NEW FRIENDS
"ENID," said her cousin one morning, as they were on their way to the
studio, "do you think of taking lessons in Italian whilst you are in
Rome?"
"I should like to do so," said Enid; "it seems a pity not to acquire
the language whilst one is in the country."
"It does, indeed," said Maud, who spoke Italian fluently, if not with
perfect accuracy. "Well, if you are disposed to learn, I have heard of
a teacher for you. Signora Campodonica was telling me yesterday of a
young lady, a friend of hers, who wishes to give lessons. She is well
educated—for an Italian girl—and speaks English; but she has never
taught before, so her terms will be low."
"Which will suit me excellently well," said Enid.
"Yes, I think she would do for you. All you want is to learn to speak.
Signora Campodonica speaks of Signorina Ravani as a charming girl.
She is of good family; but her mother is a widow in very straitened
circumstances. There is a son who is married and in a good position,
and it seems that he exercises rather tyrannical authority over his
mother and sister."
So it was arranged that Enid should take lessons of Signorina Ravani.
As the house in which she lived was near the "pension" where Enid and
her cousin boarded, and it is not considered correct for Italian young
ladies to walk unprotected through the streets, Enid agreed to go there
to receive her lessons.
At the hour fixed for her first lesson, Enid, after climbing several
flights of stone stairs—an inevitable preliminary to every visit one
pays in Rome—reached the small apartment occupied by Signora Ravani and
her daughter. The servant ushered her into a small ante-room, simply
but prettily furnished, with snowy curtains at the window, and flowers
tastefully disposed here and there. As the morning air was rather
sharp, the servant placed at her feet a "cassetta," as the Italians
call the perforated boxes filled with hot charcoal so much used in
Italy, and gave her a "scaldina," or earthenware vase filled with hot
ashes, at which to warm her fingers. A few moments later, Adela Ravani
entered the room.
Enid had come prepared to be pleased with her teacher; but the beauty
of the young Italian girl fairly took her by surprise. Here was a face
and form such as books had described to her as belonging to Italy, but
which she had not before beheld. Adela's features were delicately cut
as a cameo, she had the pure olive complexion so peculiarly Italian,
and the most glorious eyes imaginable. Enid could hardly conceal the
admiration with which this girl's appearance inspired her. She fell
in love with her at once, and was ready, with all a young girl's
passionate enthusiasm for beauty in her own sex, to believe that she
saw before her one who was as good and noble as she was beautiful.
Her young teacher appeared quite unconscious of the effect she
produced. There was not a trace of vanity in her demeanour. She seemed
anxious and even nervous about the lesson. She had never taught before,
she said, and she hoped Miss Mildmay would tell her if she did not
like her method. Enid happened to have a decided opinion of her own as
to the best mode of studying a language, so in the end she instructed
Signorina Ravani how to teach her. But the first lesson was a simple
enough affair, and Enid went away well pleased with it, and with her
teacher.
"You must see her, Maud," she said to her cousin; "she is the loveliest
girl you ever saw in your life. You will want her for a model, I am
sure. She would be splendid for a picture."
"A model! Enid, what are you saying? Fancy a Roman lady condescending
to sit as an artist's model!"
"Well, all I meant was, that you should paint her portrait," said Enid.
"But I am no portrait painter, alas!" said Maud. Her complacency had
recovered from the shock dealt to it by Herr Schmitz's criticism; but
she had not quite forgotten the lesson.
"Did I tell you, Maud, that father and mother wished me to take some
lessons in painting whilst I am here?"
"Yes, I think you said something about it. You will find no difficulty;
there are plenty of masters."
"But I want a really good one," said Enid. "Of whom did you learn,
Maud?"
"Oh, I used to go to Signor Campodonica's studio," said Maud; "but I
must warn you that his terms are very high."
"Then that will not do for me," said Enid. "However, there is time to
consider the matter. I cannot settle to steady work till I have seen
more of Rome. I am going to the Capitol now, Maud."
"Very well; go and enjoy yourself in your own way," said Maud. "Here is
my model, so I am bound to work hard for the next two hours."
A round-faced, olive-skinned boy, with melancholy dark eyes, entered
the studio. He wore the picturesque costume of an Italian peasant, and
his face struck Enid as very familiar. In fact, she had already seen it
under various guises in the picture shops of Rome.
Maud set to work, and Enid went on her way to the Capitol. As she ran
down the stairs, she met Miss Strutt toiling slowly up them. She looked
so pale and sad that Enid could not bear to pass her with a mere "Good
morning." So she plucked up courage to stop and say,—
"Good morning, Miss Strutt. You know, perhaps, that my cousin and
I work in a studio upstairs. Since we are neighbours, I have been
wondering whether you would mind letting me see your paintings some
day, whenever it is convenient?"
Miss Strutt looked surprised, but not displeased. "Certainly," she
said, and her voice had a pleasant sound; "I am always at home to show
people my pictures on Thursday afternoons." She looked observingly at
the young girl before her, then added, as if wishing to express more
cordiality, "But I shall be happy to show them to you at any time.
Perhaps you could look in this afternoon?"
"Thank you; I shall be very pleased to do so," Enid said.
Maud laughed at her cousin for being so eager to make the acquaintance
of an old maid, and declared that she would find her a bore; but
Enid's experience was quite otherwise. She had proposed her visit with
the hope of brightening somewhat a lonely, dreary life; and her kind
thought was richly rewarded.
She was surprised that Maud should have spoken so slightingly of Miss
Strutt's work when she saw how very beautiful her water-colours were.
They were the work of one who had a passionate love of Nature, with
insight and skill to catch and reproduce the changeful beauty of her
moods. Here were lovely little bits of the Campagna crossed by the
broken arches of the old aqueduct; an avenue of trees, with their play
of light and shadow, framing a distant view of St. Peter's; fragments
of ruined temples, with a glowing sky for background, and many distant
country scenes, with which Enid was as yet unacquainted. It was a
delight to Enid to see such pictures as these.
"You paint yourself," said Miss Strutt, reminded of this by the way in
which Enid was observing her paintings.
"I try to," said Enid, half in despair; "but I shall never, never do
anything to be compared with these."
"Yes, you will; and better things, I have no doubt, in time. Will you
bring some of your paintings to show me some day?"
"If you would like to see them," said Enid; "but they are really not
worth showing."
"Your modesty does you credit, my dear. I have little doubt your work
is better than you think. Anyhow, let me see it. I may be able to give
you a hint or two which may be useful."
"Indeed I should be most grateful for them," said Enid eagerly. "I want
to take some lessons whilst I am in Rome. I suppose," she added, on a
sudden impulse, "you do not give lessons?"
"I have never done so," said Miss Strutt. "I do not think I have
sufficient patience to teach; but I shall be very happy to give you any
help I can. I had myself a most excellent teacher."
"Indeed!" said Enid, interested.
"Yes, Herr Schmitz was my teacher."
"Ah, you do not mean it!" cried Enid. "Was he not dreadfully hard to
please?"
"He certainly was. You see, he has a very high standard, and nothing
short of the best will satisfy him. It was just that which made him so
good a teacher."
"His own paintings, I suppose, are very fine?" said Enid.
"They are, indeed. He is a genius. I owe much to him, for he has been a
true friend to me. He is kind at heart, although he has such a way of
riding rough-shod over people's feelings. I could take you to see his
pictures some day, if you would like."
"I should like it immensely," said Enid.
She felt strongly drawn to Miss Strutt, in spite of her peculiarities
of manner and odd dress. Her face, if melancholy, had a kind,
sympathetic expression as she talked, and Enid liked the sound of the
strong Scotch accent which years of residence abroad had not impaired.
Miss Strutt's studio presented a marked contrast to the Studio Mariano.
The furniture was of the homeliest kind. There was nothing decorative
save some fine palms and ferns, carefully tended by their owner, a few
plaster casts, and Miss Strutt's own sketches, with which the walls
were covered. These last would have sufficed to beautify any room. The
arrangements for Miss Strutt's personal comfort were of the simplest
nature. It touched Enid to see the tiny caldron of hot water on the
stove, and the little earthenware teapot and solitary cup and saucer on
the table.
"I could not bear to live all alone like this," she thought.
Presently Miss Strutt produced another cup from the cupboard, and
invited her visitor to take some tea with her. Enid did not refuse.
The tea was excellent. In spite of the homeliness of her surroundings,
Enid was inclined to doubt whether Miss Strutt was so poor as Maud had
represented her to be. Such pictures as hers were hardly likely to lack
purchasers, especially as she could boast the friendship and approval
of Herr Schmitz. As they took their tea, the two talked more freely.
"You have lived many years in Rome, I suppose?" said Enid.
"Fifteen years," was the reply.
"How long!" said Enid. "But you have been home—to Scotland, I
mean—during that time?"
"Only once, and that is eleven years ago."
"Indeed! Then Rome has really become your home. You do not long to
return to Scotland?"
"No," said Miss Strutt, in rather a sad voice; "I shall never go back
to Edinburgh again; I have no friends in Scotland now."
"But you do not stay in Rome all the year?"
"No; as a rule I go to Montepulciano, or some country place where I
can work out of doors for the summer. But I have passed more than one
summer in Rome."
"And you are not lonely?" said Enid, suddenly asking the question she
had resolved not to ask.
"Not now. I have my work and I have Nature. Ah! You young things cannot
understand how some of us older ones, whose lives lack so much that
seems to you desirable, learn to love Nature; how she reveals herself
to us, takes us to her bosom, unfolds to us her secrets; how her voice
becomes to us the very voice of God, soothing, guiding, teaching. The
weeks which I spend amongst the mountains are the happiest seasons of
my life. But if I talk in this way you will think me sentimental."
"No, I shall not," said Enid. "Indeed, I understand you better than
that. I too love Nature."
"I know you do; but—" Miss Strutt paused, and looked observantly with a
gentle, kindly air at the bright young face before her ere she went on.
"But you will never come so near to Nature as I have, because your life
will be quite different from mine. I can venture to prophesy that. You
are not made for a solitary life."
"I have had no experience of solitude as yet," said Enid smiling. "I
certainly cannot imagine myself liking it."
"You belong to a large family?"
"There are seven of us," said Enid; "father and mother and seven
children, of whom five—is it not dreadful?—are girls."
"I see nothing dreadful in it," said Miss Strutt. "I think you are very
happy."
She asked a few questions about Enid's brothers and sisters, and Enid,
only too happy to talk of it, was soon giving her a full account of her
home life. The time passed so pleasantly thus that she was surprised to
hear the bell of a neighbouring convent begin to ring, which told that
it was nearly five o'clock.
"I must go now," she said, rising; "Maud will wonder what has become of
me."
"Will you come again?" asked Miss Strutt. "Believe me, although I have
grown used to solitude, a visit now and then from you will make a very
agreeable break in its monotony."
"Thank you; I shall be very pleased to come," said Enid.
"And bring some of your paintings to show me when you come again. Will
you?"
Enid promised that she would do so.
As she emerged from the narrow passage which led to Miss Strutt's
studio, she met Julius Dakin descending the stairs.
"And where do you spring from, Miss Mildmay?" he asked, when they had
shaken hands.
"I have been in Miss Strutt's studio," said Enid. "Do you know Miss
Strutt?"
"Only by sight," he said, a mischievous look in his dark eyes;—"only by
sight; but it is a great thing to know Miss Strutt by sight."
"Now, I am not going to let you laugh at Miss Strutt," said Enid. "I
like her very much, and she paints beautifully. You would not laugh at
her paintings if you saw them."
"No, should I not? One often sees paintings that are very amusing,
especially when they are not meant to be comical. But tell me about
Miss Strutt's paintings!" And he leaned against the banisters,
evidently in no hurry to move on.
"She paints in water-colours; but I cannot describe her work. I wish
you would go and see her pictures some day."
"Then I will, certainly. On what day does she receive?"
"On Thursday afternoon."
"Perhaps she would think it strange of me to appear without an
introduction." said Dakin insinuatingly. "I wish you would be so kind
as to accompany me some afternoon, Miss Mildmay, and introduce me to
Miss Strutt?"
"Oh, certainly," said Enid carelessly; "Maud is coming down with me
some afternoon to see Miss Strutt's pictures, and there is no reason
why you should not join us if you would like to."
[Illustration]
This was not exactly what Julius Dakin desired; but it was impossible
to object to the arrangement.
"Thank you; I should be most happy to do so," he said. "I will call for
you on Thursday afternoon, with your kind permission. I have just seen
Miss Marian; she has been working very hard to-day."
"Yes," said Enid, prepared to move on; but he made another effort to
detain her.
"You are much interested in this Miss Strutt?"
"I like her, and I feel sorry for her," said Enid simply. "She seems
to lead a very lonely life, and she works very hard. I wonder if her
pictures sell well. She has a good many to show."
"Would you like me to buy one of her pictures?" asked Julius quickly.
"I like you!" said Enid surprised. "That is entirely your own affair,
Mr. Dakin."
"Yes, of course; I mean—I should have said—would you advise me to buy
one?"
"Oh, I could not advise you, Mr. Dakin. I think the pictures good, but
I am no judge. My advice would be worth nothing."
"You are mistaken; it is worth a good deal to me."
"Now you are flattering me, Mr. Dakin, and I will wish you good-day,"
said Enid, retreating up the staircase.
"Indeed, that is not flattery," he protested. "I am keeping strictly to
our compact. Do you not remember that we agreed to say to each other
exactly what we mean on every occasion?"
"I do not think I made any promise," said Enid laughing; "and I
certainly did not agree to advise you with regard to buying pictures.
Good-bye!" And she ran up the stairs.
Entering the studio, she found Maud engaged in arranging in vases a
profusion of exquisite flowers.
"I met Mr. Dakin on the stairs," Enid began breathlessly. She was
determined there should be no concealment on this occasion.
"Yes, he has been here," said Maud. "Just look, Enid, what lovely
flowers he has brought me! He stayed here talking for some time. He
thinks I have made a good study of my model."
Enid silently turned to look at her cousin's drawing.
"It was good of him to bring me these flowers," said Maud, evidently
delighted with the gift; "such lots of heliotrope! He knows how I love
heliotrope."
In truth, Julius Dakin had intended to present the flowers to both the
young ladies. They were no more for Maud than for Enid, but finding the
former alone, it had been difficult to explain this, and he had had to
endure the vexation of seeing Maud accept the flowers as a token of
devotion to herself.