A STATE OF "DREADFULNESS."
[Illustration]
Miss Noakes had not heard us, but our troubles were not over.
It was not until I had helped Adelaide to retire (for her poor hands
were too badly burned to put up her own hair), and had gone away into my
own room that I realized that Winnie was not with us and that she had
been left behind in the stampede up the turret stairs. I crept around
through the corridor into the darkened studio. Professor Waite and his
friend had gone, why had not Winnie returned? I opened the door leading
to the turret and called her name softly. I was answered by a groan. I
hastened to light a candle and stole down the winding stair. Half way
down I found Winnie sitting on the steps, a bundle of misery.
"I came up once," she exclaimed, "but Professor Waite was in the studio
and I had to go back to the closet and wait until he left the house."
"It must have been very chilly and unpleasant with nothing but a
watering can and a lawn mower to sit on," I remarked; "but why didn't
you come all the way up this time. You surely don't intend to spend the
night where you are."
"I don't know," Winnie replied, with another groan; "I've sprained my
ankle or something, and I can't bear my weight on it. It was all that I
could do to drag myself up and back again, and then as far as this. Ow!
how it hurts! No, I just cannot take another step."
"Dear! dear!" I exclaimed; "what a night this has been! With Milly's
narrow escape from death, and Adelaide's burned hands, and your sprained
ankle, we have had enough Halloween for one year."
"What do you mean?" Winnie asked, in her absorption taking several
little hops up the stairs. "Milly's escape? What has happened? Ow! wow!
You'll have to get a derrick, Tib, and hoist me up. I cannot budge an
inch."
"Lean on me," I said, "and listen while I tell you all about it"; and I
rehearsed the thrilling story of Professor Waite's rescue.
"I can smell the smoke still. Snooks will think the house is on fire,"
Winnie declared, snuffing vigorously as we reached the studio. "You had
better open the windows a bit and air off. And there are some burned
scraps of Milly's wrapper on the floor; let's pick them all up. Ow!
don't let go of me. This is really what Milly calls a state of
dreadfulness--no other word will describe it. How can I ever stand it
until morning?"
I helped her to her bed and bound up her ankle with Pond's Extract; but
it had swollen so much and was so painful that when morning came Winnie
consented to have the school physician called. He kindly asked no
questions, and treated Adelaide's hands, only remarking, "I see you have
been celebrating Halloween."
"He thinks I burned them in snatching the raisins out of the lighted
alcohol," Adelaide said; "or perhaps in putting out some clothing which
was set on fire in that way."
Even Madame was considerate and did not inquire closely into the details
of the trouble.
"I hope you have learned from this," she said, "that it is a dangerous
thing to play with fire."
Halloween was a disagreeable subject after this to all of us, but
especially to Winnie. "Don't mention it," she would say. "I shall never
play another trick in all my mortal days. I feel as mean and demoralized
as a lunch-basket on its way home from a picnic."
The state of dreadfulness deepened as time went on. Winnie kept her room
for days, and it was necessary to feed Adelaide at table, and dress and
undress her; but their hurts troubled me less than the heart bruise
received by my poor Milly. I kept her secret and she was brave, and no
one else suspected it. Professor Waite was very impatient with her,
treating her work contemptuously, and disregarding her personally
altogether. He never alluded to the accident, treating it, as Winnie
said, as of no more consequence than if he had extinguished a bale of
cotton that had happened to take fire.
"That man is utterly incapable of sentiment," Winnie remarked
wrathfully. "Now how natural it would be to make a romance out of
such a rescue, but Professor Waite's heart is as stony as that of the
Apollo Belvedere."
Milly smiled piteously and shook her head, while she looked
significantly from me toward Adelaide, as much as to say: "We know
better; he is not so stony-hearted as he seems."
Having my attention directed to the matter, I kept my eyes open for
little indications of the state of Professor Waite's sentiments, and
presently found that they were not lacking. The studio was not occupied
by classes until after ten o'clock in the morning, and Professor Waite
came every day very early, and painted there alone until the first wave
of pupils swept in and filled the room with an encampment of easels.
He explained to me that he was preparing a picture for the Academy
exhibition, the morning light was good, and as his studio in the city
was shared with another young artist, he preferred to come here where he
could work quietly and undisturbed for a few hours each morning. He
always bolted the corridor door to secure complete seclusion, and we
had often to wait a few moments until he admitted us. He did not show us
the painting, but it was evident that he was deeply interested in it,
for he was frequently distraught, and apparently vexed at being obliged
to turn his attention to our offences against art, just as he was worked
up to a fine phrensy of production. At such times he would run his
fingers through his hair, and stare at the work which the first
unfortunate pupil presented with a repugnance which was often more
clearly than politely expressed. Sometimes his ill humour vented itself
on the model. We were in the habit of taking turns and, dressed in some
picturesque costume, of posing for the class for a week at a time. After
the Halloween experience it happened to be Milly's turn. We had costumed
her as an Italian contadina, and thought that she looked very prettily.
But Professor Waite was not satisfied.
"Why have you chosen a blonde for such a character?" he asked me
impatiently. "That little snub nose and milk-and-water complexion have
nothing Italian in their make up. If you could induce that superb
creature, Miss Armstrong, to wear the costume, you would see the
difference."
Milly had heard the remark though he did not intend she should do so,
and her eyes suffused with tears as usual. "I will ask Adelaide," she
said meekly, "but I don't believe she will be willing to pose for the
class."
"Never mind the class," Professor Waite replied eagerly. "If Miss
Armstrong will honor me by giving me personally a few sittings each
morning for my Academy picture I shall be more gratified than I can
express."
Milly, more than happy to attempt to do the professor a favor, besought
Adelaide, who was obdurate and even indignant.
"The very idea!" she exclaimed. "I never heard of such assurance. _I_
figure in his picture at a public exhibition, indeed."
"Why, I am sure it's a great honor," Milly replied, bridling feebly;
"and I won't have you treat him in such a _desultory_ manner."
We all laughed, for Milly, as usual when excited, had mixed her
words--insulting and derogatory clamoring at the same time in her small
mind for utterance.
"I think it would be perfectly scrum to be in an Academy picture,"
Winnie exclaimed. "I wish he would ask me."
Perfectly "scrum," or "scrumptious," was Winnie's superlative; while
Adelaide, to express a similar delight, would have quoted the
Anglicism, "Quite too far more than most awfully delicious."
"I wonder what his Academy picture is, anyway," Winnie went on, "and why
he never shows it to us. I mean to ask him to let me see it; I am sure I
might help him with some suggestions."
"Well you _are_ unassuming," I exclaimed, never dreaming that Winnie,
with all her audacity, would dare to criticise a picture by our
professor. What was my astonishment, therefore, on awakening the next
morning, to find that Winnie was already dressed.
"I am going into the studio," she remarked coolly, "to take a look at
Professor Waite's picture before he arrives."
"O Winnie!" I begged, "don't; you've no business to do such a thing."
Winnie made a little face, courtesied, and flounced out of the room. She
returned presently, all aglow with excitement.
"He was already there at work," she exclaimed, "painting, as the French
say, like an _enrage_. He had forgotten to bolt the door and I slipped
right in. His back was toward me, and he did not notice me at first, so
I had one good solid look. And what do you suppose it is, Tib? Why,
Adelaide, holding a candle and glancing over her shoulder as he must
have seen her going down the stairs. The Rembrandtesque effect of
artificial light and deep shadow is stunning. He has rigged up his
lay-figure on the landing in the dark turret, and had a lighted candle
wedged into her woodeny fingers, so that he gets the lighting on the
face and drapery, while he has daylight on his canvas.
"Of course he has had to do the face from imagination or memory, but it
was perfect. I screamed right out: 'Don't touch that again or you'll
spoil it!' He turned the canvas back forward quicker than a wink, and
looked at me as if he would like to eat me, but I didn't care, and I
begged him not to disturb himself or interrupt his work on my account;
that I had only dropped in in a friendly way to give him a little
helpful criticism. With that he put on his eye-glasses and remarked;
'Well, you _are_ about the coolest young lady that it has ever been
my privilege to meet,' but he had to come right down from that nifty
position, for I said, 'If my opinions are of no use, perhaps Madame's
will be more helpful; shall I ask her to come up and take a look at the
picture?' That made him wince. He turned all sorts of colors, chewed
his mustache, and hadn't a word to say. I felt sort of sorry for him and
I assured him that I had no intention of telling, at least not if he was
nice; and I reminded him that he owed the subject to me in the first
place, for if I had not suggested the trick he would never have seen
Adelaide in that particular lighting. With that he changed his tune and
said that he was very grateful for my kind intention, and that if I
would kindly lend him a photograph of Adelaide he would be still more
grateful. But I told him that I did not think that it was fair to
exhibit a portrait of Adelaide, and he admitted that it was not, and
said that he had decided not to send the picture to the exhibition, but
merely to keep it himself."
Adelaide happened to knock at our door at this juncture, and Winnie told
her what she had discovered.
"This is past endurance," Adelaide exclaimed angrily; "you must come
with me, Tib, and insist on Professor Waite's showing me this picture.
If the face is recognizable as my portrait I shall destroy it then and
there."
"Don't, Adelaide," I begged. "Professor Waite is a gentleman; he has
already told Winnie that he does not intend to exhibit the picture----"
"But I do not choose that he shall possess it," she cried; "if you
will not go with me I shall go alone," and she hurried to the studio
door. It was locked, and Professor Waite did not choose to reply to
her oft-repeated knocks. He evidently considered Winnie's visit
all-sufficient for one morning. Adelaide came back in a towering
passion. "If my poor hands would only let me write," she exclaimed, "I
would give him such a piece of my mind. Winnie, be my amanuensis.
Write what I dictate."
Winnie sat down good-humoredly and dashed off in her large scrawling
script, which filled a page with these lines, the following indignant
protest:
PROFESSOR WAITE:
I regret that I consider the liberty you have taken in painting
my portrait for the Academy Exhibition, without my knowledge or
consent, a dishonorable act of which no gentleman would be guilty,
and I demand that you destroy it instantly.
ADELAIDE ARMSTRONG.
She was excited and she spoke loudly. When she finished, there was dead
silence in the little parlor. We all felt that Adelaide had put it a
little too strongly. That silence was broken by a half-suppressed
sneeze on the balcony outside the window. A sneeze which we all
recognized as belonging to Miss Noakes. Had she been listening? Had
she heard? Winnie balanced the ink bottle over the letter ready to
obliterate its contents by an "accident" if Miss Noakes suddenly
knocked. No one appeared, and going to the window a moment afterward, I
saw Miss Noakes walking between her window and ours, and taking in great
sniffs of the keen morning air with much apparent enjoyment.
The bell rang for breakfast and Adelaide and I walked along together,
pausing to slip the note under the studio door. It would not go quite
through, a little end protruding, but that did not strike us as of any
consequence. I had descended one flight of stairs when I found that I
had forgotten my geometry and I hastened back to get it. I met Winnie
before I turned into the corridor. "Hurry," she exclaimed, "Snooks is
just leaving her door; she will mark you for tardiness." I flew along at
the top of my speed, but on reaching our corridor I saw a sight which
suddenly arrested my footsteps. Miss Noakes stood before the studio
door, carefully adjusting her eye-glasses and looking at the note;
presently she stooped, picked it up, and read the address. She
hesitated a moment, seemed half inclined to replace it, turned it over
as though she wished to open it, then glancing down the hall and spying
me, she placed it in the great leather bag which hung at her side. She
closed the bag with a savage click and glared at me as I turned and
fled, for I had not the courage to meet her.
I reported the calamity at breakfast table in an awe-stricken whisper to
Milly, who turned a trifle pale.
"I am afraid it will get Professor Waite into trouble," she said,
"Adelaide is still very angry with him, but I am sure she does not want
to make him lose his position in the school."
"It may make her lose her own position," Cynthia Vaughn suggested.
"Writing notes to young men is against the rules. It's an expellable
offence. But then," she added, "this wasn't exactly a love letter."
"I should think not," I exclaimed.
"It's all the worse," Milly groaned, as she scalded her throat with hot
coffee.
"Adelaide can say she didn't write it, you know," Cynthia suggested
cheerfully. "Winnie wrote it; and she didn't poke it under the door
either--Tib did that."
"Do you suppose, Cynthia Vaughn, that Adelaide would do such a mean
thing as not to take the consequences of her own actions?" Milly asked
indignantly. Then she clasped my hand, for Miss Noakes stood at Madame's
table, and had opened her black bag and was handing Madame the note. We
could see even at that distance that the seal was unbroken, but this
gave us scant comfort; it was only putting off the evil day.
"Winnie might steal that note for us," Cynthia suggested, "before Madame
has a chance to read it."
"Why are you always thinking up scrapes for Winnie to get into?" Milly
asked.
Winnie pricked her ears, at the other side of the table. "What about
Winnie?" she asked.
"Nothing," Milly replied shortly; but as we went up to the studio a
little before ten o'clock, I explained the situation. To my surprise
Winnie's eyes danced with merriment. "Snooks listened," she exclaimed,
"she heard Adelaide, I knew she did, and now we know how she finds out
things that happen in the Amen Corner; often and often I have thought
that I heard her, and have opened the door quickly only to find the
corridor empty. Of course she is smart enough to know that she would
get caught if she listened at the door; she would never in the world
have time enough to scuttle down to her own room before we would see
her. But the balcony! Strange we never thought of that. I'll lay a trap
for her--no, I need not; she has trapped herself; this affair is proof
enough that she peeks and listens."
"But I don't see how this helps us," I exclaimed. "This is the worst
scrape of the season. Don't you see it is? Such glee on your part is
positively idiotic. We may all be expelled and Professor Waite too."
"Fret not your dear little sympathetic, apprehensive gizzard. Don't say
one word, except to answer questions. Don't volunteer any confessions,
or let Adelaide do so. Remember, the prisoner is not obliged to
criminate himself, the burden of proof lies with Snooks, and she will
find it a pretty heavy burden."
"Not with that note!" I replied.
"That note! Ha! ha! But I won't tell you. It's too good a joke."
"And Professor Waite's picture of Adelaide?"
"The picture, I had forgotten that," and Winnie became grave at once.
"He must take it right away," she added. "I will tell him to."
"You talk as if you could make him do anything," I said.
"Anything I choose to try," Winnie replied confidently. We were at the
studio door a little ahead of time, and Professor Waite threw it open at
our knock, and welcomed us in with his palette still on his thumb. "Come
and see my picture," he said, with a smile.
"Poor man!" I thought, "he would not look so happy if he knew how angry
Adelaide is, and what a mine is waiting to be exploded beneath him."
He led us to the easel and displayed the canvas triumphantly.
It was an effective, striking picture, but it did not in the least
resemble Adelaide.
Winnie uttered an exclamation of disgust. "There now, you've spoiled it.
I knew you would. It was just perfect, and you've ruined it. I'm sure I
never want to look at that thing again. I told you not to touch it. Why
couldn't you let it alone?" and a half dozen other wails of the same
order.
Professor Waite did not attempt to put a stop to her somewhat
impertinent remarks. He was plainly annoyed, however, and when she had
emptied the vials of her indignation, he replied: "I thought you would
approve of the change, Miss DeWitt. It was a remark of yours this
morning which made me realize that I had no right to paint Miss
Armstrong's portrait without her permission; that probably she would be
unwilling that I should possess it; and as I would gladly sacrifice any
ambition or pleasure of my own for the sake of not offending her, I
have, as you see, painted in an entirely new face."
"You are quite right, Professor," I exclaimed warmly; "and Adelaide will
be grateful for your consideration."
At this juncture the girls trooped in and took their places at their
easels, and Professor Waite laid the picture in the great chest in front
of our door. The correction of work went on as usual until the latter
part of the hour, when an ominous knock was heard at the door, and
Madame, accompanied by Miss Noakes, sailed majestically into the room.
Professor Waite bowed deeply and expressed himself as highly honored.
Madame lifted her lorgnette and surveyed the class. Milly was posing in
her despised Italian costume. Madame smiled kindly at her, and then
passed about from easel to easel examining the girls' work. "I do not
know whether it is exactly the thing for the young ladies to allow
themselves to be painted in this way," she said, "though to be sure the
studies are hardly recognizable as likenesses."
"The young ladies have all asked the permission of their parents to sit
for each other," Professor Waite explained.
"For each other," Madame repeated doubtfully; "but do you never make
sketches of them also, Professor? A parent might well object to having
his daughter's portrait exhibited in a public place, sold to a stranger,
or even shown among studies of professional models in your studio."
"I have made no studies from life from any of the young ladies,"
Professor Waite replied promptly.
Miss Noakes drew a long breath and seemed to bristle with anticipated
triumph.
"I am glad that you can assure me of this," Madame replied in her
softest, most purring accents. Then she glanced around the room again
and asked, "Are all of the art students present? I do not see Miss
Armstrong."
"Miss Armstrong has not honoured me by joining the class," Professor
Waite replied stiffly.
"But she at least sits for the others, does she not? She is such a
strikingly picturesque girl, I should think you would ask her."
"We have asked her," Milly replied, "but she is just as obstinate as she
can be. I wish, Madame, you would make her."
Madame shook her little wiry curls. "This is a matter which must be left
entirely to individual preference, my dear. It would be very wrong,
indeed, for any of you to make a portrait of Miss Armstrong without her
consent. I have known young amateur photographers to lay themselves open
to an action at law by taking photographs of people without their
knowledge. Our personality is a very sacred thing, and whoever possesses
himself of that without warrant commits a dishonorable action."
Milly looked as if she were about to faint, while Professor Waite, who
felt the intention of Madame's remarks, and his own thoughtlessness, bit
his mustache nervously. Winnie was tittering in an unseemly manner
behind her easel, but, thankful as I was that the professor had changed
the portrait, I still felt the gravity of the occasion.
Madame's manner changed. "Miss Vaughn," she said to Cynthia, "will you
ask Miss Armstrong to step to the studio for a moment." Then turning to
our teacher, she added, "I have a very painful duty to perform, my
dear Professor, and you must pardon me if my questions seem to you
unwarranted. Will you tell me whether, for any reason whatever, you have
carried on a written correspondence with Miss Armstrong or with any
other member of this school?"
"I have not, Madame."
"Have never either written to her or received letters from her?"
"Never, Madame. Who has charged me with such a clandestine and
dishonourable act?"
Madame did not reply, for Adelaide entered the room. She was very
stately and pale. Cynthia had not had far to go, and Adelaide had come
instantly.
"Why have you sent for me?" she asked resolutely.
"Merely to ask you one or two simple questions," Madame replied. "But
first, Professor, may we be permitted to see the picture which you are
preparing for the Academy exhibition?"
Adelaide leaned forward eagerly. Professor Waite was about to be
punished for his presumption and yet she was not so glad as she fancied
that she would be. Her anger had faded out and she almost pitied him.
A hot blush swept up to his forehead as he felt her gaze, and silently
placed the painting upon the easel. Madame examined it critically
through her lorgnette; it was evidently not what she had expected to
see.
Milly, who had not known of the change, could hardly believe her eyes,
and seemed to fancy that a miracle had been performed to save her dear
professor. Miss Noakes stood at the canvas with a look of disappointed
malignity on her unattractive features.
"Is this the only picture which you intend to exhibit?" Madame asked,
after a moment, during which she had assured herself that the face on
the canvas was utterly unlike any of her pupils.
"It is the only one that I have had time to paint this season,"
Professor Waite replied. "The face bore at one time a resemblance to
Miss Armstrong's, but I purposely destroyed that resemblance and shall
send it in as you see it."
Madame seemed somewhat relieved, but she turned toward Adelaide, who
had seated herself and was staring at the picture, her heart filled with
a vague regret that she had written so unkind a letter.
"Young ladies," said Madame solemnly, "you have heard the questions
which I have asked Professor Waite. Certain accusations have been made
which have greatly troubled me. It has been suspected that a clandestine
flirtation and correspondence has for some time been carried on between
your professor and one of the members of this school. Hitherto I have
paid no attention to these reports, as they rested only on suspicion,
but this morning startling evidence has been produced, and before
bringing it forward I call upon any young lady who has been guilty of
such an indiscretion to anticipate the discovery of her fault by a full
confession." No one responded. The accusation was so much more serious
than the truth, that Adelaide did not imagine that she was the suspected
culprit. Dead silence, in the midst of which Madame produced the fateful
letter. Adelaide started and Madame asked in awful tones:
"Will any young lady present acknowledge that she has written this
letter?"
Winnie and Adelaide each rose promptly.
Madame frowned. "Have we two claimants?" she asked.
"I am responsible for the contents of that note," said Adelaide.
"But I wrote it," added Winnie, "and I demand that it be read aloud."
It seemed to me that Winnie was absolutely insane, and even Adelaide
seemed to feel that there was no necessity of rushing so recklessly on
the spears of the enemy.
Professor Waite looked completely mystified, and Madame said very
seriously:
"You will see, Professor, that this note is directed to you, and that
it has not been opened. I could not take that liberty; but Miss Noakes
discovered it being sent in a very irregular manner, which justified her
in confiscating it. There are other suspicious matters connected with
it, which I trust its contents will fully explain."
I felt that the crucial moment had arrived. Miss Noakes was absolutely
radiant, and sat rubbing her hands with ghoulish glee. Madame looked
troubled but judicial. The professor was a favourite of hers, but Miss
Noakes had brought too weighty an accusation to be glossed over.
A silence like that before a thunder-clap reigned. Winnie covered her
face with her handkerchief and shook--could it be with suppressed
laughter? If so, it seemed to me that she must be going insane.
Professor Waite opened the letter and glanced over its contents. "This
note is from Miss Winifred De Witt," he said to Madame, "and since
I have her permission, I will read it aloud." And to our utter
astonishment, Professor Waite read--not the indignant letter which
Adelaide had dictated, but the following:
PROFESSOR WAITE.
_Dear Sir_: May I have your permission to place my easel on the
balcony in front of the corridor window and make a study of a
sunrise effect as seen across the roofs? The view is so very
beautiful that Miss Noakes spends much of her time there absorbed
in its enjoyment.
Very respectfully yours,
WINIFRED DE WITT.
Professor Waite politely handed this effusion to Madame. Miss Noakes
snatched it from her hand and glared at it with the look of a foiled
assassin. Madame bit her lips with annoyance and scowled at Miss
Noakes. She was evidently angry with her for having caused her to
arraign Professor Waite on insufficient testimony and creating a scene
derogatory to her own dignity. She quickly recovered her
self-possession, however, and remarked loftily:
"Miss De Witt, when you have any future communications to make with your
professor, pray do so in a more fitting manner. Placing notes under
doors is really unworthy of any young lady in my school."
"So is listening at windows," Cynthia whispered to Winnie. Madame turned
to Professor Waite and expressed herself as much pleased that this very
serious accusation had been proved to be founded on an entire mistake.
She had herself felt perfect confidence in the integrity of Professor
Waite and the propriety of her pupils throughout the entire affair, and
had only investigated it to give the slander its proper refutation: and
her stiff silk dress rustled with dignity out of the studio.
As for Miss Noakes, she simply disappeared, "evaporated," as Milly
expressed it. The door had hardly closed upon Madame before our
long-repressed feelings found vent in laughter. Winnie congratulated
Professor Waite on the part of the school that he had been found
innocent of so heinous a crime. The girls swarmed up to shake hands with
him. Those who could not grasp his hand shook the skirts of his coat.
Exuberant confusion reigned. Milly was dissolved in happy tears, and
even Adelaide smiled when Professor Waite expressed his regret that Miss
Noakes had connected their names in so disagreeable a manner.
It was not until the occupants of the Amen Corner had gathered in their
study parlor that Adelaide said:
"But I really do not understand what became of my note; the one I
dictated to Winnie and tucked under the door."
"Winnie, how did you manage to steal it?" Cynthia asked.
"I didn't take it from Snooks," Winnie replied. "It struck me that
Adelaide had expressed herself rather strongly, and that she would
regret it after she had cooled down, and if she didn't, she ought to. So
while you were investigating the eavesdropping I destroyed that note,
wrote one of my own and sealed it up in its place."
"And I've really put this note of yours under the door?" Adelaide asked.
"Yes, my dear, and that is why I have not shared Tib's anxiety since we
knew that it had been confiscated. Don't you think that dig about
Snooks enjoying the scenery of the back yard was rather good?" and
Winnie chuckled with enjoyment of her own impertinence. "You should have
seen her face when Professor Waite read that. Nebuchadnezzar's when he
ordered Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego to the burning, fiery furnace
must have been amiable in comparison. She would have seen me boiled in
oil with pleasure. I haven't enjoyed anything so much for ages."