IN the evening of the next day, about half an hour before
supper, June climbed the attic stairs and knocked boldly upon the
studio door.
“Come in,” a gentle voice invited her.
William, a lump of cotton wool in one hand, the mysterious bottle in
the other, was absorbed in the task of looking for a windmill. He had
to own, the queer fellow, that so far success had not crowned his
search.
“I should think not,” said June, uncompromisingly.
“But there are the trees.” William took up a knife and laid the point
to a canvas that was already several tones lighter than of yore.
There was a pause while June screwed up her eyes like an expert; and in
consequence she had reluctantly to admit that they were unmistakable
trees.
“And now we are coming to the water, don’t you see?” said the young man
in a tone of quiet ecstasy.
“Where’s the water?”
With a lover’s delicacy, William ran the point of the knife along the
canvas.
“Don’t you see it, Miss June?” There was a thrill in the low voice.
“Why, yes,” said June. “It’s water, right enough.” No use trying now
not to be impressed. “Now I call that rather clever!”
“I knew it was there. And if you know a thing’s there, sooner or later
you are bound to find it. Do you know what my opinion is?” Of a
sudden, the exalted voice sank mysteriously.
June had no idea what William’s opinion was, but she was quite willing
to hear it, whatever it might be, for he had just had a considerable
rise in her estimation.
“It wouldn’t surprise me at all if this turns out to be a----” He broke
off with a perplexing smile.
“Turns out to be a what?”
“Perhaps I’d better not say.” The words, in their caution and their
gravity intrigued a shrewd daughter of the midlands. June, in spite of
herself, was beginning to respect this odd young man.
“You think it might be something very good?”
“It might be something almost _too_ good.” William’s tone had
a deep vibration. “If it keeps on coming out like this, it’ll be
wonderful. Do you see that cloud?”
June peered hard, but she could not see a suspicion of a cloud.
“Take the microscope.”
Even with the microscope no cloud was visible to June.
“I’m as sure of it as I ever was of anything,” said William. “There’s
a cloud--oh, yes!” The note of faith was music. “And there’s a
sky--oh, yes!” A stray beam of the September sunset made an effect so
remarkable, as it slanted across the upturned eyes, that June paid them
rather more attention at the moment than she gave to the canvas.
“Has Uncle Si seen those trees?” she asked suddenly.
“Yes, the master came up to look at them a few minutes ago.”
“What did he say?”
“He just scratched his cheek and changed his spectacles.”
“Did you tell him what you’ve just told me?”
The young man nodded.
“Did Uncle Si believe you?”
“He said he’d wait till he saw it.”
“Well, he can’t deny the trees, anyway.”
“No, he can’t deny the trees. But, of course the real picture is only
just beginning to come out, as you might say. All the same, he’s made
me an offer for it, even as it stands.”
With a swift, sudden intuition, June cried: “I hope you haven’t taken
it!”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t,” said William, casually. “I feel I’d
like to keep the picture until I find out what it really is.”
“Well, mind you do. And, if the question isn’t a rude one, what did
Uncle Si offer?”
“Seven and sixpence. But that’s for the frame mainly.”
June grew magisterial. “You mustn’t think of parting with it.”
With an innocence hard to credit in one so clever, William asked why.
“Why!” June almost snorted. “Because if Uncle Si offers you seven and
sixpence for a thing which he knows you bought for five shillings, you
can be sure that he considers it may be valuable.”
“The master has always been very good to me,” said the young man with
extreme simplicity.
At these words June felt a stab of pain, so great was the contrast
between the two men. One saw the wares in which they dealt only in
terms of beauty, the other in terms of money.
“You are too modest. And, although you are so clever, if you don’t mind
my saying so, you are also rather foolish in some ways--at least that’s
my opinion.”
William frankly admitted the impeachment.
“Well, now,” said June, a cool and steady eye upon him, “suppose you
tell me where you think your foolishness lies?”
“Why, I was foolish enough to think that patch”--the Simpleton pressed
the finger of an artist upon the patch--“was really and truly a
windmill. But, of course, it’s nothing of the kind.”
“I’m not speaking of windmills now,” said June severely. “I’m speaking
of things much more important.”
“Oh, but a windmill can be very important. Have you ever really seen a
windmill?”
“Yes, of course, I have.”
The Sawney asked where.
June had seen a windmill in Lincolnshire.
“Lincolnshire! Oh, but you should see the one in the National Gallery.”
“The one in the where?” said June, with a frown.
Of a sudden his voice took its delicious fall. The rare smile, which
lit his face, was for June an enchantment: “It’s a Hobbema.”
“A what!--emma!”
“A Hobbema. On Saturdays the shop closes at one, so that I could take
you to see it, if you’d care to. I should like you so much to see
it--that’s if it interests you at all. It will give you an idea of
what a windmill can be.”
“But I meant a real windmill. I’m only interested in real things,
anyway.”
“A Hobbema is better than real.”
“Better than real,” said June, opening wide eyes.
“When you see it, you’ll understand what I mean. I do hope you’ll come
and look at it.”
June was such a practical person that her first instinct was to refuse
to do anything of the kind. But that instinct was overborne by the
complexity of her feelings. In some ways he was the simplest Simon
of them all; a longing to shake him was growing upon her, but the
disconcerting fact remained that after a fashion he was decidedly
clever. And leaving his mental qualities out of the case, when you got
his face at an angle and you caught the light in his eyes, he was by
far the handsomest young man she had ever seen. Therefore her promise
was reluctantly given that on Saturday afternoon she would go with him
to the National Gallery to see what a windmill was really like.