“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 surprised. You must be very fond of your own mother.”
“That is so different,”said Aurélie with a shrug, “Mother and son is a sacred relation. Mothers and daughters are fond of each other 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, Aurélie?”
“You are for ever asking me that. Yes, I am very fond of some pictures. I have seen very few.”
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, Aurélie.”
“You are laughing at me. Why, there are not a dozen players — real players — in Europe; and every city is full of painters.”
“Real painters, Aurélie?”
“Ah! perhaps not. I suppose there are secondrate painters, just like secondrate players. Is it not so, Me — Meestare Adrian?”
“You must not call me that, Aurélie. 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 them 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 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 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.”
“Mäi — mä—” what is that you said in English?
“Nothing. You can look it up 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. Tomorrow you will call on her at four o’clock; and all will be well. Now go. I expect her every moment.”
“May I see you before tomorrow afternoon?”
“Why should you? I go tonight to play at the house of a great dame, Lady Gerald line Porter, who is the daughter of a nobleman and the wife of a baronet. My mother loves to be among such people. She will tell you all about our ancestry tomorrow.”
“Aurélie: 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 welcome to come when I pleased. I shall please tonight, Aurélie. 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 today. You will behave yourself?”
“Of 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 Szczympliça speak to her of our engagement. Of course you will say nothing yourself.”
“Not if you do not wish me to,” said Aurélie, drawing 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 that time, Jack was richer than he had ever been before. His works were performed at the principal concerts: He also gave lessons at the moderate 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 evening he went from his lodging in Church Street to some public entertainment at which he had to play or conduct, 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, presenting himself duly, except when he forgot the invitation. 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 Geraldine Porter, Mrs Herbert’s friend, whom Jack did not know. She was a lady of strong common sense, resolutely intolerant of the eccentricities and affectations 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