idiot as to suppose that you _are_ in love with me. What I wanted to ask
you was to give me a show. You see, I've arranged with Mr. Thorold to
stand, not only for this picture, but for an oil-painting, which I
suppose--don't know much about art--will take some time."
"You have? Well, of all the----!"
"Quite so," he said meekly. "You see, it will give me a chance of trying
to explain to you that, if you refuse me, it will be--oh, worse than a
conical bullet in a particularly vital spot. All I ask is that you will
look in now and again, and--and give me an opportunity of--of----"
"Bothering me to death," finished Kitty for him.
"No; bothering you into an engagement--which is sometimes a serious
affair, but not always fatal," he said frankly. "Come, Miss Kitty, don't
be hard on me! It's not much to ask----"
"Oh, isn't it?" interjected Kitty with fine irony. "Thank you. Captain
Barnard."
"If you were in love with me--absurd idea, of course! but I'm just
putting the case--I'd come and sit with you and give you any amount of
chances."
Kitty heard her father's returning footsteps, and she stood up and
looked from side to side, and then at this meekly audacious young man,
with a mixture of astonishment and bewilderment--and something else I
cannot define--in her really wonderful eyes.
"Well, of all the cool----" she said again. But he cut her short.
"That's all right," he said breathlessly; "thank you ever so much. Your
father's coming. I'm to be here at eleven o'clock every morning."
"And you think," said Kitty, as hurriedly, "that, by simply sitting here
and regarding you in that absurd attitude, I shall fall in----?"
[Illustration]
"Oh, no; not at all. Fortune will have pity on me and give me an
opportunity for seeing you for a minute or two alone. Besides,
perhaps--I only say perhaps, mind!--you might be induced to lunch at an
A.B.C. shop," he jerked out in a rapid whisper, as the innocent parent
returned with his yellow ochre.
Kitty went up to her room, flung herself into a chair in her favourite
attitude, with her chin in her hands, and stared at nothing--no, not
nothing, but at the handsome face and manly form of a wounded soldier.
Of course, she would not go near the studio while he was there.
Consequently, the next morning, at half-past eleven, she entered with
refreshment on a tray; and, with downcast eyes and a blush, informed her
father that she had left his soda-and-milk in the dining-room because a
change of scene and air would be good for him.
[Illustration]
She was still rosy with shame when the model sprang from the dais,
caught her hand, and declared fervently that she was an angel.
"No, I am a sly and deceitful, not to say forward, girl," said Kitty.
"But I've only made an opportunity to tell you that I'm not coming into
the studio again while you're here."
"That's all right," he responded cheerfully. "Come in just about this
time. And I've found a jolly little A.B.C. shop where we can get some
lunch to-day: second turning to the right, in the corner--I should like
you to be able to tell me, quite quietly, why you find it necessary to
refuse me. I think that's only fair to you."
"And I think," said Kitty emphatically, "that you possess the
concentrated cheek--I am sorry there is no stronger word--of the whole
British Army; and I decline your invitation."
She kept him waiting at the A.B.C. shop for a good quarter of an hour.
* * * * *
In the afternoon Kitty presented herself at 209, Belgrave Square, and
was shown into what a house-agent would call "the magnificent and
spacious salon." Lady Hawborough was seated in a capacious chair,
knitting for dear life; on a small table beside her was an orderly
disorder of blue books, reports of charitable societies, vegetarian
tracts, and the debris of her morning's correspondence. She received
Kitty with more than graciousness; for her ladyship, notwithstanding her
crankiness, was the owner of that organ the possession of which we are
led to believe atones for all minor faults, not to say crimes--a "good
heart."
Besides, she had been immensely taken with Kitty, and admired genuinely
the pluck and readiness which the girl had displayed in the rescue of
the puppy: of course, Lady Hawborough was a prominent member of the
S.P.C.A.
She gave Kitty some tea, patted her hand several times, and proceeded to
put her through a kindly, but searching, catechism; and, before tea was
over, had obtained sufficient information respecting Kitty's life to
convince her that the girl was a fitting object of her ladyship's
benevolence. It is true that, every now and then, Kitty caught a glimpse
of the somewhat masterful spirit which her ladyship displayed in her
favourite occupation of ordering the lives of all who came in contact
with her; but Kitty was not so stupid as to fail to recognise the
presence of the aforesaid good heart, or not to credit the old lady with
the amiable intention which smiled behind the mask of tyranny.
[Illustration]
"She's not at all a bad sort," Kitty informed her father on her return
home. "Oh, I daresay she's fond of interfering and all that; but she
can't interfere with me; I'm not her relation--I was going to say 'Thank
goodness,' but I really do like her, Dad. She's coming to see some of
your pictures some day."
"Oh, my great aunt!" groaned Mr. Thorold, who, like a true artist, had a
loathing for the necessary, but sometimes maddening, art patron.
The drawing for the _Long Acre Magazine_ being duly finished, Mr.
Thorold began on the more important battle-piece.
"I think I'm going to make a hit with this, Kitty," he said to his
daughter one morning, as he was preparing for the arrival of his
admirably punctual and singularly patient model. "You see, I've got a
splendid young chap to stand for it. He's the real thing, instead of a
coster dressed up in an officer's uniform. And he's a pleasant chap,
too," he continued meditatively. "A modest, well-mannered young fellow:
no swank or swagger; in fact, a gentleman. By the way, Kitty, you might
remember that little fact, and not be quite so short and sharp with him
when he speaks to you."
"Oh, it won't hurt him," retorted Kitty, turning her back quickly. "From
what I have seen of him, I should say that Captain Barnard would not be
easily snubbed."
"And you try pretty hard," remarked her father. "For instance, yesterday
there was no occasion for you to tell him to shut up when he observed
that it was a fine day."
"All I said was that a model was much more effective when he kept his
mouth closed," said Kitty.
"That strikes me as being pretty much the same thing," said her father.
"He looked quite crushed."
"Do him good," murmured Kitty. "Besides, he can talk the hind leg off an
army mule when he likes."
"How do you know?" asked her parent, with mild surprise.
"Oh, I'm only drawing inferences from--from his general appearance,"
said Kitty, looking a trifle confused.
"Going out to lunch again to-day?" demanded her father, repiningly, as,
clad in outdoor things, she passed him in the passage a couple of hours
later.
"Sorry, dear; got a pressing engagement. Besides, you never eat
anything. There! did it miss its nurse? Never mind! I'll be in all the
evening." She scrunched up his face, gave him what she called her
"screw" kiss, and departed to the A.B.C. shop.
By this time, it must be confessed, the fortress besieged by Captain
Barnard with such ingenuous strategy, but manly courage, had
surrendered; and to-day the wounded soldier had brought a pretty but
inexpensive ring with him.
"It's all I can afford, dearest," he said, as he slipped it on the
finger.
"It's a perfect duck," she returned, touching the ring with her lips--a
wicked and maddening thing to do; for you can't kiss a girl in an A.B.C.
shop, however much in love with her you may be.
"And to-morrow I'll tell your father. What--what do you think he'll say,
darling?"
"I know what he'll say, but I couldn't repeat it, because I've been
properly brought up," replied Kitty.
"But he won't refuse his consent, won't chuck me out?" cried her lover,
aghast.
"No; because, strange as it may seem, he's really fond of me. Oh, I
don't deserve it; for he's the dearest dad that ever had a hussy and a
minx for a daughter. No, he won't throw you out, at any rate until the
picture's finished. And perhaps you'll be tired of me--I mean, I shall
be tired of you--we shall be tired of each other, before that time."
"I'll risk that," he said confidently, pressing her hand under the
table.
[Illustration]
That afternoon Kitty, in a state of perfect bliss, paid one of her
frequent visits to Lady Hawborough, with whom she had now become great
friends; in fact, the old lady had grown quite fond of the girl; and the
extent of this affection was proved that afternoon to Kitty by an
extraordinary mischance. The footman had shown her into a small
ante-room, which Lady Hawborough called her "study"; the adjoining
apartment was divided from that in which Kitty was waiting by a pair of
folding doors, and, one of these being partly open, Kitty heard the
rustling of dresses, followed by Lady Hawborough's clear and very
distinct voice saying:
"Must you go, dear? I'm so sorry, because I wanted you to see her. She's
quite a nice girl--in fact, a really sweet little soul. Oh, yes, of
course, I've plans for her," she continued, as if in response to a
remark by the other lady. "I'm afraid she has not many opportunities;
the father is a struggling artist and they don't move in society, of
course. I'm thinking of--in fact, I've made up my mind to marry her to
Archibald."
"Lucky Archibald!" observed the other lady.
"Yes; I think he will be," assented Lady Hawborough, with a complacency
she always exhibited when disposing of the fate of those belonging to
her. "He is a good boy, a little wild, perhaps, but really no harm in
him; and it's time he was married. I'm a little anxious about him,
because he's so--so impetuous, like all the Hawboroughs." Her ladyship's
"dearest friend" could not have accused her of impetuosity; and Kitty
could almost see the other lady smile. "He is the sort of boy who might
fall in love with a barmaid or a ballet girl and marry her."
"Then this young lady doesn't come within the category of undesirables?"
"Oh, dear, no," said Lady Hawborough. "She's quite a lady and will suit
Archibald very nicely. I am very pleased with him; he has been doing so
well lately: quite distinguished himself; you've heard, of course? It
was in the papers. I am going to look after him."
Kitty had been listening with burning face and twitching lips. She had
been so astonished as to be incapable of carrying out her desire to
spring to the door and declare her presence, and escape from the
position of an eavesdropper; but she recovered sufficiently to rise and
confront Lady Hawborough as, on having said farewell to her visitor, she
entered the room.
"Why, my dear!" said her ladyship, almost embarrassed, "I didn't know
that you were here: have you been waiting long?"
"Long enough to hear what you said," replied Kitty bluntly, her face
pale now, her eyes flashing. "I couldn't help listening. I'm sorry. Yet
it's just as well, because, Lady Hawborough, I don't think you have any
right to--to dispose of me in the way you intended doing.--I don't know
who 'Archibald' is."
"Archibald is my nephew," said Lady Hawborough stiffly; and when Lady
Hawborough was stiff, the common or kitchen poker compared with her was
a soft and flexible article. "My nephew and heir. He is a very good and
brave young man."
"He may be a saint for all I care," said Kitty; "but I don't want to
marry him, and I won't. In fact, I'm----" She was going to say
"engaged," but she was really too angry to confide in Lady Hawborough
"--I'm resolved not to do so. I am afraid you will think me very
ungrateful, and that--well, that this is the end of our friendship."
"I think you are stating the situation very accurately," said Lady
Hawborough, whose face was exceeding red.
"I'm sorry," said Kitty, rather wistfully and sadly, her resentment
waning; for the old lady had been very kind to her, and Kitty saw that
even this absurd intention of hers sprang from a benevolent desire to
benefit her protegee. "I want to thank you for all your goodness to me,
and----Good-bye, Lady Hawborough."
She held out her hand, but Lady Hawborough appeared not to see it, and
Kitty got outside the "stately and desirable mansion" and hastened home
to enjoy a good cry.
When she made her appearance in the studio next morning, she found her
father seated on his stool in an attitude of profound dismay, his long
figure bowed, his rumpled hair clutched in his hands, his painting-brush
between his teeth.
On the dais stood the wounded soldier, his face flushed, an expression
of keen discomfort all over him.
"Here, look here, Kitty!" wailed her distracted parent. "Just listen to
what this young man's been telling me? He says that you and he have got
engaged! Heavens!"
"Quite true, father," said Kitty calmly, but with a blush.
"Oh, my goodness! And he tells me that he's poor, and has nothing to
live on excepting his pay and a small allowance."
"That's true also, I believe, father," said Kitty. "I'm sorry; but it
can't be helped. You'll have to paint me as 'The Mendicant's Bride.'"
"Don't joke about it, you foolish, abandoned girl!" groaned Mr. Thorold.
"But you don't want me to cry about it, Dad dear," said Kitty, going to
him, taking the brush from between his teeth, and putting her arm round
his neck. "Haven't you got anything to say for yourself?" she asked,
addressing the discomfited young man.
"Not a word," he returned. "Said all I've got to say. And look at the
effect of it!"
[Illustration]
"Yes," she retorted. "You've broken the heart of an affectionate and
devoted parent. You're a wicked young man.--Oh, dad dear, do get up and
go on with your work! You know as well as I do that you're not going to
make us unhappy? Say, 'Bless you, my children!' like a good father, and
let's all go up and mingle our tears over a lunch at the Floriani."
"Ripping idea!" cried the infatuated lover, who would have said the same
if Kitty had proposed they should lunch in the moon.
"Oh, well," said Mr. Thorold, a trifle more cheerfully, and with a shrug
of resignation. "But I shall not go unavenged. Young man, you do not
know what lies before you. She will make a slave of you, as she has made
a slave of me; this girl is a tyrant of the most outrageous kind. You
will not possess a soul of your own; you will----"
"Bravo, Dad!" interrupted Kitty. "But it will be quite time enough to
give me away when we get to the church. There's your hat, on the bust
there."
"And now we'll go on the bust ourselves," said the young man joyously.
"I say, how jolly it all is! Would you mind my kissing her, sir?"
He was in the middle of the somewhat lengthy act, when the door opened,
and Selinar-Ann announced in awe-stricken tones:
"Lidy 'Awborough!" And her ladyship swept in.
[Illustration]
With his arm still round Kitty, her lover stared at the portly dame as
if she were a gorgon. Kitty, with a stifled exclamation of astonishment,
freed herself with difficulty from the young man's grasp, and, with
blushing face, hastened to greet the august visitor, whom Mr. Thorold
was regarding with an air of patient resignation.
But Lady Hawborough put out one hand to keep Kitty back, and, fixing her
lover with a stony stare, exclaimed sepulchrally:
"Archibald!"
There was a profound silence for a moment; then Kitty, staring in her
turn at her lover, echoed the objectionable word; for it was a name she
detested.
"Archibald! His name's Harry!"
"His name is _Archibald_," said Lady Hawborough sternly. "I ought to
know; for he is my nephew."
"Your nephew!" gasped Kitty.
The young man, having recovered from a fright which no shrapnel built by
Krupp could have caused him, now came forward with hand extended.
"How are you, Aunt?--yes, it's my aunt, right enough. Didn't I tell you?
Must have forgotten to mention it: ought to be ashamed of myself, for
Aunt Philippa's been awfully good to me. Aunt, this young lady is----"
"I know quite well enough who she is, Archibald," broke in Lady
Hawborough severely. "What I want to know is--What does this mean?"
"Oh, I see!" he stammered. "Oh, well, it means--of course, you saw when
you came in? It means that Kitty here--Miss Thorold, allow me to
introduce you to my aunt. Mr. Thorold, my aunt, Lady Hawborough. Aunt
Philippa, Mr. Thorold: he is the father of this young lady, Kitty here,
who has done me the very great honour of promising to marry me. Sounds
impossible; but it's true!"
Lady Hawborough stalked to the nearest chair and, with stately dignity
seated herself on it, very much as a judge might take his place on the
dreadful bench.
"Girl," she said, in her deepest tones, "why have you tricked, deceived
me?"
Then, suddenly, as if influenced by a peculiar expression in Kitty's
eyes, an expression which conveyed a kind of warning, her ladyship
faltered, opened her lips once or twice, then said, in quite a different
tone, indeed, almost meekly:
"This--this is quite a surprise. You will forgive me if I am a little
upset. I think I ought to have been prepared. However, as you young
people have taken the matter into your own hands----"
"Just what we have done, haven't we, Kitty?" exclaimed her lover, as if
he were proclaiming the supernal wisdom of his relative.
"--there is no more to be said," concluded Lady Hawborough rather
lamely. "At least, I should like to have a word or two with Miss--Miss
Thorold--I mean, Kitty----"
"Outside, Eliza!" cried Harry, otherwise Archibald, joyously, as,
catching the bewildered Mr. Thorold by the arm, he walked, almost
danced, him out.
Kitty did not wait for any question.
"You see," she said, explaining the significance of her warning look,
"it was just as well not to tell these foolish men everything. It might
happen that if Harry--I mean Archibald--knew that you had meant to
insist upon his marrying me--well, men get huffy so quickly, don't
they?--he might refuse to do so now."
"Well, he might, but I don't think it's very likely, my dear," said Lady
Hawborough; and she patted the little hand that lay on her knee. "But I
think you are right. We will not say anything about--yesterday. You're a
clever little thing," she added, kissing her.
"Can we come in?" demanded Harry, a few minutes later. "Aunt, we're all
going up to the Floriani to get some lunch. Come with us, like a good
soul!"
"The--Flo--Floriani! _What_ is it?" asked her ladyship fearsomely.
"It's a restaurant in Soho, where you get a thorough blow-out--I mean a
Continental lunch--for one-and-nine," her nephew informed her. "Come on,
Aunt Philippa!"
Lady Hawborough shuddered. "I should be delighted, Archibald dear,
but--but I think you'd better all go round to Belgrave Square with me.
It--it would be safer."
It was after lunch, when the two young and silly lovers were in the very
ante-room where Kitty had overheard Lady Hawborough's fell designs, that
Kitty, holding his head back from her for a moment, asked:
"But why does she call you Archibald?"
"Because it's my name, or one of 'em," he replied. "Harry Archibald
Stephen Fitzwilliam----"
"Oh, stop, stop! I shall feel as if I were marrying half a dozen men.
But you haven't told me _why_ she calls you Archibald; and has thus
caused all this confusion!"
"Oh, because a lawyer chap who bolted with a lot of her money was called
Henry; and, moreover, a bishop we've got in the family, and a chap my
aunt's very proud of, is called Archibald."
[Illustration]
"She'll have to drop that name, Harry," said Kitty firmly. "I can't bear
it. Do you think she will?"
"I'm perfectly certain she will, if you've made up your mind she shall,"
he returned, with an air of profound conviction; "for it's plain to me
you've captured the aunt as well as the nephew. Yes, it's a fair cop."
"She's a dear," murmured Kitty, very close to his ear.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] Copyright in Great Britain, the Colonies, and the United States of
America by Charles Garvice, 1914. Dramatic and other rights reserved.
THE LAND OF LET'SPRETEND
BY LADY SYBIL GRANT
_Painting and Drawings by_ ARTHUR RACKHAM, R.W.S.
I.--LET'SPRETEND
THIS country is not on the map,
But sometimes, curled on Mother's lap,
Or sitting in my bedtime bath,
I wish that I could find the path.
THERE no one's ever called a dunce,
And you eat jam and cake at once,
Or chocolate and lemon squash,
While nobody need ever wash.
MOTHERS have nothing else to do
Except to kiss and cuddle you;
And fathers need not "earn their bread,"
But stay and romp with you instead.
THERE are no girls: just men and boys
And mothers; _all_ the shops sell toys;
Just _every one_ plays Hide and Seek,
And Christmas happens twice a week.
WHILE everybody has a car,
Also a yacht, like Grandpapa,
And lives in wigwams, tents, or huts,
And owns a knife that really cuts.
BUT some things you can never find,
However tired you make your mind;
Like other things you never know
For sure--if you try ever so.
JUST as: how God turns on the rain,
So nobody can quite explain
Exactly where the rainbows end.
And so it is with Let'spretend.
MY Father says that all his life
With my Mamma (who is his wife)
They've looked; and they are _very_ old.
My father's thirty, I've been told!
[Illustration:
"And they are _very_ old.
My father's thirty, I've been told!"]
II.--SUPPOSING
SUPPOSING one had been
Shut up in Noah's Ark
(During the flood, I mean)--
It would have been a lark!
THE animals, you know,
Were not as they are now;
_Quite_ different long ago--
Just see this purple cow!
THE lion, it seems, was pink,
The bears and tigers too,
While zebras had, I _think_,
Most lovely stripes of blue.
BUT really, I forget,
For now the stripes are faint,
In my own Noah's Ark set
I once licked off the paint.
AT least, so I am told
(A stupid thing to do!
But I was not so old
Then--only half-past two).
NOAH'S sons--just look at Ham,
Japhet, of course, and Shem!
I think I really am
Glad I don't look like them!
[Illustration: JAPHET
JUST LOOK
_at Ham_
OF COURSE
AND
_Shem_!]
THEY all stand on green rings
Of grass. Perhaps at night
The cows and sheep and things
Prowled round to steal a bite.
HORRID for Shem to feel
Tickling around his toes,
Hoping to snatch a meal,
Two hungry buffaloes!
BUT think what lovely pets
Noah had all for his own;
Each one in double sets,
And mostly quite unknown.
EVEN a tame baboon!--
See, he is painted red--
Would get to know you soon
And sleep upon your bed.
THE kangaroo that jumps,
Camels that learn to kneel
And let you ride their bumps,
Or follow you to heel.
THE pets that I keep now
Are guinea-pigs and such;
My parents won't allow
The ones I want so much.
A baby crocodile
Or _really_ tame giraffe,
I wonder why you smile;
They, too, say "no" and laugh.
[Illustration: NOAH]
I WOULD have loved it so
To travel in the Ark,
With all the Zoo, you know--
Except when it was dark
[Illustration:
"So nobody can quite explain
Exactly where the rainbows end."
_Painted for
Princess Mary's Gift Book
by Arthur Rackham. R.W.S._]
[Illustration:
"The animals, you know,
Were not as they are now"]
III.--WHEN JIM IS QUITE GROWN UP
WHEN Jim is quite grown up,
And has a bulldog pup,
And sits up very late
_Always_ till half-past eight,
Then, when he is a man,
He means to marry Ann.
HER age is twenty-two,
But he _thinks_ she will do;
He has not told her yet,
Or she might be upset
At having got to wait
Until this distant date.
THE life that he will lead
Sounds very fine indeed:
Adventures, wounds, and fights,
And hunting raids of nights;
Murders and blug and fun
With sword and axe and gun.
AIRSHIPS and hydroplanes,
Mustangs and prairie flames!
Deserts and jungles vast,
And, when quite tired at last
With being on the roam,
Of course, he would come home.
AND, after miles of tramp,
Reel, wounded, into camp,
Bound with a handkerchief,
And munching bully-beef;
While Ann at the camp fire
Would listen and admire.
WHAT fun he will have, too!
Nothing he will not do.
He often says to me
(Excepting the V.C.)
Medals he would decline--
They are not in his line.
BUT he would soar to fame
And win a glorious name.
And Ann? How odd you are!
Why, just like his Mamma,
Would sit at home and sew,
Like women do, you know.
[Illustration: NOT IN HIS LINE
MAGEPA THE BUCK
BY H. RIDER HAGGARD
_Drawings by_ J. BYAM SHAW, A.R.W.S.
_Copyright in the U.S.A. by H. Rider Haggard_
[Illustration]