The next day, whilst driving with her niece, Mrs. Cathcart was seized
by a sudden thought. "My dear," she said, "let us go and see about that
bust. Where did you say the sculptor man was to be found? Nelson
Studios, King's Road. What number?"
"No. 10," said Eugenia, wondering if her aunt's sudden resolve would be
productive of good or evil.
The carriage went to Nelson Studios; the ladies dismounted, and Mrs.
Cathcart tapped at the door of No. 10, a studio which, being a
sculptor's, was of course on the ground-floor.
The door was opened by a handsome young man whose outside garb was a
ragged old blouse, and whose hands were white with half-dried clay--one
of those hands, moreover, held a short pipe. Indeed, Gerald Leigh was in
as unpresentable trim as when years ago he first met Miss Herbert.
He did not at once see the girl. She was behind Mrs. Cathcart, and that
lady's majestic presence absorbed all his attention. Mrs. Cathcart put
up her eye-glass.
"Is your master in?" she asked.
Gerald laughed. "I am my own master," he said.
"This is Mr. Leigh, aunt," said Eugenia, coming forward.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Cathcart, and the palpable meaning of that exclamatory
monosyllable sent the blood to Eugenia's cheek.
Gerald started as he heard the girl's voice and recognized her in the
shadow. He stretched out his clay-covered hand, then withdrew it and
laughed. Mrs. Cathcart, who saw the action, put on a look of supreme
astonishment; then she recovered herself.
"Oh, I forgot," she said to Eugenia. "Of course, you have seen Mr. Leigh
before. May we come in, Mr. Leigh?"
He moved aside and the ladies entered the studio. He placed his two
chairs at their disposal. He wondered the while what had brought Eugenia
to him. He gave her a questioning glance, but her eyes avoided his. Then
Mrs. Cathcart began. She spoke in that manner which certain persons
assume towards those whom they are pleased to think their inferiors.
"I believe, some time ago, you made a bust of my late brother-in-law,
Mr. Herbert, of Coombe-Acton."
Gerald bowed.
"I wish to have a copy of it. Can you make one?"
"Certainly. In marble?"
"In marble, of course. How much will it cost?"
It was a painful experience to Eugenia, to hear her future husband
talked to by Mrs. Cathcart much as that lady talked to the obliging
young men and women at the various emporiums which enjoyed her
patronage.
"Mr. Herbert was my best friend," said Gerald. "My services are at your
disposal."
"You do not understand me," said Mrs. Cathcart, coldly. "I asked you
what it would cost."
Gerald colored and glanced at Eugenia. He was utterly puzzled. It could
only have been through the agency of the girl he loved that this new
patroness sought him.
"Mr. Leigh was my father's friend, aunt," said Eugenia.
"My dear! Mr. Leigh is not _my_ friend. I want to know his terms for a
marble bust."
"Eighty pounds, madam," said Gerald, rather shortly.
"Oh, much too much! Eugenia, do you not think such a price
extortionate?"
Eugenia was silent, but her cheeks burned. Gerald's lip quivered with
anger. Only Mrs. Cathcart was calm. "I will pay you forty pounds," she
said, "but then it must be approved by a competent judge."
"You have heard my terms, madam," said Leigh curtly.
"Absurd! I will even say fifty pounds. If you like to take that you may
call upon me. Good-morning. Come, Eugenia!"
She swept out of the studio. Eugenia followed her. She looked back and
saw Gerald's face wearing an expression of actual pain. For a moment her
impulse was to run back, throw her arms round his neck, and defy every
one. However, she did not yield to it, but followed her aunt to the
carriage.
"I call that young man a most common, ill-bred person," said Mrs.
Cathcart.
Eugenia flushed. "He is not," she said hotly. "Your manner towards him
must have been most mortifying."
"My dear child!" exclaimed Mrs. Cathcart, in innocent surprise, "and I
was trying to befriend the young man? He presumes on his acquaintance
with your father. I always told your poor father it was a mistake
becoming intimate with persons of that class."
Eugenia said no more. If she had thought of so doing it was not the
moment to open her heart to Mrs. Cathcart. She went to her room
intending to write to Gerald; but no letter was written that day. How
could she ask him to call at her aunt's after what had occurred?
"I love him," she said to herself, "but I am not brave enough to give up
all for him. Oh, why did we ever meet?"
The next morning she received a letter from Gerald. It contained no
reproach--only an entreaty that she would name a time when he might see
her. Mrs. Cathcart was true to her duty. Before James Herbert was out of
bed she had sent him word that a letter had come for Eugenia. He went at
once to his sister. His greeting was quite friendly.
"Eugenia," he said presently, "of course by now you have put all that
nonsense about that sculptor-fellow out of your pretty head?"
"It is no nonsense."
"Well, if you mean to be obstinate I must interfere. Have you seen him
since?"
"Aunt went to his studio. I was with her."
"She ought to have known better. If she encourages you we shall quarrel.
Do you correspond? Tell me the truth."
She offered him Gerald's letter. He waved it aside as a thing beneath
his notice.
"Have you answered it?" he asked.
"Not yet. I am just going to."
Her brother still remained calm and polite, with that contemptuous,
incredulous smile playing round his lips.
"If you will make a fool of yourself, I can't stop you. If you, with
your beauty and position, choose to go and live in a garret, you must do
so. Still, as your brother, I have certain responsibilities which would
still be mine were your lover the highest in the land. I must make
inquiries as to his character and moral worth--these fellows are
generally a loose lot."
"You may make what inquiries you choose."
"Thank you. Now one favor--a command, the last I shall ask or give. You
will not answer this letter--you will not see the man--until I have
satisfied myself on these points. It is not too much to ask, Eugenia."
She felt the justice of his remarks--could it be she was weak enough to
be glad of a little delay and breathing space? But Gerald's face, as
last she saw it, rose before her.
"You must name a time," she said.
"So impatient for true love and social extinction," sneered Herbert.
"Surely you can restrain yourself until this day week."
It was longer than she had meant. But her brother's bitter sneers
settled it. "So be it," she said, "until this day week."
The promise given James Herbert dismissed the matter, but he filled up
the next half-hour with the very cream of society gossip, which was
undoubtedly as palatable to Eugenia as it would have been to any other
woman. James Herbert lived within the inner circle, and as to-day, for
purposes of his own, he spoke to Eugenia as if she were one of the
initiated; his conversation was not without charm.
He was clever to know when to trust. He had not the slightest fear that
Eugenia would break her promise. So he cautioned Mrs. Cathcart to keep
the little fool well within sight, and thus avoid danger of a chance
meeting; to order the servants to refuse the sculptor admission if
he ventured to call--and above all to be sure that Norgate had every
opportunity of pressing his suit. After this he waited calmly, and did
nothing more in the matter for six whole days.
Days during which Gerald Leigh chafed and fretted. He refused to doubt,
but his heart grew heavy within him. He felt sure that Mrs. Cathcart's
visit boded no good. At last he could bear the suspense no longer. He
called and asked for Eugenia. She was out. He called again--the same
result. He went back to his studio and tried to conquer his growing
uneasiness by hard work. One morning a gentleman called and introduced
himself as James Herbert.
Gerald received him courteously. Herbert was suave, smiling and bland.
He spoke of the interest he felt in the young sculptor for his father,
Mr. Herbert's sake. He admired some embryo designs, and wished and
prophesied all success. Then, as Gerald began to hope that Eugenia's
brother might some day be his friend, he turned upon him and tore him to
pieces.
"But, after all, Mr. Leigh, my great object in calling concerns my
sister."
Gerald grew very pale.
"She is a good girl, but weak. She has confessed to me that some sort of
romantic nonsense had passed between you."
"She has vowed to be my wife--no more, no less."
His impetuosity seemed to amuse Herbert. "I am afraid such a thing
is an impossibility," he said serenely. "I shall not insult you by
telling you she is all but penniless--geniuses, I know, never think of
money--but I fear I must pain you by saying she repents of her hasty
words."
"That," said Gerald slowly, yet fiercely, "is a lie."
"My good sir, I cannot allow you to use such words. My temper is fair,
but it has its limits."
"I apologize," said Gerald sullenly. "I should have said you were
coercing her."
"I never coerced any one in my life; much less my sister. Naturally, I
shall object to her marriage with you; but that makes no difference."
"Tell me what you have to tell," said Gerald nervously. He hated and
feared this smooth, smiling man.
"In a few words, then, my sister is unhappy and unsettled. For several
days she has been trying to answer a letter you sent her. At last she
confided all to me. I am sure I am not going too far when I say she
would be glad to think that all boy and girl promises between you were
forgotten."
"She sent you to tell me this?" asked Gerald hoarsely.
"No. She knew I was coming. I am putting her thoughts in my own words."
"I don't expect you to understand what my love for your sister means;
you could not," said Gerald. "But you know she has vowed to be my wife."
"Yes; and will keep her promise if you insist upon it." The emphasis
Herbert laid on insist made Gerald's heart sick.
He said nothing; but, with a strange smile on his white face, he went
to a table and wrote a few words. He handed the paper to his visitor.
"Read," he said; "you say you are her messenger; now you can be mine."
The words were:
"Eugenia: If this is unanswered I shall believe you wish to recall
everything that has passed between us."
"Thank you," said Herbert. "This is all I could expect."
With trembling hands the sculptor placed the paper in an envelope, and
once more tendered it to Herbert.
"No, thank you," said Herbert. "People have been tempted to suppress
letters before now. Post it in the ordinary way."
Gerald left the room. He returned in a few moments, and Herbert knew
that the letter had been posted. He had nothing further to do with
Gerald, so held out his hand affably.
"No," said Gerald, "I would rather not." His eyes were gleaming
strangely.
"As you will," said Herbert with indifference.
"I will change my mind," said Gerald in a low voice, and taking the
other's hand; "condemned people always shake hands with the hangman,
I think."
He spoke with a ghastly attempt at mirth. Herbert left the studio
without another word, but, as he drove to Mrs. Cathcart's, said to
himself, "The sooner that beggar shoots or hangs himself the better."
He went straight to his sister. He placed his hand on her shoulder,
and, with a look she had never yet seen on his face, said in a cold,
contemptuous manner:
"Eugenia, I have been taking some trouble on your behalf. To-day two
things are going to happen which will settle your future. Norgate will
be here presently and ask you to be his wife. By the next post you will
get a letter from that stone-cutter. Before you answer it, shut yourself
up and think until you are in a proper frame of mind. Women are fools,
but surely you can't be the biggest among them."
"You have seen him?" asked Eugenia faintly.
"Yes. An extremely nice young man--in his place."
"Was he well?"
"Very well, and very comfortable. My dear girl, he quite won my
respect--a thoroughly practical young man, with lots of common-sense.
Now good-bye. Don't make any mistake."
Did she hear aright? Her brother found Gerald a thoroughly practical
young man! The lie was so gigantic that it seemed impossible it could be
all a lie. She was revolving it in her mind even when Sir Ralph Norgate
was announced.
As for the practical young man, he had locked his door, and thrown
himself on the ground. James Herbert's words had impressed him, and
perhaps his faith in Eugenia's faith was not so great as he fancied.
To-morrow he would know the verdict. He felt sure that if his letter
remained unanswered for twenty-four hours James Herbert had spoken the
truth.
Miss Herbert found her brother a true prophet. Sir Ralph Norgate offered
his hand, and when the offer was refused, told her he did not mean to
accept her answer as final. She did not, on her part, say anything about
her love being given elsewhere. Then Gerald's letter came, and following
her brother's advice she did think everything over; she sat for hours
trying to nerve herself to answer the letter as love and faith
demanded.
She loved him. Had he been present her indecision would soon have
vanished; but, as it was, she could reflect fully on what an answer to
his letter must mean--alienation of all her friends--an end of social
ambition--many years, if not a life, of poverty. Eugenia shuddered as
she thought of the consequences, and wished that she and Gerald had
never met. She wished moreover, that the temptations of rank and wealth
held out by her other suitor were less.
What would Gerald do if his letter was not answered? If she could but
persuade herself that her brother's estimate of his character was the
right one! Possibly it might be; James knew mankind well. If she could
but think so--could believe that Gerald would forget--she might then
find it easier to be wise, and, by taking him at his word, save herself
and perhaps him from what must insure unhappiness.
So she reasoned--so she excused her half-meditated treason--so she
persuaded herself it would eventually be better for both if they parted.
Yet all the while she knew she loved Gerald Leigh as she could love no
other man. In this mental conflict the day passed and night found the
letter unanswered. Then James Herbert came to her.
"Eugenia, have you replied to that letter?"
She shook her head.
"Give it to me," he said.
She did so. It was a relief to get rid of it. He tore it into fragments.
"There," he said. "I knew I could trust your good sense. There is an
end of the affair. It is a secret between you and me, and I shall never
again allude to it."
For good or ill the die was cast. She had freed herself. But she had
left the room with swimming eyes, and went to Mrs. Cathcart.
"Aunt," she cried, "will you take me abroad--for a long time?"
It was hard for Mrs. Cathcart to be called upon to give up the rest of
the London season. But then Mr. Herbert's recent death prevented her
going out much, and it was paramount that Eugenia's future should be
satisfactorily disposed of. So the excellent woman sacrificed herself at
once.
"I will take you abroad, Eugenia, if you will promise to be Sir Ralph's
wife."
Eugenia had chosen her own path, and knew where it would lead; yet for
very shame she would not show her thoughts to others.
"I can promise nothing," she said. "Take me away."
Three days afterward, Gerald Leigh learned that Eugenia had gone abroad
with her aunt.
Although in his studio all day long, the sculptor did no work for
weeks; at last he aroused himself, engaged a model and set to work with
feverish energy. From morn to night he thumbed and pushed about the
ductile clay. He laughed in a sort of bitter triumph. His hands had not
lost their cunning. The work grew and grew apace until the clay was done
with, and a fair white block of marble stood in the centre of the studio
waiting to be hewn into the statue which was to be Gerald Leigh's first
high bid for fame.