"Not at all, not at all. I've no head for names--forget my own some
days; but a face is another sort of thing--never forget a face." He
threw his head back and looked frowningly at Everitt. "I could have
sworn I'd seen you somewhere lately, eh? Well, it's odd, it's odd. I
must ask Bell."
"I dare say you're right," Everitt said coolly. "I'm about a good
deal."
Upstairs he took some pains to barricade himself in a subdued corner, as
remote as possible from Miss Aitcheson, and made such unusual efforts
for the entertainment of the young ladies who were round him, and whom
he earnestly desired might stay, that he gained quite a new character
for agreeability. Unfortunately, his hostess routed him from his
retreat--some lady was anxious to make his acquaintance. When this was
over he found his cousin at his elbow, and close to her was Bell.
"You haven't been very nice to me tonight," said Mrs Marchmont; "and it
is too late now, for we are going. But you may talk a little to Bell
about pictures. You can be very intelligent, can't you, Bell? Good
night."
Everitt felt desperate.
"You paint, I suppose?" he inquired, "A little," she said demurely.
"Figures." He looked keenly at her, but she was engaged in examining a
gold bangle on her arm.
"That," he said, "is ambitious."
"And often disheartening," she returned carelessly. "My experience of
London models has not been very satisfactory."
"No?" he said in the same tone. "Well, I suspect the experience of a
good many artists goes along with yours. Where is your studio?"
"I have none. You see I am not ambitious, after all. When I paint it
is with my friend, Miss Lascelles, whom, I think, you know?"
Was it a chance thrust, or a well-directed blow?
"I have seen Miss Lascelles," said Everitt coolly.
She glanced at him as he spoke, then, as it seemed to him, rather
forcibly changed the subject. She left him, however, in a state of
perplexity; he found it impossible to decide whether she were utterly
unsuspecting or very well informed. Under these circumstances it might
have been supposed that Everitt would have again gone through the pros
and cons which had already assailed him, and have found a few more
prudential reasons for abandoning to-morrow's scheme. This was not the
case. He had rather an obstinate trick of sticking to the thing to
which he had once committed himself: it had its merits and its dangers,
but it might be called a characteristic.
When the morning came, matters did not go so smoothly as on the
preceding day. Jack Hibbert was seized with the fit of remorseful
industry which afflicted him on the rarest possible occasions. He came
at an unheard-of hour to the studio, and Everitt had all the difficulty
in the world to get rid of him. He must ask no end of inconvenient
questions--what had become of the Italian, and how bad Everitt filled
his place with Miss Lascelles? Then, seized with unusual meekness, he
begged advice, and wanted his last picture looked over; next, he was
scandalised at hearing that Everitt was going out again for the morning;
finally, he besought that he might work in his friend's studio upon a
bit of tapestry which took his fancy. All these attacks had to be
parried, the indignant Jack had with immense difficulty to be got out of
the way; then Everitt dressed himself as rapidly as he could. He took
pains about his lace; a few adroit touches he trusted modified the risk
of detection, and might baffle Miss Aitcheson. As cautiously as before
he reconnoitred the court, but with Jack about there was more difficulty
in escaping, and he had not reached the entrance when he heard a
cheerful hail, which was evidently intended for his ears. There was no
help for it, Everitt took to his heels and fled, bolting across the road
and down a side-street, to the great astonishment of the beholders.
All this had taken time--he was late again, and Miss Lascelles greeted
him with a little reproach, which it must be owned did not affect him;
for he was merely conscious of an extreme pleasure in finding himself
again alone with her. He had been curious enough to know whether his
first day's impressions were altogether correct, whether they depended
upon their unexpectedness, or on some merely subtle atmospheric charm.
This second day they were stronger. The room seemed to be more
delightful, its simple grace more apparent; it improved with
familiarity, as the best things improve. And for Miss Lascelles
herself, there was a delicate sweet freshness about her, which he did
not attempt to analyse or put into words, only he was dimly conscious
that it gave him a dreamy pleasure, and that he liked to watch the deft
movements of her hand as she painted. He lost himself sufficiently in
their contemplation to forget fatigue, and to stand more steadily than
on the previous day; but there was something he had to say, and he
seized the opportunity of the first rest.
"Signorina!"
She was softly singing to herself, and looked up with a start.
"I am too much engaged to come again. Mr Everitt says, will the
signorina kindly finish what is necessary, and he will send another
model in the same costume."