“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 Sutherland 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 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. Goodnight.” 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 tomorrow,” 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 brusquerie, 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.
“Oh no, not tonight: 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 indignation.
“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 Jack, 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.”
“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 helpless pretending 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 eying her, with her father’s letter in his hand.
“What does this mean?” he said.
Mary glanced round as it 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 cf the next wretch that will 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 aught I know. Tell your father, who wants to discharge 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 household. 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 housemaid 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.”
“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,