"Joe, old fellow, I don't want to pry into your affairs, but if I can
counsel or help you, don't shrink from asking. Can I do anything?"
"Yes--much."
"Hah! that's better," cried Armstrong, as if relieved. "What's the good
of an Orestes, if Pú does not come to him when he is in a hole! But you
are upset. There's no hurry. Fill your pipe, and give me a few words
about my confounded picture while you calm down. Joe, old man, it's
mythological, and it's going to turn out a myth. Isn't there a woman in
London who could sit for my Juno?"
"Damn all women!" cried the visitor, in a deep hoarse tone.
"Well, that's rather too large an order, old fellow. Come, fill your
pipe. Now, let's have it. What's wrong--landlady?"
The eyes of the man to whom he had been attracted from his first arrival
in London, the big, large-hearted, unsuccessful artist, who yet
possessed more ability than any one he knew, and whose advice was
eagerly sought by a large circle of rising painters, were fixed upon him
so intently that the colour rose in Armstrong Dale's cheeks, and, in
spite of his self-control, the younger man looked conscious.
"Then it's all true," said Pacey bitterly.
"What's all true?" cried Dale.
"Armstrong, lad, I passed a bitter night, and I thought I would come
on."
The young artist was silent, but his brow knit, and there was a
twitching about the corner of his eyes.
"I sat smoking hard--ounces of strong tobacco; and in the clouds I saw a
frank, good-looking young fellow, engaged to as sweet and pure a woman
as ever breathed, coming up to this hell or heaven, London, whichever
one makes of it, and going wrong. Ulysses among the Sirens, lad; and
they sang too sweetly for him--that is, one did. The temptation was
terribly strong, and he went under."
Armstrong's brow was dark as night now, and he drew his breath hard.
"Do you know what that meant, Armstrong? You are silent. I'll tell
you. It meant breaking the heart of a true woman, and the wrecking of a
man. He had ability--as a painter--and he could have made a name, but
as soon as he woke from his mad dream, all was over. The zest had gone
out of life. You know the song, lad--`A kiss too long--and life is
never the same again.'"
"I made you my friend, Joe Pacey," said Armstrong huskily, "but by what
right do you dare to come preaching your parables here?"
"Parable, man? It is the truth. Eight? I have a right to tell you
what wrecked my life--the story of twenty years ago."
"Joe!"
There was a gripping of hands.
"Ah! That's better. I tell you because history will repeat itself.
Armstrong, lad, you have often talked to me of the one who is waiting
and watching across the seas. Look at me--the wreck I am. For God's
sake--for hers--your own, don't follow in my steps."