Mr St. John, Senior's, wrath knew no bounds when he received his son's
note and learnt that he had taken the irrevocable step and actually
married the art mistress. He passed the letter on to his niece with
Thompkins and Co.'s card, and turned away from the lunch-table too
disgusted to eat his food. Evie Bolton took things more quietly. She
had realised her defeat from the first, and accepted it as she did the
announcement of her cousin's marriage with a composure that did more
credit to her head than to her heart. She read the letter through
without comment, and studied the card. Then she looked up with a little
laugh.
"How funny," she said. "I will go and have my photograph taken there."
Mr St. John said nothing. He just wheeled about shortly and left the
room, but when he got outside his language was more forcible than
polite, and he kicked Miss Bolton's pet pug right across the hall. For
the first time he saw the heiress with his son's eyes.
"Jack is a fool," mused Miss Bolton complacently, tapping the pasteboard
in a meditative fashion. "He will hate it all three months hence, and
then they will quarrel horribly. A photographer indeed! What possessed
him, I wonder?"
When Miss Bolton flippantly observed that she intended having her
photograph taken at Thompkins and Co.'s, she did not mean it seriously;
for she had not considered the matter, and only spoke upon impulse.
Some months later, however, the idea returning to her mind, she
determined, after thinking it over for a little while, to act upon it,
and judge for herself how Jack adapted himself to his changed
circumstances.
It was characteristic of her that she should don her richest attire for
the occasion, and drive there in style instead of going in the quietest
and most unobtrusive manner; and it was also characteristic that on
arriving and entering the shop she should haughtily demand to see Mr
St. John, entirely ignoring Jill, who, on her entry, had risen from her
seat at the desk, and now in her usual philosophic manner walked quietly
out of the shop to call her husband St. John was in the studio
endeavouring to snap an infant in its vest, and only succeeding in
making it howl. He was looking worried and annoyed, and welcomed Jill's
advent with relief.
"You are better at this kind of thing than I am," he said in an aside to
her; "just see if you can pacify the little beast."
"All right," answered Jill shortly. "You can go and do the agreeable to
Evie Bolton; she's in the shop waiting to see you."
St. John whistled, and the infant stopped yelling to listen; it was
noted for its love of music.
"How jolly nice of her," he cried. "Perhaps she'll stay and have tea
with us."
"Perhaps she won't," Jill answered rather bitterly; but St. John was not
paying any attention; he was busy adjusting the collar of his coat, and
failed to detect the chagrin in his wife's tone and manner. Jill turned
her back on him quickly to hide her annoyance, and walked over to make
friends with the baby, while St. John, unconscious that anything was
amiss, strode through the studio into the shop where Evie Bolton awaited
him. She turned at his entry and advanced to greet him, recognising
with a little pang of envy as she did so, what a fine, manly, handsome
fellow this cousin of hers was. St. John, too, realised for the first
time how very pretty and stylish Evie was. When he had lived with
stylish women he had not noticed these things, now that his lot was cast
among the working-classes, he perceived and appreciated the difference.
His glance rested on Miss Bolton's well groomed prettiness with a kind
of tired relief, and the sordidness of his own surroundings became more
apparent.
"It is good of you to look us up," he cried. "I half feared that I was
going to get the cold shoulder altogether."
He had taken the girl's outstretched hand in both of his, and now looked
into her eyes with a smile of pleased gratitude. Evie smiled back.
"You should never have thought that of me," she said. "You might have
known I would come eventually. If uncle hadn't been so furious about it
I should have come sooner, but I had to use my discretion and wait. The
first time I suggested a visit he flung out of the room in a temper. I
fear you have done for yourself, dear, so far as your father is
concerned."
St. John looked moody, and seeing his change of countenance, she
hastened to turn the subject.
"Jack," she said, "I am awfully low-spirited--I suppose I have missed
you rather. I want you to take me out to tea somewhere and cheer me up
if you can."
St. John swallowed the bait. The idea of a diversion was pleasing to
him, and the knowledge that he had been missed gratified his vanity.
"Dear little girl, of course I will," he answered. "I'll just go and
put it all right with Thompkins, and then I'll be at your service.
Jill's in the studio. You saw her though, didn't you?"
Miss Bolton flushed.
"Ye-es," she answered hesitatingly, "for a minute. Make haste, Jack
dear; I am so impatient to be off. While you are gone I will look at
these abominable photographs. I meant to let you take mine to-day, but
I object to being caricatured."
"You must let Jill paint you," he said, "She's first class at portrait
painting and would like to get some customers."
"One day," the girl answered vaguely, "perhaps I will."
St. John hurried out, and Miss Bolton turned with languid interest to
inspect the portraits round the walls. When her cousin returned he
discovered her intently scrutinising a cabinet photograph of Mr
Markham.
"What a libel," she cried holding it up. "This is your handiwork, I
should imagine. When did you take it?"
"Oh! I don't know," he answered carelessly, "Jill took it one day. She
has taken him lots of times; he often calls in."
Evie's eyebrows went up with a show of surprise.
"Is he a friend of--Mrs St. John?" she asked.
"I suppose so; Jill likes him. He and I were always rather chummy, and
he drops in in to talk about--oh! well, about old times and--friends,
you know."
"He never told me," she rejoined slowly. "I saw him yesterday and he
mentioned very casually that he met you recently; he did not say that he
was intimate here."
"Perhaps he didn't think that it would interest you," he suggested. "Or
he might have thought the subject tabooed."
"With me?" she cried. "Impossible! I am always talking about you."
"Very flattering of you, my dear Evie," he laughingly rejoined, "but
you'll never persuade me that you are so one idead."
Miss Bolton put the photograph back in its place, and turned towards the
entrance with an evident desire to get away.
"I am," she said. "I've only got one idea at present and that's tea.
Don't let us waste more time, Jack, but come along at once."
"It's an awful pity Jill can't come with us," he remarked as he followed
her out, "but we couldn't both leave together."
"Yes," acquiesced Evie, none too heartily, "it is a pity. Never mind
she sees plenty of you now and I don't. She can't begrudge me a few
hours now and then. I am seriously thinking of getting married myself,
Jack; it is so deadly dull since you went."
Thinking of Markham, St. John looked pleased.
"Why don't you?" he asked.
"I am going to," she answered settling herself in a corner of the
carriage with an airy laugh. "I am looking about for a title."
"Oh!" observed St. John disapprovingly, "I shouldn't bother about that.
Why not look about for someone you can give your heart to?"
"Because I haven't got one to bestow," she retorted. "If I ever
possessed such an uncomfortable organ it must have been stolen from me
long ago, but I don't feel the want of it so don't miss it at all. I
suppose you flatter yourself that Jill has given her heart to you?"
"Yes," he answered smiling, and patting his left side, "I have it here
safe enough in place of the one I gave to her."
"Ah!" returned Miss Bolton coolly, "a pretty fancy no doubt, but a fancy
all the same, my dear Jack, and absolutely ridiculous."
"Don't be cynical," he said; "it's a sign of the times, and unbecoming."
"And cynical women are generally old maids," laughed Evie. "That won't
do for I must have my title. I won't die an old maid if I have to
advertise in a matrimonial journal."