold of the slightly overlapping edge of the floor of the throne, and dragged at it with such unsparing force that the muscles of her arms stood up terse and hard.
The sketches all surveyed, the conversation turned on Jack, his work and the bust that was to be undertaken.
"I've just finished a life-size statue of a child," Jack said. "It's only in clay at present, but I am going to work it out in marble—perhaps as a memorial-stone. You think it is good, don't you, Geoff?" and he turned anxiously towards his friend for confirmation.
"Indeed it is splendid," was the ready answer "You should see it, Winborough. It is in the plaster-room yonder. It is a dreadful weight to lift. Will you go in there and look at it?"
Winborough cordially assented, and escorted by Jack and Pallister he left the studio.
Geoff did not accompany the trio. He was anxious about Evarne, and, sitting down beside her, he slipped his arm around her waist as he declared in a tone of raillery—
"Well, sweetheart, you have surprised me! I had no idea you were such a little coward. I thought you were as brave as anything."
She hastened to account for this sudden weakness by numerous excuses. It seemed to her that it must necessarily have aroused some suspicion, although Geoff'smanner showed not the slightest trace of any such feeling.
"I don't like you to think me cowardly," she said, "so please remember all I have had lately to upset me. First of all, I have not really been feeling fit to pose lately. I'm weary! The engagement I finished on Thursday was a terribly trying one. I stood for that wretched artist for the figure for nearly six weeks without missing a single day except Sundays. He wanted to get his picture done before he went away for his holidays, and he succeeded, but it made me quite ill."
Geoff was properly indignant.
"It was enough to kill you; you should not consent to do such things. You must not play with your health like that. You ought never to have sat at all for such a selfish brute."
Evarne shrugged her shoulders.
"You see, you don't know what it is to have to earn your own living," she declared with a little smile. "I certainly did intend resting for the remainder of the week, but you were so anxious to start your picture, dear, that I went right on without even a day's interval."
Now Geoff was indeed repentant.
"Oh, my darling, I didn't understand! I didn't know! It's all my fault. How horribly thoughtless I am! Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't think it would matter. I am very strong, you know, as a rule. But what I learnt this morning so suddenly worried me seriously; and then—I told you—I got so frightened when your cousin was really here, that my silly hands trembled, and I broke that vase that I know you value. So altogether, if I was a bit pale and not quite myself, it wasn't without sufficient cause, was it?"
Even as she spoke she found herself wondering why she took this trouble to blind Geoffrey's eyes. If he did not immediately learn the true reason of her alarm at the sight of his cousin, he would know to-morrow—or the day after—orthe day after that! It could be only a question of a more or less brief time. Why not give up the struggle at once? Her heart ached as she listened to his expressions of self-reproach, knowing as she did that he had been unfailingly kind and considerate towards her from the hour of their first meeting.
"Evarne, dearest, do forgive me. You have made me feel terribly remorseful. One thing after another for you to endure, and all my fault! If that is the best care I can take of you, I don't deserve to have you, that's certain. Dear, say you forgive me this time. I will try and be more thoughtful."
He drew her closer to his side, and right gladly would she have rested there and endeavoured to forget the world, its deceptions and its difficulties. But this was most decidedly not the time for such indulgence, and she was in the very act of withdrawing herself from his encircling arm, when exactly that which she was seeking to avoid came to pass. Jack must needs choose this psychological moment to throw open the door and conduct Winborough back into the studio.
It was an awkward moment for everyone. Geoff rose to his feet, but did not loosen his arm from around Evarne. It merely slipped upwards from her waist to her shoulders.
Jack looked absolutely aghast. Pallister gave vent to a silly inopportune little snigger, while Winborough demanded somewhat sarcastically—
"Do you spend much of your time studying art by such methods, Geoffrey, my boy?"
"Let me explain," said the young man without a moment's hesitation. "It may come as a complete surprise to you, Winborough; but Jack, and even Pallister, who have been here with us in the studio, must be fully prepared to hear of my good fortune. I mean that I have asked Miss Stornway to become my wife, and she has consented."
That even under these difficult circumstances Geoffrey would make this startling announcement publicly, on the spot, without either warning or preparation, was as unlooked-for by Evarne as it could have been by any of the others. But the emergency did not find her wanting. With this new demand came fresh strength. Instantly rising to her feet, she drew herself up to her full height, lifted her head proudly, and without the slightest trace of fear or faltering, advanced a couple of steps forward. Then, by sheer force of will she compelled Morris Kenyon to meet her eye, and resolutely concentrated the whole of her mental strength to its uttermost limits in sending forth a wordless message—a command—that this man should not speak to betray her.
And silence prevailed in the room!
Evarne remained motionless, her soft robes falling around her in gracious dignified folds, her beautiful head haughtily upraised. She made herself, by mere force of character and dauntless determination, absolute mistress of the situation for the time being.
But the fetters were still around her wrists!
The silence was finally broken by Geoffrey. Turning from the cousin with whom he had but little in common, he looked across at his chosen friend, and asked somewhat coldly—
"Well, Jack, have you nothing to say?"
Thus adjured, that young man pulled himself together.
"My dear Geoff, I—I really—I do congratulate you—both of you. I'm sure you'll be happy."
"You've completely floored me," cried Pallister gaily, recovering his breath. "I'm so surprised, you can come and knock me down with a feather if you want to. I'm sure I congratulate you heartily. Three cheers for Mr. and Mrs. Danvers! Hurrah! Can I be best man?"
But Evarne scarcely heard anything of this. She and Morris still stood separated by the length of half the room,gazing sternly into one another's eyes, each reading and sending forth defiance, antagonism, mutual hatred.
Yet when Winborough at length spoke it was in tones that were quite light and casual.
"If marriage wasn't such a confounded knot to untie, there would not be the same need for careful consideration beforehand that undoubtedly there is now—more's the pity! When you do marry, Geoff, I wish you every happiness—that you know."
Evarne returned to the throne and sat down again. Having averted the danger of Morris speaking out on impulse at first hearing Geoff's announcement, she felt herself safe for the minute. He would indeed be strangely altered if he now suddenly burst forth into accusations, making a scene in the presence of Jack and Pallister, and running the risk of ensuring public talk and scandal. Besides, she still retained sufficient faith in his honour to believe that he would not deliberately give away her secret to men whom it did not concern.
But before long her apprehensions were again up in arms.
"You are inhospitable here," announced his lordship. "Do artistic aspirations do away with parched throats, even on sultry July afternoons? If so, that's rather an important point for temperance advocates. For my part, fancying I remember where you keep your whisky and syphons, Geoff, I'm going to see if I can look after myself, eh?"
With the utmost nonchalance he strolled out of the studio. As Winborough had anticipated, Geoffrey promptly followed him.
As soon as they were alone in the sitting-room, Winborough rounded on the young man sharply.
"Look here, what folly is this? Is it possible you are really thinking of marrying that girl?"
"I told you so plainly enough, didn't I?"
"Preposterous! Do you suppose you can be allowed to take up seriously with any stray creature who happens to please your fancy? The idea is absurd—utterly absurd!"
Geoff's eyes flashed, but he kept his temper. He had fully anticipated that Winborough would at first oppose this marriage. But of course all objections were founded on mere prejudice and ignorance, so he answered quietly in the hope of explaining and thus conciliating his cousin. He tried to express the admiration, the respect and the affection he felt for Evarne, in a manner totally devoid of any exaggeration or seeming blindness, but with unmistakable clearness and certainty.
"You are prejudiced against Evarne because of her profession, Winborough; but when you have known her for a little while you will be forced to acknowledge that, despite it, she is in every respect as near perfection as any human being can possibly be. In culture and refinement, in mind and manner, she is the equal of my own mother. She is absolutely honourable and straightforward and high-principled, and I love her. Now, I ask you, what more can one want? If she is a bit below me socially, that is the one and only drawback—such as it is—that anyone can possibly adduce; and after all, it is her personality and my feelings that are the matters of real consequence. Isn't that so?"
"Not entirely. Her character and her past record are of the utmost importance. Now, what do you know of her? Not much, I'll be bound. No, my boy, when you do finally decide to marry, you must choose some nice girl in your own station of life. One who has been properly brought up, and about whom there can be no question, which is more than can be said for Miss Stornway."
"You presume most abominably upon our relationship," Geoff was commencing angrily, but both his sentence and the remainder of the conversation were doomed to remainunfinished. Hurried footsteps were heard in the hall, and Jack charged into the room, crying—
"I say, get some brandy or something quickly! Miss Stornway has fainted."
With a feeling akin to despair had Evarne watched the two men leave the studio. It had been so obviously a mere contrivance on Morris's part to speak to his cousin alone. Now the blow was to fall, and what possible means had she of preventing it? A sudden consciousness of her own weakness, her utter impotence, swept across her, bringing something not unlike resignation in its train. She would change her costume and go away—everything was over! She stood up, but with the more commanding attitude the fighting spirit rallied again. She would not yield yet. She would strive till the very last.
The imperative need of the immediate moment was to end thattête-à-têtenow proceeding. Morris and Geoff had been alone scarcely a couple of minutes. No harm was perhaps done yet, but every second might be of consequence. How was it to be stopped—how—how? She cast about in her mind for an inspiration. Ah! was there any wisdom in belonging to that sex that men designate "the weaker," and yet never taking advantage of it in emergencies such as this? Without a second thought she gave a low cry, raised her hand to her head, let herself drop heavily upon the floor, and there lay just as she had fallen—motionless, helpless, with closed eyes and scarce fluttering breath.
The anticipated result ensued. Half a minute later Geoff was on his knees hanging over her in an agony of dismay, while Winborough might have been absolutely non-existent for all the attention he was able to command.
Every device known to man for the conquering of a fainting attack did Evarne allow to be vainly essayed before finally lifting her languid eyelids. A look of relief passed over three anxious countenances. Winborough stood leaningagainst the door, surveying the scene. His features bore an expression that might have puzzled the uninitiated, but Evarne understood. Meeting her eye, he smiled at her. Their mutual glance was scarcely more than instantaneous, but it was all-sufficient. She knew right well that not for a moment had he been deceived by her pretended swoon. Geoff's gaze, fixed intently on the face so dear to him, saw a shadow of distress pass over it as a fleeting cloud. He looked rapidly at Winborough over his shoulder, but no explanation was forthcoming from that quarter, and he turned all his attention again to his "Sweet Lady."
She was supported to the open window, ensconced in an arm-chair; cushions were arranged behind her head; a footstool was brought for her feet. More than once, as Winborough watched all this care and attention, the same mocking smile hovered around his lips.
"Don't leave me," murmured the invalid, laying her hand upon Geoff's arm.
But even as she spoke she stole a glance at the man standing by the door. He it was with whom an undisturbed interview was essential. Each must learn the other's mind—it was imperative.
"I have an idea that if I could say a few words to your cousin while I'm so ill, it might soften his heart towards me," she whispered, after a brief period of perplexed thought. "Do arrange for me to have a minute or two alone with him, to see if I cannot persuade him to think more kindly of me."
"I will call him over if you like."
"But I can't talk about you while you're listening. That would be embarrassing for me, wouldn't it?"
But Geoff was reluctant.
"Oh, he is in a nasty temper. He would very likely say something to wound your feelings, and you have borne more than enough lately. Don't bother about him."
"I can't endure to make trouble between you. Do let me try. He doesn't look very stern now," she declared.
Winborough was engaged in conversation with Jack and Pallister, and was obviously making himself as pleasant as he so well knew how to do when he chose. Nevertheless, Geoff frowned slightly and shook his head.
But with a very little more perseverance, Evarne, as usual, got her own way. A few minutes later she found her enemy standing by the side of her chair in an otherwise empty room, and heard herself directly addressed by that voice which, above all others, she had hoped and believed would never fall upon her ears again.
"Will you accept my compliments upon your really admirable presence of mind."
She sat erect with amazing alertness.
"Morris! So you are his cousin?" she cried, for the first time allowing the full horror she felt to appear in both tone and expression.
"Most unfortunate, isn't it?" he agreed. "If it had been any other man whatsoever I wouldn't have spoiled your little game. As it is, of course—well, I'm sure you will understand."
"Do you really suppose I'm going to give him up quietly, simply to please you?" she demanded—then added hastily, "But we can't talk about it here."
Morris raised his eyebrows.
"Is there anything to discuss? Oh, I understand. Pardon my dullness. We'll make that all right. I'm not ungenerous. Where are you living? Where can I come and see you?"
So he was actually taking her words to imply that she wanted money. She opened her lips, ready with an indignant denial, but stopped short. Let him labour under this delusion for the time being. It was a decided advantage.
She gave him her address.
"I am posing here all day," she explained. "You can come in the evening at half-past seven."
"I am engaged to-night. Expect me to-morrow. I'll drop in after I've dined. Somewhere between eight and nine. I say, Evarne."
"What is it?"
"You won't throw the furniture at me, will you?"
She found no answer for this taunt. Leaning back in the chair, she turned her head wearily away, while a couple of big tears gathered in her eyes. He was very brutal—very heartless. What was she to do, or say to him?
In another minute the door had swung to behind him, and Geoff was bending over her.
She looked up mournfully, while the big tears overflowed and trickled unrestrainedly down her cheeks.
"It was quite useless," she murmured brokenly. "He is absolutely determined to prevent our marriage. Oh, Geoff, my dearest, I am so unhappy. What am I to do? I love you so much."