ELEANOR'S THEORIES REDUCED TO PRACTICE--STUDIES--THE ARITHMETIC-MASTER.
Madame was not ungenerous to an apology. She believed in Eleanor too,
and was quite disposed to think that Eleanor might be in the right in a
dispute with anybody but herself. Perhaps she hoped to hear her triumph
in a discussion with Mr. Henley, or perhaps it was only as a punishment
for her presumptuous remarks that Madame started the subject on the
following day to the drawing-master himself.
"Miss Arkwright says your trees are all one, Mr. Henley," she began.
(Madame's English was not perfect.) "Except that the half are yellow and
the other half blue. She knows not the kind even."
The poor little drawing-master, who was at that moment "touching up" a
yellow tree in one of the younger girls' copies, trying by skilfully
distributed dabs to make it look less like a faded cabbage-leaf,
blushed, and laid down his brush. Eleanor, who was just beginning to
colour a copy of a mountain scene, turned scarlet, and let her first
wash dry into unmanageable shapes as she darted indignant glances at
Madame, who appeared to enjoy her bit of malice.
"Miss Arkwright will observe that these are sketches indicating the
general effect of a scene; not tree studies."
"I know, Mr. Henley," said poor Eleanor, in much confusion; "at least, I
mean I don't know anything about water-colour sketching, so I ought not
to have said anything; and I never thought that Madame would repeat it.
I was thinking of pencil-drawings and etchings; and I do like to know
one tree from another," she added honestly.
"You draw in pencil yourself?" asked Mr. Henley.
"Oh no!" said Eleanor; "at least only a little. It was my mother's
drawings I was thinking of; and how she used to show us the different
ways of doing the foliage of different trees, and the marking on the
bark of the trunks."
Mr. Henley drew a sheet of paper from his portfolio, and took a pencil
from his case.
"Let us see, my dear young lady, what you remember of these lessons. The
pencil is well cut. There are flat sides for shading, and sharp ends for
outlines."
Madame's thin lips pursed with the ghost of a smile, as Eleanor, with
hot cheeks and hands, came across "the room" to put her theories in
practice.
"I can't do it, I know," she said, as she sat down, and gave herself
one of those nervous twitches common to girls of the hobble-de-hoy age.
But Eleanor's nervous' spasms were always mitigated by getting something
into her fingers. Pencil and paper were her favourite implements; and
after a moment's pause, and a good deal of frowning, she said: "We've a
good many oaks about us;" and forthwith began upon a bit of oak foliage.
"It's only a spray," she said.
"It's very good," said the drawing-master, who was now looking over her
shoulder.
"Oak branches are all elbows," she murmured, warming to her work, and
apparently talking to herself. "So different from willows and beeches."
"Ve-ry good," said Mr. Henley, as Eleanor fitted the branches
dexterously into the clusters of leaves; "now for a little bit of the
oak bark, if you please."
"This is only one tree, though," said Madame, who was also looking on.
"Let us see others, mademoiselle."
"Willows are nice to do," said Eleanor, intent upon her paper; "and the
bark is prettier than oak, I think, and easier with these long points.
My mother says branches of trees should be done from the tips inwards;
and they do fit in better, I think. Only willow branches seem as if they
ought to be done outwards, they taper so. Beech trunks are very pretty,
but the leaves are difficult, I think. Scotch pines are easy." And
Eleanor left the beech and began upon the pine, fitting in the
horizontal branches under the foliage groups with admirable effect.
"That will do, Miss Arkwright," said the little drawing-master. "Your
mother has been a good guide to you; and Mother Nature will complete
what she has begun. Now we will look at the copy, if you please."
Eleanor's countenance fell again. Her pink mountain had run into her
blue mountain, and the interrupted wash had dried with hard and
unmanageable outlines. Sponging was the only remedy.
Next drawing-lesson day Mr. Henley arrived a few minutes earlier than
was his wont, staggering under a huge basket containing a large clump of
flags and waterside herbage, which he had dug up "bodily," as he said.
These he arranged on a tray, and then from the bottom of the basket
produced the broken fragments of a red earthenware jug.
"It was such a favourite of mine, Miss Arkwright," said he; "but what is
sacred to a maid-of-all-work? My only consolation, when she smashed it
this morning, was the thought that it would serve in the foreground of
your sketch."
Saying which, the kind-hearted little man laid the red crocks among the
weeds, and after much pulling up and down of blinds to coax a good light
on to the subject, he called Eleanor to set to work.
"It is _very_ good of you," said Eleanor emphatically. "When I have been
so rude, too!"
"It is a pleasure," said the old man; "and will be doubly so if you do
it well. I should like to try it myself," he added, making a few hasty
dashes with the pencil. "Ah, my dear young lady, be thankful that you
will sketch for pleasure, and not for bread! It is pleasanter to learn
than to teach."
Out of gratitude to Mr. Henley alone, Eleanor would have done her best
at the new "study"; but apart from this the change of subject was
delightful to her. She had an accurate eye, and her outlines had
hitherto contrasted favourably with her colouring in copies of the
sketches she could not like. The old drawing-master was delighted with
her pencil sketch of his "crockery among the reeds," and Eleanor
confessed to getting help from him in the choice and use of her colours.
"Studies" became the fashion among the more intelligent pupils at Bush
House; though I have heard that experience justified the old man's
prophecy that they would not be so popular with the parents as the
former style had been. "They like lakes, and boats, and mountains, and
ruins, and a brighter style of colouring," he had said, and, as it
proved, with truth.
Eleanor was his favourite pupil. Indeed, she was in favour with all the
teachers.
A certain quaint little German was our arithmetic-master; a very good
one, whose patience was often sorely tried by our stupidity or
frivolity. On such occasions he rained epithets on us, which, from his
imperfect knowledge of English, were often comical, and roused more
amusement than shame. But for Eleanor he never had a harsh word. She was
thoroughly fond of arithmetic, and "gave her mind to it," to use a good
old phrase.
"Ah!" the little man would yell at us. "You are so light-headed!
Sometimes you do do a sum, and sometimes not; but you do never _think_.
There is not one young lady of this establishment who thinks, but Miss
Arkwright alone."
I remember an incident connected with the arithmetic-master which
occurred just after we came, and which roused Eleanor's intense
indignation. It was characteristic, too, of Madame's ideas of propriety.
The weather was warm, and we were in the habit of dressing for tea. Our
toilettes were of the simplest kind. Muslin garibaldis, for coolness,
and our "second-best" skirts.
Eleanor, Matilda, and I shared one room. On the first Wednesday evening
after our arrival at Bush House we were dressing as usual, when Emma ran
in.
"I'm so sorry I forgot to tell you," said she; "you mustn't put on your
muslin bodies to-night. The arithmetic-master is coming after tea."
"I don't understand," said Eleanor, who was standing on one leg as
usual, and who paused in a struggle with a refractory elastic sandal to
look up with a puckered brow, and general bewilderment. "What has the
arithmetic to do with our dresses?"
Emma's saucy mouth and snub nose twitched with amusement, as she replied
in exact mimicry of Madame's broken English: "Have you so little of
delicacy as to ask, mademoiselle? Should the young ladies of this
establishment expose their shoulders in the transparency of muslin to a
professor?"
Matilda and I burst out laughing at Emma's excellent imitation of
Madame; but Eleanor dropped her foot to the floor with a stamp that
broke the sandal, and burst forth into an indignant torrent of words,
which was only stayed by the necessity for resuming our morning dresses,
and hastening down-stairs. There Eleanor swallowed her wrath with her
weak tea; and I remember puzzling myself, to the neglect of mine, as to
the probable connection between arithmetic-masters and transparent
bodices.