Sweetheart sat under the lilac blossoms pouring out tea for Clifford,
Elliott, and Rowden. She was gracious to Clifford, gentle to Elliott,
and she took Rowden under her wing in the sweetest way possible, to
which Clifford stated his objections.
"Mr. Rowden is younger than you are," she said gravely. "Monsieur
Clifford, I do not wish you to torment him."
"Rowden's no baby; he's as old as Jack is, and Jack doesn't murder
music."
"I am glad to see you acknowledge Jack's superiority in all matters,"
said Sweetheart with a dangerous smile.
"I don't," cried Clifford laughing; "and I don't see what you find
to care about in a man who clips his hair like a gendarme and paints
everything purple."
"Everything is purple--if Jack paints it so," said Sweetheart, smiling
at her reflected face in the water. She stood at the rim of the little
stone fountain with her hands clasped behind her back. Elliott and
Clifford were poking about in the water plants to dislodge the solitary
goldfish, while Rowden gathered dewy clusters of lilacs as an offering.
"There he goes!" said Elliott.
"Poor fellow, living there all alone!" said Sweetheart. "Jack must
leave word with Joseph to get him a little lady fish to pay his court
to."
"Better put in another gentleman fish, then, if you're following
Nature," said Clifford, with an attempt at cynicism which drew the
merriest laugh from Sweetheart.
"Oh, how funny is Monsieur Clifford when he wants to be like
Frenchmen!" she murmured.
"Jack," said Elliott, as I came from the studio and picked up a cup of
tea grown cold, "Clifford's doing the world-worn disenchanted roué."
"And--and I fear he will next make love to me!" cried Sweetheart.
"You'd better look out, Jack," said Clifford darkly, and pretended to
sulk until Sweetheart sent him off to buy the bonbons she would need
for the train.
"They're packed," I said, "every trunk of them!"
Sweetheart was enchanted. "All my new gowns, and the shoes
from Rix's--O Jack, you didn't forget the shoes--and the bath
robes--and----"
"All packed," I said, swallowing the tea with a wry face.
"Oh," she cried reproachfully, "don't drink that! Here, I will have
some hot tea in a moment," and she ran over and perched on the arm of
the garden bench while I lighted the alcohol lamp and then a cigarette.
Rowden came up with his offering of lilacs, and she decorated each of
us with a spray.
It was growing late. The long shadows fell across the gravel walks and
flecked the white walls of the sculptor's studio opposite.
"It's the nine-o'clock train, isn't it?" said Elliott.
"We will meet you at the station at eight-thirty," added Rowden.
"You don't mind, do you, our dining alone?" said Sweetheart shyly;
"it's our last day--Jack's and mine--in the old studio."
"Not the last, I hope," said Elliott sincerely.
We all sat silent for a moment.
"O Paris, Paris--how I fear it!" murmured Sweetheart to me; and in the
same breath, "No, no, we must love it, you and I."
Then Elliott said aloud, "I suppose you have no idea when you will
return?"
"No," I replied, thinking of the magic second that had become a year.
And so we dined alone, Sweetheart and I, in the old studio.
At half-past eight o'clock the cab stood at the gate with all our traps
piled on top, and Joseph and his wife and the two brats were crying,
"Au revoir, madame! au revoir, monsieur! We will keep the studio well
dusted. Bon voyage! bon voyage!" and all of a sudden my arm was caught
by Sweetheart's little gloved hand, and she drew me back through
the long ivy-covered alley to the garden where the studio stood, its
doorway closed and silent, the hollow windows black and grim. Truly the
light had passed away with the passing of Sweetheart. Her hand slipped
from my arm, and she went and knelt down at the threshold and kissed
it.
"I first knew happiness when I first crossed it," she said; "it breaks
my heart to leave it. Only that magic second! but it seems years that
we have lived here."
"It was you who brought happiness to it," I said.
"Good-bye! good-bye, dear, dear, old studio!" she cried. "Oh, if Jack
is always the same to me as he has been here--if he will be faithful
and true in that new home!"
The new home was to be in a strange land. Sweetheart was a little
frightened, but was dying to go there. Sweetheart had never seen the
golden gorse ablaze on the moors of Morbihan.