VARIOUS THREADS OF ROMANCE
ON the following afternoon, Enid went to Miss Strutt's studio, for she
knew that her friend, whom she had not seen at the "soirée" on the
previous evening, would be interested in hearing what she could tell
her about it. But Miss Strutt's door was locked. It was evident that
the artist had gone out, though it was earlier than the hour at which
she usually left off work.
So Enid went back to the Studio Mariano feeling disappointed, for she
had looked forward to a chat with Miss Strutt.
She had that pleasure, however, on the next day. Miss Strutt welcomed
her warmly, and at once began to express congratulations in playful
fashion.
"So your picture attracted the royal notice! You were presented to the
Queen! How we are coming on! Really, I almost wonder that after such an
honour you can condescend to visit a poor old maid like me!"
"Now, Miss Strutt, I will not have that!" cried Enid. "It does not
become you to be satirical. Let me inform you that I came to see you
yesterday afternoon, but you were out. I wanted to tell you the news
myself; but it seems someone has forestalled me."
"It was Herr Schmitz," said Miss Strutt. "I met him yesterday
afternoon, and he asked eagerly if I had heard of your success. He was
delighted with the honour done to his pupil."
"I believe I owe it in a great measure to him," replied Enid. "But why
were not you at the 'soirée' last evening? All the other exhibitors
were there!"
"My dear, need you ask? I thought you knew that I never go into
company."
"I know you dislike general company," said Enid; "but I thought on such
an occasion as this—"
"You thought the idea of meeting so many of my fellow artists
ought to attract me? I must confess that their society has little
more attraction for me than that of other people. Do not look so
reproachfully at me, my little Enid. You do not know artists as well
as I do. You do not know what bitterness, jealousy, and petty feelings
of various kinds are hidden under the surface cordiality they maintain
towards each other. You look incredulous, but it is true. Tell me, have
you ever heard a painter warmly praise the work of one of his brethren
of the brush?"
"Yes—at least I have heard one praise the work of a sister artist,"
said Enid, with a smile. "Herr Schmitz speaks most highly of your work."
The colour rose quickly in the old maid's faded cheek. "Ah, that is
different," she said. "Herr Schmitz and I are friends, and he is very
good to his friends. Besides, I owe much to his advice and teaching,
so that he looks upon me almost as a pupil. And you know he does
not withhold encouragement from his pupils if he sees they are in
earnest. But Herr Schmitz has the character of being most severe in his
criticisms of the work of his fellow artists."
Enid remembered that Julius Dakin had said the same of him.
"Oh dear!" she said with a sigh. "How disappointing human nature is! If
ever I fancy I have found a hero, someone immediately shows me he is
not flawless."
"Do you expect to find a hero without a flaw?" asked Miss Strutt. "But
there! That is always the way with young people like you. It is of no
use to tell them they will not find perfection; they always want those
they love and believe in to be perfect, and are impatient of everything
that mars their ideal conception of them. But as we grow older, we
learn to make allowance for human nature; we see that in every human
life there is much which, as Browning expresses it, the 'world's coarse
thumb and finger' fails to 'plumb,' and we think less of the 'flaws and
warpings' of the stuff, so long as the aim of the life be true, for we
know that God will yet mould it into conformity to His will. The world
has never seen and will never see but one Life absolutely without flaw,
and that was more than human."
Enid was silent. It caused her some wonder to hear Miss Strutt,
who always shrank from the society of her fellow mortals, speak so
tolerantly of human weaknesses.
"Well, Enid," said Miss Strutt the next minute, with an abrupt change
of manner, "if I stayed away from the 'soirée,' I was not uninterested
in the pictures. I never attempt to look at pictures in the midst of
a crowd, so I went to the Exhibition early yesterday morning before
anyone was there. I wanted to see how they had hung your little
painting."
"'My' picture only?" said Enid. "Had you no anxiety with respect to the
hanging of your own?"
"Well, yes; I will not pretend that I was indifferent to the fate of
my own. But it is generally disappointing to see them. They never look
quite as they did in your own studio."
"No, that is true," said Enid.
"However, you cannot complain," said Miss Strutt. "Your picture is
hung in a good position, and looks very well. You are fortunate in its
finding a purchaser at once."
"A purchaser! What do you mean?" asked Enid in a tone of surprise.
"Surely you know that your picture is sold?"
"No, indeed; it is news to me! Are you sure you are not mistaken? Who
told you so?"
"The secretary. I was looking over the catalogue with him."
"Do you know who has bought it?"
"Mr. Julius Dakin."
Enid's face flushed a deep crimson; but the colour receded as rapidly
as it rose, and left her unusually pale. Miss Strutt, watching her,
wondered at the effect of her words.
"My dear, it cannot surprise you that Mr. Dakin should buy your
picture."
"But he has gone away," faltered Enid.
"Well, what of that? Do you not suppose he could have commissioned
someone to buy the picture for him?"
"Yes, of course; but—" Enid's face looked strangely troubled.
Miss Strutt was silent for some minutes, but her mind was busy. She
was a shrewd observer, this quiet little woman, and having a "mind at
leisure from itself," she could read the hearts of others. She had had
various opportunities of observing Enid and Julius Dakin both together
and apart, and she had drawn a certain inference from her observation
of them. But the turn events had recently taken puzzled her.
"Why has Mr. Julius Dakin gone away so suddenly?" she asked with some
abruptness.
"He has gone on business," Enid replied, her colour rising again.
"Yes, yes, on business, of course;" but Miss Strutt's manner showed
that she had little belief in the business. "Enid, have you had
anything to do with his going away? You have not suffered yourself to
be misled by your desire for a flawless hero?"
"Indeed, indeed—" Enid began to protest, but paused in confusion.
"There is the making of a hero in Julius Dakin," Miss Strutt went on
without heeding her. "He has been spoiled by too easy a life; but if I
mistake not, there are sterling qualities in his character. You must
forgive me. Enid, if I say what I should not, but I have seen—I cannot
help fancying—"
"Please don't speak of it," broke in Enid nervously. "I know what you
mean—but you are mistaken—indeed you are mistaken."
"Am I really mistaken? Was it only a dream that I had when I thought I
saw a great happiness coming to you?"
"Yes, yes," faltered Enid, in evident distress. "It was just that—a
dream—what you think can never be, never!"
"I suppose I must take your word for it," said Miss Strutt, looking
perplexed; "but I wish I could be sure that you are acting fairly by
yourself. I wish you could confide in me, Enid, and tell me all that
troubles you."
"I could not—there is nothing to tell," said Enid in sore
embarrassment. "At least you would not understand."
"I don't know about that," said Miss Strutt. "Perhaps I understand more
than you think." But she did not try to force the girl's confidence.
They talked of other things; but there was a kindness, a sympathy in
Miss Strutt's manner towards Enid as long as they remained together, of
which Enid was gratefully conscious.
"How can you like to spend so much time with that old maid?" Maud asked
rather scornfully, when she returned to the studio.
"I like to do so because she is such good company," replied Enid with a
smile.
Maud looked amazed, but said no more.
It happened the next day, when Enid was with Herr Schmitz in his
studio, that he began talking about Miss Strutt, with whose pictures in
the Exhibition he was very pleased.
"She is a good artist and a good woman," he said emphatically. "I
cannot give her higher praise than that."
"She deserves it," said Enid; "she is truly good. I wish she led a
happier life."
The old painter turned and looked shrewdly at Enid. "Does she ever
complain?" he asked.
"Certainly not," said Enid; "you know that is not her way. But I know
she has had great sorrows, and her life seems to me a hard one."
"Ah! She has told you of her troubles, then?"
"She has told me about her brother," said Enid, with, some hesitation.
"That seems to me a terrible thing."
"Ah! It is—it was, a terrible thing," said Herr Schmitz, with feeling.
"I heard all about it from a friend of mine, a Scotch artist, who knew
the Strutts well and was acquainted with all the circumstances of the
case. Did she never tell you the rest of the story?"
"The rest!" said Enid in surprise. "I don't know what you mean. Her
brother remains the same—there is no hope of his recovery."
"Oh, I was not thinking of him. Well, it was like her to keep back what
most concerned herself. But there is no harm in my telling you. She
was engaged to be married. The man was a poor creature, quite unworthy
of her; but of course she loved him devotedly. When that terrible
affair happened, and her brother had to be sent away, the man took
fright—thought he must not marry into a family tainted by insanity. She
saw how he felt, and at once released him. That was all; but you will
understand what it meant for her."
Enid did understand.
"She could never see that the man was selfish and heartless," continued
Herr Schmitz. "She thought him justified in what he did. And of course,
he married someone else; and she—well, you see what her life is. The
worst of it is, when a woman such as she is gives her heart away, she
gives it once and for ever. It is of no use for any other man to think
how he might care for her."
A thought darted quickly into Enid's mind. It must be remembered that
she was of a romantic disposition. It occurred to her that Herr Schmitz
was a lonely man; his kindred, if he had any, were far away. Would it
be strange if his heart went out towards the poor little woman who had
known so many sorrows? But Enid was half ashamed of the thought as it
arose, and she would not for the world have confided it to her cousin.
She fancied she could hear how Maud would laugh at the idea of the
rough, bearish old Herr having any tender feeling for the odd little
spinster, whose eccentricities would never fail to excite Maud's sense
of the ridiculous, though she had learned to respect Miss Strutt's
sterling character.
If Enid's experiences of late had been of a sobering nature, disposing
her to dwell on the disappointments of human life, she was about to see
a brighter aspect of affairs. Clouds may darken our life for awhile,
but they do not last for ever, nor is even the course of true love
destined to be perpetually impeded, as Enid was soon to learn.
Three days had passed since the opening of the exhibition of paintings,
and they had been to Enid rather dreary days, when one afternoon, as
she was working alone in the studio, Maud having gone out to pay calls,
there came a tap at the door.
Enid went to the door expecting nothing more exciting than to see the
porter with a letter or parcel. What was her amazement and delight when
she saw standing on the threshold Adela Ravani, with the prettiest,
brightest, happiest face imaginable! But she had little time to study
the expression of her friend's face, for in a moment Adela had thrown
herself into her arms, and was half smothering her with kisses.
"Oh, you dear, darling Enid, how glad I am to see you again! And I
thought I never should! Oh, to think of it!—To think of it!"
"Then they have not made a nun of you, Adela?" said Enid, as soon as
she could speak.
"A nun! I should think not, indeed! No, no; I am free—free! And yet
Francesco has not made me bend to his will! It seems too wonderful to
be true."
"Then it has all come right after all. Oh, I 'am' glad! But sit down.
Adela, and tell me about it. I can hardly believe that I really see you
again. I have thought of you so often, and felt so unhappy about you."
"And I have been unhappy—'so' unhappy. But it is all over now, thank
God! And I am as happy as possible. I know, Enid, that I owe it all to
you, and I must thank you before I say another word."
"Thank me!" exclaimed Enid in the utmost astonishment. "My dear Adela,
what can I have had to do with it? I knew nothing of your happiness
till I saw you, and I am still quite in the dark as to how it has come
about."
"That may be; but I know very well that it is for your sake that Mr.
Julius Dakin has exerted himself so much on our behalf. You need not
blush and protest, Enid, for I know it is so."
"But what has Mr. Julius Dakin done?"
"He has done everything," said Adela eagerly. "It seems that Signor
Torlono, Lucio's uncle, was in Rome, on business a few weeks ago, and
he dined at the Dakins; and they spoke to him of Lucio—told him how
clever he was, and how highly everyone praised his pictures. They saw
he was interested, although he pretended to be indifferent, and they
tried to work on his feelings. They tried to persuade him to see Lucio,
but there they failed.
"However, I suppose he went back to Florence rather better disposed
towards his nephew. Mr. Julius Dakin would not let the matter rest.
He kept sending him notices of Lucio's paintings, in newspapers and
journals, you know.
"Then last week, when Mr. Julius Dakin started for London, he persuaded
Lucio to go with him to Florence, and they stayed there a day. Mr.
Dakin went to see Signor Torlono, who appeared very pleased to see
him. And of course, he introduced the subject of Signor Torlono's
nephew, and talked and talked and talked about Lucio—how good he was,
and how clever, and how affectionate; and then, when Signor Torlono
seemed properly affected, he informed him that his nephew was there at
Florence about to pass the night at an hotel. By that time, the uncle's
hard heart was quite melted, and he sent for Lucio and forgave him, and
he is to be his heir after all; and—and everything has come right, just
like a story-book."
"And there is no longer any hindrance to your marriage?"
"No," said Adela, blushing in the prettiest manner. "Only fancy! Mr.
Julius Dakin actually told the old uncle all about me, and made him
quite interested in me too! I don't know how he managed it, but he has
such clever, nice ways, has Mr. Julius Dakin. Do you not think so?"
"Never mind what I think," said Enid, catching the mischievous gleam in
Adela's eyes. "What does Francesco say to it all?"
"Oh, he is willing enough now, I can assure you. The heir of Signor
Torlono, the rich banker of Florence, is a grand match for me. And I
need not tell you how pleased mamma is. Lucio says she must live with
us, and I should like it so much; but she will not promise to do so
always."
"And when is the wedding to be?"
"Oh, soon—in April, I believe," said Adela, blushing and dimpling in
the most charming way.
Enid had always greatly admired her friend's beauty, but it seemed to
her that now, radiant as she was with happiness, Adela was more lovely
than ever.
"Enid, you must not think of leaving Rome till after April. I want you
to be at my wedding."
"Thank you; I should love dearly to see you married, but my movements
of course depend on Maud. I do not know how long she intends to stay
here; and indeed I think she ought to return home before the end of
April."
"Oh, do not say that!" cried Adela.
Adela had been absent from Rome for two months. After such a
separation, it may be imagined that the girls had much to tell each
other. Enid asked many questions concerning Adela's experience in the
lonely convent to which she had been banished.
Adela said the time had seemed very long. She had been allowed to
receive no letters, and had heard no news of the outer world; but the
good sisters had been very kind to her. It had been a relief when her
brother appeared and took her away; but she had not dared to hope for
any permanent good.
But when she saw her mother's face, she knew that she had joyful news
for her, and from her she learned how Lucio's prospects had changed,
and that his suit was now accepted.
Naturally Adela's mind was full of her own happiness, and it was
discussed from every point of view. Yet she was not so absorbed in
herself as to be unobservant of her friend.
"Enid," she exclaimed, after a while, "you have changed, whilst I have
been away! Are you sure you are well?"
"Quite well," said Enid decidedly.
"But you do not look so; you are certainly paler and thinner than you
were. Have you had anything to trouble you?"
"What could trouble me here in Rome—the most fascinating, delightful
city in the world?"
"Ah! Then you are still in love with Rome? I suppose you have been
doing too much, for you certainly do not look as you did when I went
away."
Enid was glad to quit the subject of her looks.
When at last, after some further talk, Adela took her departure, she
left Enid looking brighter than she had looked for days. She was
delighted that Adela had come back, and delighted with the news she
had brought. It was easy to conceive how it had all come about. Her
imagination dwelt on the picture suggested by Adela's words. She could
see Julius Dakin talking to the old banker; she could hear his very
tones as he gently insinuated, suggested, persuaded in the winning
manner peculiar to him. Yes, Adela was right; he had clever, nice ways.
No one had just such ways as he had. Enid could not wonder that the old
man had been won over by him.
And Adela had declared that it was for "her"—Enid's—sake that he had
taken such pains to bring about this reconciliation. The thought was
dear to Enid. A voice in her heart echoed back an assurance that it was
even so. For her sake, he had been anxious to succeed, that he might
give her gladness through the happiness of her friend.
Certainly if Julius Dakin could have seen Enid's face at this hour, he
would have had his reward. The immediate effect of Adela's visit was to
fill Enid's heart for a brief while with a rapture of delight.