|Upon my word,' Gwen Howard-Russell thought to herself in the gardens of
the Villa Panormi, 'I really can't understand that young Mr. Churchill.
He's four years older, and he ought to be four years wiser now, than
when we were last at Rome, but he's actually just as stupid and as dull
of comprehension as ever; he positively doesn't see when a girl's in
love with him. He must be utterly bound up in his sculpture and his
artistic notions, that's what it is, or else he'd surely discover
what one was driving at when one gives him every possible sort of
opportunity. One would have thought he'd have seen lots of society
during these four winters that he's been comparatively famous, and that
he would have found out what people mean when they say such things to
him. But he hasn't, and I declare he's really more polite and attentive
even now to that little governess cousin of his, with the old-fashioned
bonnet, than he is to me myself, in spite of everything.'
For it had never entered into Gwen's heart to think that Colin might
possibly be in love himself with the little gipsy-faced governess
cousin.
'Cousin Dick,' Gwen said a few minutes later to Lord Beaminster, 'I've
asked Mr. Churchill and my two Americans to come up and have a cup of
tea with us this afternoon out here in the garden.'
'Certainly, my dear,' the earl answered, smiling with all his false
teeth most amiably; 'the house is your own, you know. (And, by George,
she makes it so, certainly without asking me. But who on earth could
ever be angry with such a splendid high-spirited creature?) Bring your
Americans here by all means, and give that man with the outlandish name
plenty of tea, please, to keep him quiet. By Jove, Gwen, I never can
understand for the life of me what the dickens the fellow's talking
about.'
In due time the guests arrived, and Gwen, who had determined by this
time to play a woman's last card, took great care during the whole
afternoon to talk as much as possible to Hiram and as little as possible
to Colin Churchill. She was determined to let him think he had a rival;
that is the surest way of making a man discover whether he really cares
for a woman or otherwise.
'Oh yes, I've been to Mr. Winthrop's studio,' she said in answer to
Audouin's inquiry, 'and we admired so much a picture of a lake with
such a funny name to it, didn't we, papa? It was really beautiful, Mr.
Winthrop. I've never seen anything of yours that I've been pleased with
so much. Don't you think it splendid, Mr. Audouin?'
'A fine picture in its way--yes, certainly, Miss Russell; but not nearly
so good, to my thinking, as the Capture of Babylon he's now working on.'
'You think so, really? Well, now, for my part I like the landscape
better. There's so much more originality and personality in it, I fancy.
Mr. Winthrop, which do you yourself like the best of your performances?'
Hiram blushed with pleasure. Gwen had never before taken so much notice
of him. 'I'm hardly a good judge myself,' he faltered out timidly. 'I
wouldn't for worlds pit my own small opinion, of course, against Mr.
Audouin's. I'm trying my best at the Capture of Babylon, naturally,
but I don't seem to satisfy my own imaginary standard in historical
painting, somehow, nearly as well as in external nature. For my own
part, I like the landscapes best. I quite agree with you, Miss Russell,
that Lake Chattawauga is about my high-water mark.'
['Lake Chattawauga!' the earl interjected pensively--but nobody took the
slightest notice of him. 'Lake Chattawauga! Do you really mean to
say you've painted the picture of a place with such a name as Lake
Chattawauga? I should suppose it must be somewhere or other over in
America.')
'I'm so glad to hear you say so,' Gwen answered cordially, 'because
one's always wrong, you know, in matters of art criticism; and it's
such a comfort to hear that one may be right now and again if only by
accident. I liked Lake Chattawauga quite immensely; I don't know when
I've seen a picture that pleased me so much, Mr. Winthrop.--What do you
say, Mr. Churchill?'
'I think you and Winthrop are quite right, Miss Russell. His landscapes
are very, very pretty, and I wish he'd devote himself to them entirely,
and give up historical painting and figure subjects altogether.'
['The first time I ever noticed a trace of professional jealousy in
young Churchill,' thought Audouin to himself sapiently. 'He doesn't want
Hiram, apparently, to go on with the one thing which is certain to lead
him in the end to fame and fortune.')
'And there was a lovely little sketch of a Tyrolese waterfall,' Gwen
began again enthusiastically. 'Wasn't it exquisite, papa? You know you
said you'd so much like to buy it for the dining-room.'
Hiram flushed again. 'I'm so glad you liked my little things,' he said,
trembling with delight. 'I didn't think you cared in the least for any
of my work, Miss Russell. I was afraid you weren't at all interested in
the big canvases.'
'Not like your work, Mr. Winthrop!' Gwen cried, with half a glance aside
at Colin. 'Oh yes, I've always admired it most sincerely! Why, don't
you remember, our friendship with you and Mr. Audouin began just with my
admiring a little water-colour you were making the very first day I ever
saw you, by the Lake of the Thousand Islands?' (Hiram nodded a joyful
assent. Why, how could he ever possibly forget it?) 'And then you know
there was that beautiful little sketch of the Lago Albano, that you
gave me the day I was leaving Italy last. I have it hung up in our
drawing-room at home in England, and I think it's one of the very
prettiest pictures I ever looked at.'
Hiram could have cried like a child that moment with the joy and
excitement of a long pent-up nature.
And so, through all that delightful afternoon, Gwen kept leading up,
without intermission, to Hiram Winthrop. Hiram himself hardly knew
what on earth to make of it. Gwen was very kind and polite to him
to-day--that much was certain; and that, at least, was quite enough
to secure Hiram an unwonted amount of genuine happiness. How he hugged
himself over her kindly smiles and appreciative criticisms! How he
fancied in his heart, with tremulous hesitation, that she really was
beginning to care just a little bit for him, were it ever so little! In
short, for the moment, he was in the seventh heaven, and he felt happier
than he had ever felt before in his whole poor, wearisome, disappointed
lifetime.
When they were going away, Gwen said once to Hiram (holding his hand
in hers just a second longer than was necessary too, he fancied), 'Now,
remember, you must come again and see us very soon, Mr. Winthrop--and
you too, Mr. Audouin. We want you both to come as often as you're able,
for we're quite dull out here in the country, so far away from the town
and the Corso.' But she never said a single word of that sort to Cohn
Churchill, who was standing close beside them, and heard it all, and
thought to himself, 'I wonder whether Miss Russell has begun to take a
fancy at last to our friend Winthrop? He's a good fellow, and after
all she couldn't do better if she were to search diligently through the
entire British peerage.' So utterly had Gwen's wicked little ruse failed
of its deceitful, jealous intention.
But as they walked Rome-ward together, to the Porta del Popolo, Audouin
said at last musingly to Hiram, 'Miss Russell was in a very gracious
mood this afternoon, wasn't she, my dear fellow?'
He looked at Hiram so steadfastly while he said it that Hiram almost
blushed again, for he didn't like to hear the subject mentioned,
however guardedly, before a third person like Colin Churchill. 'Yes,'
he answered shyly, 'she spoke very kindly indeed about my little
landscapes. I had no idea before that she really thought anything about
them. And how good of her, too, to keep my water-colour of the Lago
Albano in her own drawing-room!'
Audouin smiled a gently cynical little Bostonian smile, and answered
nothing.
'How strangely one-sided and egotistic we are, after all!' he thought
to himself quietly as he walked along. 'We think each of ourselves,
and never a bit of other people. Hiram evidently fancied that Miss
Russell--Gwen--why not call her so?--wanted _him_ to come again to
the Villa Panormi. A moment's reflection might have shown him that she
couldn't possibly have asked _me_, without at the same time asking _him_
also! And it was very clever of her, too, to invite him first, so as not
to make the invitation look quite too pointed. She was noticeably
kind to Hiram to-day, because he's my protégé. But Hiram, with all his
strong, good qualities, is not keen-sighted--not deep enough to fathom
the profound abysses of a woman's diplomacy! I don't believe even now
he sees what she was driving at. But _I_ know: I feel certain I know; I
can't be mistaken. It was a very good sign, too, a very good sign, that
though she asked me (and of course Hiram with me) to come often to
the villa, she didn't think in the least of asking that young fellow
Churchill. It's a terribly presumptuous thing to fancy you have won such
a woman's heart as Gwen Howard-Russell's; but I imagine I must be right
this time. I don't believe I can possibly be mistaken any longer. The
convergence of the evidences is really quite too overwhelming.'