The Regent

by Arnold Bennett

  II

  When Edward Henry stood by the side of Mr. Sachs in a doorway halfshielded by a _portiere_, and gazed unseen into the great studio ofMr. Rentoul Smiles, he comprehended that he was indeed under powerfulprotection in New York. At the entrance on Fifth Avenue he and Sachshad passed through a small crowd of assorted men, chiefly young, whomSachs had greeted in the mass with the smiling words, "Well, boys!"Other men were within. Still another went up with them in theelevator, but no further. They were reporters of the entire world'spress, to each of whom Isabel Joy had been specially "assigned." Theywere waiting; they would wait.

  Mr. Rentoul Smiles having been warned by telephone of the visit of hisbeloved friend, Seven Sachs, Mr. Sachs and his English _protege_ hadbeen received at Smiles's outer door by a clerk who knew exactly whatto do with them, and did it.

  "Is she here?" Mr. Sachs had murmured.

  "Yep," the clerk had negligently replied.

  And now Edward Henry beheld the objective of his pilgrimage, her whosepersonality, portrait and adventures had been filling the newspapersof two hemispheres for three weeks past. She was not realisticallylike her portraits. She was a little, thin, pale, obviously nervouswoman, of any age from thirty-five to fifty, with fair untidy hair,and pale grey-blue eyes that showed the dreamer, the idealist andthe harsh fanatic. She looked as though a moderate breeze would haveoverthrown her, but she also looked, to the enlightened observer, asthough she would recoil before no cruelty and no suffering in pursuitof her vision. The blind dreaming force behind her apparent frailtywould strike terror into the heart of any man intelligent enough tounderstand it. Edward Henry had an inward shudder. "Great Scott!" hereflected. "I shouldn't like to be ill and have Isabel for a nurse!"

  And his mind at once flew to Nellie, and then to Elsie April. "Andso she's going to marry Wrissell!" he reflected, and could scarcelybelieve it.

  Then he violently wrenched his mind back to the immediateobjective. He wondered why Isabel Joy should wear a bowler hat and amustard-coloured jacket that resembled a sporting man's overcoat; andwhy these garments suited her. With a whip in her hand she could havesat for a jockey. And yet she was a woman, and very feminine, andprobably old enough to be Elsie April's mother! A disconcerting world,he thought.

  The "man's photographer," as he was described in copper on FifthAvenue and in gold on his own doors, was a big, loosely-articulatedmale, who loured over the trifle Isabel like a cloud over a sheep in agreat field. Edward Henry could only see his broad bending back as heposed in athletic attitudes behind the camera.

  Suddenly Rentoul Smiles dashed to a switch, and Isabel's wistful facewas transformed into that of a drowned corpse, into a dreadful harmonyof greens and purples.

  "Now," said Rentoul Smiles, in a deep voice that was like a richunguent, "we'll try again. We'll just play around that spot. Look intomy eyes. Not _at_ my eyes, my dear woman, _into_ them! Just a littlemore challenge--a little more! That's it. Don't wink, for the land'ssake! Now."

  He seized a bulb at the end of a tube and slowly squeezed--squeezedit tragically and remorselessly, twisting himself as if suffering insympathy with the bulb, and then in a wide, sweeping gesture he flungthe bulb on to the top of the camera and ejaculated:

  "Ha!"

  Edward Henry thought:

  "I would give ten pounds to see Rentoul Smiles photograph Sir JohnPilgrim." But the next instant the forgotten sensation of hurry wasupon him once more. Quick, quick, Rentoul Smiles! Edward Henry'sscorching desire was to get done and leave New York.

  "Now, Miss Isabel," Mr. Smiles proceeded, exasperatingly deliberate,"d'you know, I feel kind of guilty? I have got a little farm out inWestchester County and I'm making a little English pathway up thegarden with a gate at the end. I woke up this morning and began tothink about the quaint English form of that gate, and just how I wouldhave it." He raised a finger. "But I ought to have been thinkingabout you. I ought to have been saying to myself, 'To-day I have tophotograph Isabel Joy,' and trying to understand in meditation thesecrets of your personality. I'm sorry! Now, don't talk. Keep likethat. Move your head round. Go on! Go on! Move it. Don't be afraid.This place belongs to you. It's yours. Whatever you do, we've gotpeople here who'll straighten up after you.... D'you know why I'vemade money? I've made money so that I can take _you_ this afternoon,and tell a two-hundred-dollar client to go to the deuce. That'swhy I've made money. Put your back against the chair, like anEnglishwoman. That's it. No, don't _talk_, I tell you. Now lookjoyful, hang it! Look joyful.... No, no! Joy isn't a contortion. It'ssomething right deep down. There, there!"

  The lubricant voice rolled on while Rentoul Smiles manipulated thecamera. He clasped the bulb again and again threw it dramaticallyaway.

  "I'm through!" he said. "Don't expect anything very grand,Miss Isabel. What I've been trying to do this afternoon is myinterpretation of you as I've studied your personality in yourspeeches. If I believed wholly in your cause, or if I whollydisbelieved in it, my work would not have been good. Any value thatit has will be due to the sympathetic impartiality of my spiritualattitude. Although"--he menaced her with the licensed familiarity of aphilosopher--"although, lady, I must say that I felt you were workingagainst me all the time.... This way!"

  (Edward Henry, recalling the comparative simplicity of the Londonphotographer at Wilkins's, thought: "How profoundly they understandphotography in America!")

  Isabel Joy rose and glanced at the watch in her bracelet, thenfollowed the direction of the male hand and vanished.

  Rentoul Smiles turned instantly to the other doorway.

  "How do, Rent?" said Seven Sachs, coming forward.

  "How do, Seven?" Mr. Rentoul Smiles winked.

  "This is my good friend, Alderman Machin, the theatre-manager fromLondon."

  "Glad to meet you, sir."

  "She's not gone, has she?" asked Sachs, hurriedly.

  "No, my housekeeper wanted to talk to her. Come along."

  And in the waiting-room, full of permanent examples of the results ofMr. Rentoul Smiles's spiritual attitude towards his fellow-men, EdwardHenry was presented to Isabel Joy. The next instant the two men andthe housekeeper had unobtrusively retired, and he was alone with hisobjective. In truth, Seven Sachs was a notable organizer.