ENID'S MASTER
JULIUS DAKIN did not fail to appear at the Studio Mariano on the
following Thursday. In the company of the two girls, he paid his visit
to Miss Strutt, and Enid was pleased to find how highly he appreciated
that lady's work. Maud too admired it warmly, though it seemed to Enid
that she was rather disposed to patronise the "little old maid," as she
always called Miss Strutt. She invited Miss Strutt to take tea at her
studio, and the invitation was accepted, though Miss Strutt stipulated
that she might come when Miss Marian and her cousin were alone, as she
shrank from meeting many people.
"The life I lead does not fit me for society," she said. "Your friends
would find me odd and queer. Oh yes, they would, my dear; don't attempt
to deny it." She checked Maud, who was about to interpose a kind word.
"My ways are odd. I must confess I do not understand the modern ideas;
I cannot talk slang of any kind—fashionable, artistic, or what you
will. I should be quite out of place in the midst of such persons as
you draw about you."
"I think you are mistaken," said Maud, kindly; "but it shall be as you
like. Enid and I shall only be too glad to have you to ourselves. I
will show you all my things, and you shall give me the benefit of your
candid criticism."
For Maud still cherished the delusion that she desired candid criticism.
"You might invite me," suggested Dakin, playfully; "I should like to
make one of the party. You would not object to meeting me, would you,
Miss Strutt? I am perfectly harmless."
"I don't know about that," said Miss Strutt, shaking her head. "No,
indeed, you must not be admitted. A gentleman is always such a
distraction. We should have no quiet chat if you were there."
"What an insinuation!" exclaimed Julius, in an injured tone. "One would
think I were given to monopolising the conversation."
When they had quitted Miss Strutt's studio, Julius returned with the
girls to their own, and diverted himself there for some little time.
"By the way," he said, as he was about to take his leave, "my mother
may be expected to reach home by the end of the week. The steamer is
due at Genoa to-morrow."
"Oh, I am glad to hear that," said Maud, eagerly. "I have missed Mrs.
Dakin so much."
"My father and I have been very dull without her," said Julius.
"One cannot entertain when the lady of the house is absent; but now
I suppose my mother will receive her friends as usual on Wednesday
evenings; and I shall hope to have the pleasure of seeing you, Miss
Marian, on those occasions, and you, Miss Mildmay."
"We shall be delighted to come," said Maud. "Mrs. Dakin's receptions
are always most enjoyable."
"My mother is bringing a young American beauty, Miss Blanche Amory,
back with her," observed Julius, tranquilly. "She has been fascinating
the fashionable world of New York, and is now coming to exercise her
spells in this European city. You will be charmed with her, Miss
Marian."
"Shall I?" said Maud, a little dubiously. "Is she so very beautiful?"
"Well, that is a matter of taste. 'Beauty,' you know, 'is in the eye of
the beholder.' I have seen women whom I admire far more than I do Miss
Amory; but still there are artists who rave about her."
"How very dreadful for their friends!" said Enid.
Julius laughed.
"You are satirical, Miss Mildmay," he said. "You have a quiet way
of letting us know that you find the conversation of us lesser
mortals sadly frivolous. But what have you been doing in the way of
sight-seeing since I last saw you? Are you still fascinated with the
ruins of Rome?"
"More than ever, I think," said Enid; "only I wish I understood them
better. If I had known in advance that I should spend this winter in
Rome, I could have read up for it. One feels one's ignorance dreadfully
here."
Julius thought of a young lady from England, whom he had one day in
the previous spring conducted through the sculpture galleries of the
Capitol, and who, when he told her they were in the hall of the Dying
Gladiator, had said, with an assumption of interest,—
"Oh, so this is the hall in which the Gladiator died."
Enid had been so far from betraying ignorance to him that he had
actually wondered to find her so thoroughly acquainted with the history
of Rome. But it must be owned that Julius Dakin had not been fortunate
in his acquaintance with young ladies.
"If you are disposed for hard reading," he observed, "my father has
several standard works on ancient Rome in his library, and I am sure he
would be most happy to lend them to you—or to Miss Marian," he added,
mischievously.
"Please don't include me," cried Maud. "I would not read such books to
save my life. I don't pretend to any knowledge of or any interest in
the old kings and emperors, only I feel grateful to them for having
left us such picturesque ruins."
"That is frank, at any rate," said Julius, laughing. Then he shook
hands with the girls and took his departure.
Miss Strutt paid her promised visit to Miss Marian's studio. She raised
herself in that young lady's estimation by the taste and discrimination
she displayed in her admiration of her pretty things. She praised too
as much of Miss Marian's work as she honestly could praise; and if she
thought more highly of the little paintings Enid showed her, she was
careful to conceal her opinion of their merits. Although she lived such
a solitary life, and never went into society, Miss Strutt had a shrewd
knowledge of human nature, and keen insight into character. She saw
that it would be an unfortunate thing for Enid if the jealousy from
which such vanity as Maud Marian's is seldom free, were to be excited
by the perception that her cousin's work was more highly appreciated
than her own.
Miss Strutt was glad, therefore, when she presented herself at the
Studio Mariano a few days later, to find Enid alone. She had begged to
be excused from accompanying her cousin, who had gone to a friend's "At
home," and was working away very happily alone.
"Are you very busy?" asked Miss Strutt. "I came to ask if you would
come down to my studio for a little while."
"With pleasure," said Enid, beginning to unbutton her apron. "I cannot
do much more till this wash has dried."
"Please bring those studies with you that you were showing me the other
day," said Miss Strutt—"the daffodils and the group of apples, and
anything else that you have which is good."
Enid could not imagine why Miss Strutt should wish to see these things
again; but she willingly did as she was asked.
Entering Miss Strutt's studio, she was surprised to find Herr Schmitz
there. He greeted her very kindly; but Enid was overwhelmed with dismay
when she discovered that it was for his benefit that she had been asked
to bring her paintings.
Without heeding her protestations, Miss Strutt took them from her, and
placed them one after another upon an easel before the master's eyes.
Enid stood by, feeling ready to sink through the floor, and scarce
daring to lift her eyes to his face. Never had she been more painfully
aware of the defects in her work.
But she need not have been so much afraid. The dreadful pause, during
which the master looked at each study without uttering a word, was over
at last, and Enid's suspense was relieved by the emphatic "Good," which
Herr Schmitz uttered.
"Good," he said again. "As I told you before, you have eyes, you see
form, you see colour. You will do, if you work. But you must really
work; you must not play with Art. Are you afraid of work?"
"I think not," said Enid; "if it were worth while for me to work very
hard I would do so."
"It is always worth while to work one's best at whatever one attempts.
There is no road to success save the painful, uphill one of hard work.
You have a good chance if you try your best. I will tell you what you
should do."
Enid listened earnestly to the instructions he proceeded to give her;
but what was her astonishment when she found him offering to give her
two or three lessons himself.
"Simply as a friend," he said, for he no longer gave lessons save under
very exceptional circumstances.
Enid knew not how to express her gratitude for his kindness. Awe,
indeed, mingled with her pleasure in accepting it, for there was
something rather appalling in the idea of learning of Herr Schmitz. But
he was thoroughly in earnest about it, and insisted on her fixing a day
for her first visit to his studio. Then bidding her and Miss Strutt a
friendly good-day, he departed.
"I congratulate you," said Miss Strutt to Enid; "there are few young
aspirants who win such approval from Herr Schmitz."
"It almost frightens me," said Enid. "I fear he thinks too highly of
my work, and I shall disappoint him in the end. But he is really very
kind."
"He is, indeed," said Miss Strutt, "though his extreme irritability
often leads people to suppose the opposite. You must not mind if he
gets cross sometimes, and says rude things to you."
"That will be rather hard," said Enid; "but if he begins to call me
names some day, I'll try to remember what you say, and keep my temper."
She went away in high glee, eager to tell her cousin the wonderful
thing that had happened. In spite of Herr Schmitz's admonitions with
respect to work, she could accomplish little more that afternoon. She
was far too excited; and feeling at last that she would only spoil her
painting if she worked longer upon it in her present mood, she washed
her brushes, set the studio in order, locked the door, and went home to
the "pension."
Maud came in a little later, and found Enid awaiting her in her room.
Maud was tired, and rather out of humour; but Enid, in her eagerness
to tell her news, did not perceive this. She began upon it the moment
her cousin entered. Maud heard her through without saying a word; but
Enid wondered to see how the colour mounted in her cousin's face as
she listened. Ere she had done, Maud had turned her back upon her, and
was standing apparently absorbed in studying her own reflection in
the mirror. In truth, Maud was experiencing a bitter moment. It was
impossible for Enid to know the anger and envy the communication she
had so innocently made had roused in her cousin's breast. She could
not know that Maud, on her first coming to Rome, had been ambitious of
securing lessons from Herr Schmitz, and had sought an introduction to
him with that view; but the master, as soon as he saw some of her work,
had brusquely declined to receive her as a pupil. But as Maud continued
silent, Enid knew instinctively that her cousin was annoyed.
"Why do you not speak, Maud?" she asked presently. "Are you not pleased
that I should have lessons of Herr Schmitz?"
"What would you have me say, Enid?" demanded Maud in a cold, hard tone.
"How can it make the least difference to me of whom you take lessons?"
"But it is so kind of Herr Schmitz. I thought you would be glad. Miss
Strutt says he hardly ever gives lessons now, and he has always been
very particular what pupils he took."
"Miss Strutt is an old simpleton. She must know that it is only a whim
of Herr Schmitz. He is the most whimsical man in the world. I wish you
joy of your lessons, Enid."
"I expect to enjoy them very much," said Enid, feeling nettled. "It
will be a great advantage to learn of such a master."
"Of course you think you are on the way to becoming famous now," said
Maud, scornfully; "but it takes more than a few lessons from Herr
Schmitz, however he may flatter you, to make a great painter, let me
tell you, Enid."
"Thank you; I was aware of that before," said Enid, coolly; "but I
thought you had had sufficient experience of Herr Schmitz to know that
he is not given to flattery."
Her words carried a sting which Enid did not intend to convey. She had
forgotten how bluntly Herr Schmitz had criticised her cousin's drawings
when he made his call at her studio; but Maud, in whose mind the memory
of his words still rankled, believed that Enid deliberately reminded
her of them.
Enid was sorely hurt by the way in which her news had been received.
She had come, glad and eager, to share her happiness with her cousin,
and had met with a sharp rebuff. But she would not show how much she
felt it. She was a proud little person in her way, and she quitted
her cousin's presence with an air of quiet dignity, of which Maud was
conscious in the midst of her annoyance.
Alone in her own room, however, Enid could no longer keep back her
tears.
"I cannot understand it," she said to herself; "why should Maud be
annoyed at the thought of my taking lessons of Herr Schmitz? Sometimes
I fear she is beginning to dislike me. Whatever shall I do if she does?
It will be dreadful being always together if we cannot be friends. And
I thought everything was going to be so delightful!"
Then she remembered that her mother had warned her that she must not
expect to have gold without alloy. How true the words were proving! But
the thought of her mother brought comfort. There could be no doubt that
she would be pleased to hear of the kind encouragement Herr Schmitz had
given her daughter, and his proposal to give her lessons in painting.
So Enid took her desk, and sat down to relieve her wounded feelings by
writing a long letter to the mother of whose loving sympathy she felt
so sure.
And Maud sat alone, nursing the bitter, wrathful feelings that resulted
from mortified vanity. She, poor girl, had no mother to whom she could
unburden her heart, and she had never been wont to confide in her
father.