by Nell Speed
CHAPTER XII.
THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER.
The winter went merrily on. Elise and Judy worked diligently atJulien's, the hard academic drawing being good for them and helping tocounteract a tendency both had to rather slipshod methods. They gaveonly the morning to the school and in the afternoon looked at picturesor painted at home, if they could get a model among their acquaintances.
Judy made some charming memory sketches of the Paris streets. Seeingsome bit that took her fancy, going or coming, she would burn to get herimpression on canvas. She could hardly wait to get her hat and coat off,but would come tearing into the studio, pulling off her wraps as shecame, hair flying, cheeks glowing, looking very like Brer Rabbit, Mollydeclared, when he ran down the hill with the six tin plates fer thechillun to sop outen; and the six tin cups fer the chillun to drinkouten; the coffee pot fer the fambly; and the hankcher fer hisself,hollerin': "Gimme room, gimme room". They gave her room, all right,especially if her medium happened to be water color, as Judy was a grandsplasher and spared neither water nor paint.
Elise was delighting in her steady work, the first she had ever beenallowed to do. She lacked Judy's sense of color but on the other handwas very clever at sketching and getting a likeness, and had inheritedher father's inimitable powers of caricature.
"Oh," sighed Judy, "if I could only get the people in my memory sketchesto stand on their legs and seem to move as yours do, Elise, how happy Ishould be!"
"And I," said Elise, "would give anything if I could see and put oncanvas the lovely colors that you can. I can't see anything but drab,somehow. It must be a somberness of disposition that affects myeyesight."
"But, Elise," broke in Molly, "you are not somber at all. You are fullof jokes and _bon mots_."
"Oh, that is just my way here with all of you lovely, good, happypeople. I am usually very dull and sober. Mamma says I can be thestupidest company in all the world, and I am sure she is right."
Elise had indeed blossomed in the congenial atmosphere in which shefound herself for the first time in her life. Mr. Kinsella watched hereagerly, seeing many things about her to remind him of his old friendGeorge O'Brien; and when the girl occasionally let drop some of theworldly cynicism that she had perforce learned from her mother, the sadlook in his eyes would make her quickly repent her bitterness, and herendeavors to bring back his rarely sweet smile were almost pathetic intheir eagerness. Mrs. Brown understood the girl thoroughly and dideverything in her power to make her feel that she was one of the littlecoterie and a valued member; but Elise found it difficult to look uponherself as anything but an outsider. She was sensitively afraid of beingin the way where Molly's and Judy's intimacy was concerned, and thegirls often had to force her to join them on a lark unless Mrs. Brownwas one of the party.
Pierce was "making good," as he expressed it, at the school. He had gonethrough several years of hard drawing at the League in New York, sodecided that he could give his time to the painting that was to be hislife's work. His uncle was delighted with his progress, and felt thathis own youth was not lost at all but reincarnated in the glowing geniusof his beloved nephew.
Molly was studying at the Sorbonne, where her Cousin Philippe d'Ochtehad duly installed her. It did not seem like studying, but more likegoing to the theater for several hours a day. The lecturers were socharming, so vivacious; their delivery was so dramatic, their gesturesso animated. She drank in every word and found herself understandingFrench as she had never dreamed that she could.
She wrote on her stories when she was not attending the lectures. TheLatin Quarter had given her several good plots and she was eager to workthem out before Professor Green should put in his appearance, as she wasanxious to let him see she had accomplished something during her Pariswinter. That poor young man was still teaching the young idea how toshoot at Wellington and saw no hope of his release before March.
Kent Brown wrote cheerful letters from Kentucky. He was very busy in hischosen field of architecture and was learning French in a night class tofit himself for the Beaux Arts when he would finally be able to get toParis. Aunt Clay was fighting the Trust vindictively as only she couldfight and was dying hard, but Kent predicted that the end was near; andas soon as the suit was settled, he intended to take the first steamerabroad.
Mrs. Brown was not concerning herself in the least about her financialaffairs. She felt sure that sooner or later she would realize on thesale of oil lands, and in the meantime the economy she and Molly werecompelled to practice was rather exciting and interesting than annoying.Mrs. Brown had the happy faculty of adaptability, and living on Rue Breashe found there were many American students who were compelled toexercise the greatest thrift to exist.
Poor Polly Perkins was a sad example of the unproductive consumer. Hehad never earned a cent in his life and it looked as though he neverwould earn one, but still he stayed on in Paris, hoping against hopethat his luck would change and that he could either sell a picture orthat his cubist theories would become so popular that pupils would flockto him to sit at the feet of learning. He had a small monthly remittancefrom home that enabled him to pay his rent and by the strictest economyto clothe himself in the artistic garb of the Quarter (velveteen isfortunately very durable and not very costly); also to feed and partlynourish his far from robust little body. Mrs. Brown and Molly felt verysorry for Polly.
"He is such a sad little fellow," said Molly, "and he is very kind andgood and takes Jo's teasing and bossing so patiently. He is reallysincere about his art, and just because we can't see his way, we oughtnot to laugh at him. I believe Jo likes him a lot more than she knowsshe does. It nearly kills her for him to make himself ridiculous. I amcrazy to see his portrait of Mrs. Pace. I do hope I can keep my facestraight when he unveils it for us."
"Mrs. Pace declares it is wonderful. She told your Cousin Sally and methat it was a speaking likeness."
"Well, any likeness of Mrs. Pace would have to be a speaking likeness,"laughed Molly.
Mrs. Brown and Molly were having one of their confidential talks, ratherrare at that time, as Judy and Elise were usually at home when Mollywas; or if mother and daughter did have a few moments alone, they wereinterrupted by callers: the Kinsellas or the d'Ochtes, Jo Williams orPolly Perkins or some of the new acquaintances they had made among thestudents.
"Mother, don't you notice a kind of sadness about Elise lately? She doesnot seem to me to be quite herself. Sometimes that old bitter way oftalking gets hold of her and although she knows it pains Mr. Kinsella,she takes especial delight in giving vent to this satire when he ispresent. I am glad he has gone off to the Riviera for a change. She isdevoted and grateful to him for influencing her mother to let her havethe winter in Paris, but she has taken a strange way to show hergratitude in the last week or so.
"Did you see an almost noisy flirtation she was having with Philippe thelast time we had all of them in to tea? She was not a bit like hersincere self, the natural, well-bred Elise that we all love so much, butmore like her mother with her smart-set manner and flippant witticisms.I thought Cousin Sally was a little concerned about her preciousPhilippe. Cousin Sally is much more Frenchified in her soul than shedreams. I believe she is going to control the destiny of her son just asmuch as any mother in France."
Mrs. Brown smiled. She had an idea that she knew what Sally Bolling'splans for her son were: namely, her own Molly Brown. But since Mollyherself had no idea of it, she was the last woman in the world tosuggest it to her. She felt sure of her Molly, sure that no rank orwealth would influence her in choosing a mate (if choose one she must).She was confident that Molly liked Professor Green better than any manshe knew, and that Philippe d'Ochte with all his charm and good looks,wealth and position, did not appeal to her little daughter as did EdwinGreen, the quiet, scholarly professor with no wealth at all. She hadmentioned the professor only casually to her cousin, Sally d'Ochte, asshe did not feel it was incumbent upon her to speak of him as Molly'slover, since Molly herself did not consider hi
m as one.
As for Philippe's heart, she did not think there was any danger of itsbeing broken. She had carefully observed her young cousin and could seeno sign of the languishing lover. That young man seemed to finddifficulty in deciding which young lady he considered the mostattractive. Molly was all that was lovely and sweet and delightful; Judyhad a singular charm for him, with her vivacious manner and originality;Elise O'Brien evidently amused him and interested him greatly; and now anew star had come on his horizon: Frances Andrews, whom he had met atthe Browns' and found very fascinating, a mixture of American andFrench. Philippe had, in truth, met too many charmers in too short aspace of time and they had proved an embarrassment of riches, as itwere.
His Cousin Mildred Brown knew what safety in numbers there was for him,and hoped he would not come to the conclusion that her Molly was the oneof all others for him. Not that she did not like him. She was very fondof him and fully appreciated all of the d'Ochte kindness to her and herlittle crowd of girls; but she had in a measure given her word to EdwinGreen: that if he would not speak to Molly of his love for her for ayear, he would find her daughter still unattached. She felt that she haddone right in asking this of Professor Green. She was confident that sheknew Molly's inmost thoughts and feelings, and that if she had anypreference at all, it was for the young professor.
There were times when this anxious mother realized that one could not betoo cocksure about the heart of anyone, even of one's own flesh andblood. Molly had noticed that Elise was not herself, and Mrs. Brown hadnoticed that none of her girls were quite themselves. For the last fewdays there had been a condition in the apartment in the Rue Brea ofnerves at high tension; tempers a little uncertain; feelings a littletender. Mrs. Brown held her peace and endeavored tactfully to steertheir little _menage_ safely over the shoals.
She thought she understood Elise. The poor girl was suffering withjealousy of Judy, who had plunged into an intimacy with the Kinsellas,uncle and nephew alike. She and Pierce would go on long tramps into thecountry and play a kind of game of memory sketches, seeing which onecould bring home the greater number of impressions. Mr. Kinsella hadbecome interested in their game and had joined them on one of theirwalks, becoming so fired with enthusiasm that he had actually tried todo some painting himself. He had been quite successful, considering thenumber of years that had passed since he had even so much as squeezedpaint out of a tube. They had asked Elise to join them, but she hadcoldly refused. After those walks had become so popular with the trio,then it was that Elise had begun a rather half-hearted flirtation withPhilippe d'Ochte.
Judy was in one of her gayest and most irritating moods. "Getting readyfor what she calls 'a Judy Kean scrape,' I am afraid," thought Mrs.Brown. "Our winter has been so peaceful and harmonious; but this mistwill clear away soon, I know."
Judy seemed to realize that she was hurting Elise in some way but to beperfectly careless of the result. She never lost an opportunity to giveMolly a dig about Frances Andrews, and when that young woman had come tothe studio to tea, Judy had been very cold and almost rude to her.Molly, on her side, was a little distrait and listless and very touchy.
"What is the matter with my girls?" thought poor Mrs. Brown. "For thelast week they have been like naughty children."
When Molly and her mother were having the little confidential talkrecorded above, the elder lady did not realize that two American mailshad come and that neither Judy nor Molly had received the bulky epistlesthat they usually did,--Judy one from Kentucky, and Molly one fromWellington. This was the cause of their unreasonable tempers. And hadshe but known it, on the other side of the Atlantic her own son Kent waseaten up with the green-eyed monster all because Judy had mentioned thename of Kinsella six times in her last letter! And he, Kent, had onlythat morning called his brother Paul "a conceited ass" because Paul hadon a cravat to match his socks; and he had been equally unreasonablewith a misguided waiter who brought him macaroni when he orderedspaghetti.
As for the dignified Professor Green, he had actually "hollered" at apoor freshman who had in reading some poetry pronounced "unshed tears"as though unshed were in one syllable. "'Unched tears', I could almostshed them," said the much-tried teacher; and all because a certain MollyBrown had a cousin Philippe who was kind enough to see that she heardall the lectures worth while at the Sorbonne.
Mrs. Brown decided to take Molly into her confidence and divulge to herher ideas concerning Elise and Mr. Kinsella. Molly was astonished anddelighted.
"Oh, mother, how wise you are and how blind I am! I realize now howElise must have suffered and all for nothing. I just know Mr. Kinsellaadores her. I see it all. He went off just because he thought Elise wasserious about Philippe and he could not stay to see it. How I wish hewould come back and it could all be set right, and dear Elise could makeup to him for all the suffering her mother caused him! I do wish I couldput a flea in Judy's ear and she would behave."
"But you must not do that, my dear," said Mrs. Brown. "That would not bequite fair to Elise. You see it is only surmise on our part."
"Right as usual, mother, but it is going to be hard to see things goingwrong when a word would right them. Judy means no harm and is reallydoing nothing. She takes long walks with Mr. Kinsella and Pierce, andMr. Kinsella delights in Judy's frankness and originality. He likes tobe with her, but as for thinking of her in any other light than asPierce's playmate,--I don't believe it has entered his head."
"I am sure it hasn't; but Elise has had very few friends and has beenbrought up in such a selfish world, that she is perhaps prone to see thewrong motive. Molly, do you feel well? I have fancied you were a littlepale lately and not quite so enthusiastic as usual."
Just then there was a knock on the door and the concierge's little sonentered, bringing a stack of mail. One from Wellington was on top, andMolly was able truthfully to tell her mother that she never felt betterin her life.
