Nash brought her, the great modern personage, as he had described her,
the very next day, and it took his friend no long time to test his
assurance that Miriam Rooth was now splendid. She had made an impression
on him ten months before, but it had haunted him only a day, soon
overlaid as it had been with other images. Yet after Nash had talked of
her a while he recalled her better; some of her attitudes, some of her
looks and tones began to hover before him. He was charmed in advance
with the notion of painting her. When she stood there in fact, however,
it seemed to him he had remembered her wrong; the brave, free, rather
grand creature who instantly filled his studio with such an unexampled
presence had so shaken off her clumsiness, the rudeness and crudeness
that had made him pity her, a whole provincial and "second-rate" side.
Miss Rooth was light and bright and direct to-day--direct without being
stiff and bright without being garish. To Nick's perhaps inadequately
sophisticated mind the model, the actress were figures of a vulgar
setting; but it would have been impossible to show that taint less than
this extremely natural yet extremely distinguished aspirant to
distinction. She was more natural even than Gabriel Nash--"nature" was
still Nick's formula for his amusing old friend--and beside her he
appeared almost commonplace.
Nash recognised her superiority with a frankness honourable to both of
them--testifying in this manner to his sense that they were all three
serious beings, worthy to deal with fine realities. She attracted crowds
to her theatre, but to his appreciation of such a fact as that,
important doubtless in its way, there were the limits he had already
expressed. What he now felt bound in all integrity to register was his
perception that she had, in general and quite apart from the question of
the box-office, a remarkable, a very remarkable, artistic nature. He
allowed that she had surprised him here; knowing of her in other days
mainly that she was hungry to adopt an overrated profession he had not
imputed to her the normal measure of intelligence. Now he saw--he had
had some talks with her--that she was capable almost of a violent play
of mind; so much so that he was sorry for the embarrassment it would be
to her. Nick could imagine the discomfort of having anything in the
nature of a mind to arrange for in such conditions. "She's a woman of
the best intentions, really of the best," Nash explained kindly and
lucidly, almost paternally, "and the quite rare head you can see for
yourself."
Miriam, smiling as she sat on an old Venetian chair, held aloft, with
the noblest effect, that quarter of her person to which this patronage
was extended, remarking to her host that, strange as it might appear,
she had got quite to like poor Mr. Nash: she could make him go about
with her--it was a relief to her mother.
"When I take him she has perfect peace," the girl said; "then she can
stay at home and see the interviewers. She delights in that and I hate
it, so our friend here is a great comfort. Of course a _femme de
theatre_ is supposed to be able to go out alone, but there's a kind of
'smartness,' an added _chic_, in having some one. People think he's my
'companion '; I'm sure they fancy I pay him. I'd pay him, if he'd take
it--and perhaps he will yet!--rather than give him up, for it doesn't
matter that he's not a lady. He _is_ one in tact and sympathy, as you
see. And base as he thinks the sort of thing I do he can't keep away
from the theatre. When you're celebrated people will look at you who
could never before find out for themselves why they should."
"When you're celebrated you grow handsomer; at least that's what has
happened to you, though you were pretty too of old," Gabriel placidly
argued. "I go to the theatre to look at your head; it gives me the
greatest pleasure. I take up anything of that sort as soon as I find it.
One never knows how long it may last."
"Are you attributing that uncertainty to my appearance?" Miriam
beautifully asked.
"Dear no, to my own pleasure, the first precious bloom of it," Nash went
on. "Dormer at least, let me tell you in justice to him, hasn't waited
till you were celebrated to want to see you again--he stands there
open-eyed--for the simple reason that he hadn't the least idea of your
renown. I had to announce it to him."
"Haven't you seen me act?" Miriam put, without reproach, to her host.
"I'll go to-night," he handsomely declared.
"You have your terrible House, haven't you? What do they call it--the
demands of public life?" Miriam continued: in answer to which Gabriel
explained that he had the demands of private life as well, inasmuch as
he was in love--he was on the point of being married. She listened to
this with participation; then she said: "Ah then do bring your--what do
they call her in English? I'm always afraid of saying something
improper--your _future_. I'll send you a box, under the circumstances;
you'll like that better." She added that if he were to paint her he
would have to see her often on the stage, wouldn't he? to profit by the
_optique de la scene_--what did they call _that_ in English?--studying
her and fixing his impression. But before he had time to meet this
proposition she asked him if it disgusted him to hear her speak like
that, as if she were always posing and thinking about herself, living
only to be looked at, thrusting forward her person. She already often
got sick of doing so, but _a la guerre comme a la guerre_.
"That's the fine artistic nature, you see--a sort of divine disgust
breaking out in her," Nash expounded.
"If you want to paint me 'at all at all' of course. I'm struck with the
way I'm taking that for granted," the girl decently continued. "When Mr.
Nash spoke of it to me I jumped at the idea. I remembered our meeting in
Paris and the kind things you said to me. But no doubt one oughtn't to
jump at ideas when they represent serious sacrifices on the part of
others."
"Doesn't she speak well?" Nash demanded of Nick. "Oh she'll go far!"
"It's a great privilege to me to paint you: what title in the world have
I to pretend to such a model?" Nick replied to Miriam. "The sacrifice is
yours--a sacrifice of time and good nature and credulity. You come, in
your bright beauty and your genius, to this shabby place where I've
nothing worth speaking of to show, not a guarantee to offer you; and I
wonder what I've done to deserve such a gift of the gods."
"Doesn't _he_ speak well?"--and Nash appealed with radiance to their
companion.
She took no notice of him, only repeating to Nick that she hadn't
forgotten his friendly attitude in Paris; and when he answered that he
surely had done very little she broke out, first resting her eyes on
him with a deep, reasonable smile and then springing up quickly; "Ah
well, if I must justify myself I liked you!"
"Fancy my appearing to challenge you!" laughed Nick in deprecation. "To
see you again is to want tremendously to try something. But you must
have an infinite patience, because I'm an awful duffer."