When St. John returned after seeing his cousin safely home it was late
in the afternoon, and though the place still remained open business was
apparently over for the day. Thompkins and Co. were not over-burdened
with customers at any time, and their number since the advent of the new
Co. had been steadily on the decrease. Business was slack, the returns
were very small, and St. John felt by no means sanguine as to the
success of his venture. He had been married a little over four months,
and it was only by exercising the greatest care that they managed to pay
their way even. Jill was a thrifty housewife--she always had been,--but
St. John forgot his straightened circumstances at times, and launched
out a little recklessly. He had not been altogether careful that
afternoon, and the consciousness of the fact gave him an unpleasant
twinge of remorse as he mounted the steep stairs to their little
sitting-room.
Jill was alone standing looking out of the window with her back towards
the door, nor did she turn round at his entry. She was displeased.
"You have been a long time," she said.
"I'm afraid I have," he admitted. "You weren't lonely I hope?"
"No; I was too busy for that. And afterwards Mr Markham came in. He
has just left."
"Why, he was here yesterday. He surely didn't want his photo taken
again?"
"No, I think he wanted a chat, and when he found I was alone he stayed
on for company. Have you had a pleasant time? Where did you go?"
"We went and had tea," he answered. He didn't say where; he was ashamed
to; it was one of the places where you pay for locality and Miss Bolton
had not once offered to share expenses. "And then we spent a little
time at the Academy--Evie's fond of pictures you know."
"Oh, yes, I know," agreed Jill drily. "I have a vivid recollection of
her passion for art; it was so upsetting. I suppose she shut her eyes
occasionally? Some people take art like they do physic--shut their eyes
and hold their noses except when nobody's looking."
"Jill dear, don't be nasty," he said.
Jill laughed.
"I can't help it," she answered. "I'm afraid my nature must be warped I
have such a knack of being disagreeable. I could have pinched that
horrid little baby this afternoon, it irritated me so; and yet I am fond
of children. And I could have been exceedingly rude to Miss Bolton if
she hadn't been rude to me first;--of course I wouldn't follow her
example in anything."
"Rude to you?--Evie? How?"
"Oh! in an entirely lady-like manner. She merely gave me to understand
that she didn't intend to recognise me, and treated me as she would any
other shop assistant. Miss Bolton means taking you up and cutting your
wife. I suppose she is perfectly justified."
"Don't be ridiculous, Jill," St. John cried sharply. "Evie means
nothing of the sort. She spoke of you most kindly, and said it was a
pity you couldn't go with us."
"Ah!" rejoined Jill queerly. "My mistake again. Evie has a mystifying
way of showing her kindness, but doubtless she means well. You, I
suppose, understand her better than I do, but I shouldn't advise you to
try arranging an excursion for three."
"Very well," he returned, "I won't go with her again. I wouldn't have
to-day if I had thought it would annoy you. We were like brother and
sister always and it was pleasant for me to see her again."
Jill heaved a deep sigh, and leaned her forehead against the window
pane. She knew that he had no intention of wounding her feelings yet
these unconscious allusions to the sacrifice that he had made in
marrying her hurt her more than they need have done. And St. John never
guessed. Not for a moment had he regretted the step he had taken, and
it did not occur to him that Jill should imagine he might.
"I am not annoyed," she said after a brief pause. "I am irritable this
evening, that's all. Mr Markham said that I wasn't looking well;
perhaps I am a little out of sorts. Are the pictures good this year,
Jack?"
"Good enough. But none of them to come up to yours in my eyes as I told
Evie. It's scandalous to think that real talent should get overlooked,
yet it's often enough the case."
"Mr Markham," jerked out Jill suddenly, "wishes me to paint his
portrait."
St. John laughed.
"Markham is getting vain," he said. "No doubt he purposes presenting it
to Evie. When is the first sitting to be?"
"I don't know, nothing is definitely settled, I thought I would speak to
you about it first."
St. John looked at her in astonishment.
"Why?" he asked.
Jill hesitated. She had no real reason to offer, but when Mr Markham
made the proposal she felt that she would like to consult Jack before
deciding. She had consulted him, and now regretted having done so.
"I wasn't sure whether the arrangement would be agreeable to Mr
Thompkins," she answered. "He expects me to be available for the studio
at all times and seasons you know, and, of course, undertaking this
would mean giving a good deal of my time--"
"To hear you one would think," interposed her husband, "that you
contemplated painting a multitude. You know as well as I do that
Thompkins will be quite agreeable. I should have thought you would have
settled the matter out of hand."
"I am not at all sure that I will undertake it," retorted Jill
pettishly. "I hate painting men; they make such horribly uninteresting
subjects; and I'm sick to death of the sound of Evie Bolton's name.
Fancy listening for a solid hour to the extolling of her virtues! I
don't think I could stand it."
"Oh! that's it, is it?" laughed St. John. "Well, of course, you must
please yourself, old girl, but I shouldn't let Evie do me out of a fiver
if I were you. Besides I have thought lately that Markham avoids the
subject I suppose he twigs that you're not so fond of it as he is."
Jill said nothing. She had noticed the same thing; and could not help
wondering why their visitor came so frequently when he no longer cared
to discuss the once all sufficing topic. Jack had formerly declared
that he only came to talk Evie, but that could hardly be said of him
now. Sometimes Mrs Jack fancied that his suit did not progress
altogether as he could have wished, and in her womanly, whole-hearted
way felt sorry for him. She had been so happy in her own love that she
would have pitied anyone less fortunate than herself. Besides she liked
Markham and admired his perseverance, though she wondered occasionally
whether he would have been quite so devoted had Miss Bolton been
penniless like herself.
"I saw the Governor on my way home," observed St. John at length,
breaking the silence with a short laugh. Mrs St. John's heart gave a
sudden jump.
"He didn't--cut you?" she queried.
"Oh, dear no! bowed to me almost as though he considered me on an
equality. Feels jolly rum being treated by one's father like that."
"I call it abominable of him," Jill cried hotly. "He seems absolutely
heartless."
St. John looked amused.
"Well, I don't quite see what else he could have done under the
circumstances," said he. "I don't blame him for giving me the kick out
and all that as I disappointed him, but I do for not bringing me up to
some profession; it's beastly rough luck for me."
Jill laid one small hand upon his shoulder, ever so light a touch but it
carried great comfort with it.
"You don't make a good poor man, dear," she said gently. "You should
have known my father; he was always cheerful even in his poorest
moments; yet no one would have called him careless nor improvident. He
was simply brave and self-reliant."
"Little mentor," answered her husband gravely, drawing her face down to
his. "I accept the rebuke; there shall be no more complaints. I will
be `up and doing--learn to labour and to wait.'"