“It is curious that our courses of action should be so similar and our motives so different! My confession is so obvious that it is hardly worth while to make it. I did fall in love in the storybook fashion: and that is the true explanation of what the Times notices in my work. I will not say that I can no longer work, think, or respect myself — I hope I am not so bad as that: but the rest is true. I am a slave to her when she is present, and a slave to my thoughts of her when she is absent. Perhaps you despise me for it.”
“I can hardly despise you for loving your wife. It would be rather unreasonable.”
“There are many things which are not reasonable, and are yet quite natural. I sometimes despise myself. That occurs when I contrast Aurélie’s influence on my work with yours. Before I met her, I worked steadfastly in this studio, thinking of you whenever my work palled on me, and never failing to derive fresh courage from you. I know now, better than I did then, how much of my first success, and of the resolute labor that won it, was due to you. The new influence is a different — a disturbing one. When I think of Aurélie, there is an end of my work. Where in the old time I used to be reinforced and concentrated, I am now excited and distracted; impatient for some vague tomorrow that never comes; capable of nothing but trouble or ecstasy. Imagine, then, how I value your friendship — for you must not think that you have lost your old power over me. Even to-day, because I have had this opportunity of talking with you, I feel more like my old artist self than I have been for a longtime. We understand each other: I could not say the same to Aurélie. Therefore, Mary, will you — however ill I may in your opinion have deserved it — will you still stand my friend, and help me to regain the ground I have lost, as you formerly helped me to win it?”
“Most willingly, “said Mary with enthusiasm, holding out both her hands to him. “I will take your word for my ability to help you, though I know that you used to help yourself by helping me. Now we are fast friends again, are we not?”
“Fast friends,” he repeated, taking her hands, and turning her with affectionate admiration and gratitude.
“Aha!” cried a voice. They released each other’s hands quickly, and turned, pale and startled, towards the newcomer. Aurélie, in a light summer dress, was smiling at them from the doorway.
“I fear I derange you,” she said in English, which she now spoke easily and carelessly, though with a soft foreign accent. “How do you do, Madame Hoskyn? Am I too much? Eh?”
Mary, confused by the surprise of her entry, and still more by the innocent and caressing manner in which she spoke, murmured some words of salutation.
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