This is a very unusual honor, Aurélie,” 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-possession, 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?”
“I hope so,” said Mary.
“I knew it,” said Aurélie, with a wave of her fingers. “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, Aurélie.”
“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. Aurélie 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? Ciell! 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 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 deal too long, and the little boy’s head is not half large enough in proportion to height. The 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 today, 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 famille, you understand. Adrian will entertain you; I will play for you; 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 Aurélie says, we can ask Mr Hoskyn by telgraph. 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 Aurélie, apparently delighted. “Come then,” she added, in French, to Adrian. “Put away thy sottises and let us go at once.”
“You hear?” he remarked. She calls my canvas and brushes sottises” He put them away resignedly, nevertheless. Aurélie, chatting lightheartedly with Mary, meanwhile. When he was ready, they went out together past the white horse, 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 confusion. 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 Aurélie, 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 Aurélie.
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. Judging by appearances, I should say that I must be the engineer and you the artist.”
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.”
“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 ease 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. Suppose 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 Aurélie, who had been gazing abstractedly down the vista at the white h<>rse.
“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 Aurélie, who seemed unconscious of his presence, although his uneasiness, his frequent glances sidelong at her, and his occasional dumb efforts to hazard 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.