FRANK'S BRILLIANT IDEA
On Friday Evarne was free to give her time to Geoff, and the big Greek
picture was duly commenced. Again she wore flowing white draperies, but
of a more ornate and ample description than the very simple robe in
which she had previously posed in this studio. Her head was encircled by
a barbaric fillet, studded with roughly-cut, albeit gleaming stones, and
high up on her arms were wide bracelets of chased gold; for although a
captive, fair Andromache was a princess. Yet those same arms bore
delicate fetters around the wrists, for Hector's widow was now a slave.
On her shoulder was to be borne a terra-cotta vase of classical design.
It was very beautiful, both in contour and workmanship, but it was far
from small, and Geoff was troubled lest his dear model should grow
weary.
"You must stop as soon as you even begin to feel tired; don't wait for
the ordinary rests. Will you promise?" he demanded, and smiling her
assent, she took up the required position.
The robe she wore was so fine in substance that where the material
actually touched her body it appeared to become vaguely hued with the
most delicate, the most tender pink. On her arched feet were elaborate
many-strapped sandals; her classically beautiful head, inclined meekly
downwards, showed to perfection the gracious line at the back of her
neck. She was indeed sufficient to arouse and inspire the most negligent
of artists.
But it so chanced that Frank Pallister had just received an added
impetus to his industry from another quarter.
A day or two before Geoff's unexpected return to England, Frank had paid
a solemn afternoon call on Mrs. Vandeleur. This stately matron was Mr.
Meridith's widowed sister, who kept house for him and chaperoned pretty
little Maudie. She viewed Frank and his suit with a favourable eye, yet
approved her brother's decision with regard to the postponed engagement.
Thus, while a sense of duty prompted her to hover around with
considerable persistence, it was often quite easy for the young people
to make opportunities for whispered flirtations.
Thus, after duly listening to her complaints at being still in sultry
London when August was practically at hand, from the necessity of Mr.
Meridith's remaining in town until Parliament rose, Maudie and Frank
found opportunity to exchange secret groans over the unendingness of
three years.
"I wish to goodness I could shorten it!" sighed the youth.
"Then why don't you?" demanded the girl. "You know what dad says about
it. Now, Frankie, why don't you do something grand, superb,
incomparable--something that would cause the whole world to admire and
wonder, and make your name famous for ever and ever? I would, if I were
you, but you're a lazy boy, I know you are."
"It's easy to talk," was the rueful response. "But you just listen to
what I've got on hand. Some day soon, Jack Hardy is to be allowed to do
a marble bust of Lord Winborough. I told you, didn't I? If the great man
will consent to be so far victimised, Jack is going to start proceedings
by taking a life-mask of him. Very well, then, I'm going to watch, and
perhaps assist, and when I've learnt how to do it, I shall start and do
a bust of somebody or other who is well known. Then I have already got
three new pictures and two statuettes on hand. Some of the galleries are
bound to take some of them when they're finished, I should suppose."
"Dear Frankie," was the answer given in all seriousness, "I am so
terribly afraid you're a genius!"
"Afraid!"
"Yes, for then you'll never get on in the world. It is only the
second-rate people who reach the top of the ladder; the real born
geniuses stick on the bottom rung, just because their work is too
superior to be understood and appreciated by the common mob. There! What
do you think of that? Dreadful, isn't it, poor boy?"
"I'm afraid you needn't upset yourself over my misfortunes in that
direction. Who told you all this piffle?"
"Nobody exactly. I overheard two men talking at an 'at home.'"
"Were they neglected geniuses?"
"I don't know. I asked dad what they did, and he said he believed that
one composed poetry and that the other wrote tragedies."
"Wouldn't you like Frank to see Sir James's painting of you?" interposed
the voice of Mrs. Vandeleur.
The girl sprang to her feet.
"Fancy my forgetting! It's finished at last. It's in the dining-room at
present. Come along. But don't expect much. It's not a bit nice; it's
really ugly."
And indeed, on beholding the celebrated portrait-painter's production,
Frank's loud exclamations of surprise and disdain were as profuse as the
most disappointed of sitters could desire.
"Isn't your dad annoyed?" he demanded at length.
"Indeed, he's really vexed. He is paying so highly for it too. You
remember the one of my mother that hangs in his study? That was done
when she was seventeen, and he thought it would be so nice to have a
companion one of his only kiddie at the same age. He wouldn't have
minded the big price in the least if the picture had been satisfactory.
This has been altered ever so many times, and now Sir James has got
tired, and swears it is exactly like me; but it isn't, is it?"
"The old boy must be getting in his dotage. Now, I could paint you just
beautifully, I'm sure. You would be such a jolly subject. I say!"
"What?"
Pallister glanced round to make sure that Mrs. Vandeleur was safely out
of earshot.
"Don't you think your dad would consent to our engagement without any
delay if I made a perfectly lovely picture of you? He would have to
believe there was something in me then, wouldn't he?"
"Oh, Frankie, what a perfectly fine idea. I dare say he would. Let's ask
him."
But the originator of the idea, with a frown of thought upon his brow,
shook his head.
"To really have the proper effect it ought to be sprung upon him as a
complete surprise--quite finished. 'Splendid! magnificent! superb!' he
will exclaim, when he sees it--at least, I hope that's what he will say!
Then he will go on: 'Only tell me what artist has produced this
masterpiece.'"
"And then you'll answer----?"
"Nothing. I shan't speak a word--not a word! I shall just quietly and
modestly point to my name in the corner. Oh, isn't it just a ripping
plan?"
"Lovely! Perfectly delightful!"
"But you'll have to come sometimes to Geoff Danvers's studio and give me
sittings, won't you?"
"Then auntie is to be in the secret?"
"It wouldn't be a secret for long if she knew. No, you must come alone.
Do! It will be quite all right--really it will. Jack is always there,
and we almost always have a woman model, so there would be a sort of a
chaperone. You'll come? Remember what depends on it."
"It is awfully venturesome, but I'll do it," promised the girl after a
moment's hesitation.
At this point Mrs. Vandeleur approached, and the remaining details of
the conspiracy had to be hastily whispered at parting.
"You'll come as often as you can, duckie?"
"Yes, but I shan't be able to let you know long beforehand."
"I'll get the canvas ready at once. Come to-morrow."
"Can't. I'll let you know when. What shall I wear?"
"Any white frock."
"I'll remember. Good-bye."
This arrangement had been entered into over a week ago, and as yet no
word had come from Maudie. Nevertheless Pallister was working away with
renewed ardour, living in a state of eager expectation. Of course, the
little idea had to be confided to Geoff, since he had so unexpectedly
reappeared upon the scene. Strangely enough, it did not appeal to him in
the light of an unquestionably brilliant notion preordained to success.
He was inclined to advise decidedly against it, but finding that his
opinion, although formally asked, was in reality not wanted in the
least, he raised no actual objection to the carrying out of the plan.
"But, Geoff," persisted the somewhat crushed Pallister, "surely it is an
awfully fine idea, so enterprising and original. Don't you think so
really?"
"I've told you I fancy it's quite as likely to vex Mr. Meridith as to
please him; but of course I may be mistaken. Who can tell what will melt
a stern father's stony heart? You know him much better than I do,
anyway."
"Well, it's awfully good of you, old chap, not to mind. I hope it won't
interfere with your work too much. You know, I rather feel I ought to
clear out at once, now you've come back."
"Not a bit of it. Stop at least until Miss Meridith's portrait is done.
You couldn't ask her to go to any strange studio, you know. It's quite
different here, where her father knows the whole lot of us."
So much for Frank's enterprise.
Jack Hardy also was working with increased ardour, with renewed interest
and hope.
On the afternoon of the very day of his return from Venice, Geoff had
called at the Albany to make inquiries regarding Lord Winborough's
whereabouts. However far afield his cousin might happen to be, he almost
invariably returned to England in the late summer and paid frequent
visits to London.
Geoff was anxious to persuade Lord Winborough now definitely to arrange
to fulfil his promise of sitting to Jack Hardy. It had not taken Geoff
long to discover that his friend was unhappy and dispirited. The
allegorical picture had been so far a miserable failure, and had left
Jack in exactly the frame of mind to follow the dictates of worldly
wisdom. He knew in his heart that portraiture, whether in oils or
marble, was his _forte_, and the news that Lord Winborough was expected
at his chambers in the course of a few days had served to brace him up
anew. He would follow up the advantages in obtaining paying "sitters"
that would probably result from his exhibiting a successful bust of the
earl, and the long-dreamed-of "Belle Dame" picture should really be the
last of its type, as far as he was concerned. Having definitely made up
his mind to this, he was rewarded by a renewal of enthusiasm and belief
in the future.
Saturday was devoted to work, but Geoff and Evarne spent the whole of
Sunday up the river. To both it was a time of unmitigated delight.
Sunshine, fair placid scenery, youth, health and love--what could have
been added to render the hours more idyllic, golden, divine? If Evarne
knew much sorrow, she had, as if in recompense, an intimate acquaintance
with a far deeper, a more intense happiness than ever falls within the
lot of many. She and Geoff agreed that next Sunday should be passed in
the same manner. Quite definitely this was decided--"unless it rained!"
That was the only possible obstacle that presented itself. Ah well! the
mere decision was pleasant, and served to soften the hour of parting.