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 desires to make it his profession — other matters must give place to it,” said Jack bluntly. “A little experience 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 arrangement,” said Herbert. Jack nodded, and said, “I have no further conditions to make.”
“Do you wish to say anything?” said Herbert, looking inquiringly at Mary.
“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, saying:
“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.”
“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 unfrequented 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 concerns 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 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 I missed in it, I should not have respected you so much for painting it, nor should I have been forced