"Talking of treacle pudding," said Felicity, helping that delicacy with
a grace and skill that would have demanded the entire concentration of
one less gifted--"talking of treacle pudding, I suppose you've done the
Academy?"
"Not yet," I confessed.
She looked at me reproachfully.
"Dear, dear," she sighed, "when will the British Public awaken to the
claims of Art? We haven't either."
"I generally wait a bit and find out which are the pictures I am
expected to admire."
"And a very sensible plan too," she rejoined; "that is, for you and me
and the rest of the common herd. Of course Papa's different. He's a
critic."
Her father coughed deprecatingly.
"When he sees anything really artistic," she went on, "it fills him with
delight."
"I wish you wouldn't use that horrible word, Felicity," he groaned.
"What horrible word?"
"Artistic."
"Sorry, Papa; I forgot. On the other hand," she continued unabashed, "if
you show him anything that _isn't_ it causes him terrible suffering. He
will cover his eyes with one hand and shoo it away with the other."
"You mustn't mind my little daughter's nonsense," he said. "Someone told
her the other day she had a sense of humour. It was a great mistake."
"That's one up to you, Papa," she returned cheerfully; "but before the
House adjourns I should like to move that we all go to the Academy this
afternoon."
"I should love it," I replied, "but I'm afraid I must get back to work."
"Do you _work_?" she exclaimed with rapture. "How frightfully exciting."
***
At a Flapper dance in the evening I met Felicity again and she gave me
the second "Hesitation Waltz." Afterwards she led me to some nice basket
chairs in the conservatory.
"Well, did the Academy come off?" I asked.
"Did it come off?" said Felicity. "I should say so. It was the nicest
afternoon I've had for weeks. You _ought_ to have been there."
"I suppose your father was in hot form criticising the pictures?"
"Hush," she whispered, holding her finger to her lips. "Papa as an Art
critic is temporarily under a cloud. I'll tell you. It came about in
this way: Papa is a great admirer of Sargent, and to-day he was in a
particularly Sargentesque mood. 'The great drawback to the Academy,' he
said, as we were setting forth, 'is that the Sargents are spoiled by the
other pictures. The huge mass of these all over the place entirely
destroys one's perceptions of colour value. What I should like to do
would be to see only the Sargents, turning a blind eye meanwhile to the
other paintings.'"
"'You ought to wear blinkers,' I suggested.
"He was all for it at once.
"'That's a capital idea, Felicity.'
"'Then you'll go by yourself, Papa,' I said. 'I'll do some shopping and
call for you at the police station on the way home.'
"Well, he abandoned the blinker idea eventually, but stuck to his scheme
for concentrating on Sargent, and suddenly I saw how the afternoon might
be made both amusing and instructive. So I said, 'There's one thing
that's rather pleasing, Papa. You won't have to buy a catalogue, because
I've got one. Some people I had tea with yesterday gave me theirs, and
I'll bring it if you like.'"
She looked at me mischievously under her long dark lashes.
"You catch the idea?" she asked.
"No," I said, "not yet."
"Well, as soon as we arrived Papa took the catalogue and looked up all
the Sargents--in the index part, you know, and wrote the numbers on his
cuff and then we began to hunt them down.
"The first one was a 'still life.' Papa viewed it in some perplexity.
'Ah,' he said at length, 'just as I thought. I have been anticipating
this for some time.' He adjusted his spectacles. 'The tendency of modern
Art--that is to say the best Art--is towards a return to more classic
forms. Sargent, as might be expected, leads the way; but he infuses the
subject with his own special genius. I regard this as a very line
example--very fine, indeed. The vitality of the half salmon is
positively amazing.'
"I led him gently away, and presently we stood before the portrait of a
City gentleman--the kind that is very fond of turtle soup. Papa raved
over it.
"'Here, again,' he pointed out, 'see the loving care bestowed on each
link in the watch-chain. What a reproof to the slovenly slap-dash
methods of the Impressionists.'
"I gazed rapturously into his face and urged him onward. Things went
from bad to worse, but it was really 'The Lowing Herd' that put the lid
on it. A more lamentable company of cows you could hardly imagine. Even
Papa was baffled for the moment; but after checking the number on the
picture with the number on his cuff he pulled himself together.
"'Wonderful grouping,' he said; 'eminently Sargentesque;' and his voice
seemed to challenge all within earshot to name another artist who could
have produced the work.
"'Well, now,' he concluded, 'I think that is the last of them, and the
best thing we can do is to go home. It would be a pity to spoil the
afternoon by looking at any of the lesser lights.'
"I hesitated. 'Don't you think,' I suggested, 'it would be nice just to
look at the Sargents before we go?'
"For some moments Papa was speechless.
"'The Sargents!' he exclaimed at length. 'Well, of all the----Here I
devote a solid half-hour to teaching you something about Art and your
mind is woolgathering the whole time. What on earth were you thinking
about?'
"'I was thinking about the years that are gone,' I said.
"'The years that are gone?'
"'Yes, and I'm afraid it's entirely my fault, because I brought it.'
"Papa gasped.
"'What on earth is the child talking about?'
"'The catalogue,' I said; 'it's some other year's.'"
At this moment the fallen Art critic entered the conservatory.
"Is that you, Felicity?" he exclaimed. "You're cutting a dance with your
own father. I never heard of such a thing."
She sprang up.
"Oh, Papa!" she cried, "I _am_ sorry."
She slipped her arm through his, and as they moved away together I heard
her say, with what seemed unnecessary distinctness, "We were talking
Art, you know, and that's so dreadfully absorbing."
* * * * *
Commercial Candour.
"It is a matter of surprise in more than one well-appointed
household that the best efforts of a skillful chef can produce
nothing more acceptable than
----'s Tomato Soup.."--_Advt._
* * * * *