still she kept her hand behind her and stared up in his face withimpudent meaning, and a leer that was evidently intended to becaptivating. He understood her perfectly but his mood did not fit inwith hers; to do Mr St. John bare justice he was rather above that sortof thing, and he remained stationary with one hand grasping the greasybanister, and one foot on the lowest stair. The girl gave it up then,and with another grimace, and a little scornful giggle approached himwith the key held at arm's length between a grimy finger and thumb.
"'Ere greeny," she said, then laughed again as he took it from her witha word of thanks and turned to go upstairs, "I don't wonder MissHerskine went out," she said.
But St. John went on feigning not to hear though a flush of annoyancedyed his cheek, and he had rather the appearance of a man who withdifficulty restrained a swear.
When he opened the studio door the first thing that struck him was itsuntidiness, the next, that the fire was out, two facts which filled himwith an irritating sense of discomfort and half inclined him to returnwhence he came; but for the desire to occasion Miss Erskine some slightembarrassment and thwart her plans by remaining, he assuredly would havedone so. That the fire had been lighted that morning was evident, hediscovered on closer inspection, by a thin line of smoke still issuingfrom the seemingly dead embers; it had not been purposely omitted thenbut had gone out for want of attention. The knowledge appeased hiswrath somewhat, and feeling more disposed to remain he drew a chair upto the table and looked round for his drawing-board with the intentionof commencing work before Miss Erskine returned. The board stoodagainst the wall with a fresh sheet of paper stretched ready for use,but there was no copy, so going over to the shelf from which Jill hadtaken the former one he commenced turning it over in search of another.He did not find what he wanted, however, because before doing so hetumbled accidentally upon what he was not looking for, what he had neverdreamed of finding there, and what, when he had found it, caused himanything but pleasure. It was, in short, a very clever, and consideringthe length of the acquaintance a very impertinent sketch of himself. Hehad not seen her doing it, but there could be no doubt who wasresponsible for the thing, besides he knew the writing at the bottom ofthe sketch--small legible writing that he had seen on one other occasionin the curt little note which had refused him as a pupil. She must havedrawn him while he sat working, and had achieved an admirable likeness,indeed as a specimen of artistic skill the caricature--for such it was--was perfect. The whole thing was not larger than a cabinet photograph,just the head as far as the shoulders with eyes downcast, and anabsurdly exaggerated rapture of expression on the face. The height ofhis collar had also been exaggerated and above the bent head encirclinghis brow was a nimbus. Beneath the drawing Miss Erskine had scribbled,`Saint John the Beloved,' and St. John looked at it, and failing toappreciate the unmistakable talent it betrayed stood scowling at his ownportrait. How long he remained thus he knew not, but the next thing hewas aware of was the opening of the studio door, and Miss Erskineherself appeared while he still stood there with the drawing in hishand. She looked pale and hurried, and was panting a little as if shehad been walking very fast. She bowed to St. John, and glanced from himto the drawing-board, and then back again to the paper in his hand.
"I am so sorry that you should have found me out," she exclaimed; "Istarted early with the intention of being back in time, but--wellaccidents will happen, won't they? It was unfortunate but I am glad tosee that you were going to begin without me. Have you found a copy?"
"Yes," he answered coolly, keeping his glance fixed full upon her face,"a Biblical one; but I am afraid it is rather beyond me."
He held it towards her, and, all unconscious of what it was, she took itfrom him, glanced at it, then bent her head lower to conceal herfeatures and the vivid blush which overspread her face.
"It's--it's decidedly beyond you," she said, and there was a note ofdefiance in her voice, he even fancied that he detected a ring oflaughter in it also, but that might have been his imagination.
"Yes," he agreed, "so I thought."
"It's very strange but it seems to me to be a little--a little like--you," she continued, and then she raised her eyes to scan his facelooking from him to the sketch and back again with her head on one sideand a gleam of mischievous amusement in her glance. Evidently sheintended braving it out; though it was easily seen that she was feelingboth awkward and uncomfortable.
"Not a little," he corrected, "but _very much_ like me."
"Ah! so you perceive it also? Yes, it _is_ very much like you.Strange! I wonder how it got there?"
"So do I," he answered dryly. "It is also a case for speculation howyour handwriting got on the bottom of the paper."
"Why, so it is, `Saint John the Beloved,' whose beloved, I wonder,that's a case for speculation also."
She tossed the sketch on to the table and stood facing him with such anassured, audacious air that he could find nothing to say, so fell toscowling again in lieu of any verbal expression of his opinionconcerning her. She had perfect control of herself now, and meant togive him no further satisfaction, indeed she was vexed to know that hehad managed to confuse her at all; but it had been such an altogetherunexpected contretemps and had taken her so entirely aback. She smiledat the angry young man, and began slowly pulling off her gloves.
"If you wish to copy that, Mr St. John," she began, "you are welcome tomake the attempt, but it is rather advanced. I should advise you togive your attention to something simpler."
As she finished speaking she turned to a portfolio against the wall andabstracted thence a series of heads in outline, showing the method ofworking. These she placed on the table before him and ran through abrief explanation of the method, and how he should follow it, while hewatched her in gloomy silence, and reluctantly admired the easy masterywith which she sketched in the first head for him to see.
"There," she exclaimed, "now you know how to go on so I will leave youfor a moment while I go and take off my outdoor things."
She disappeared behind the old green curtain partitioning off a part ofthe room that had served her father for a sleeping apartment, and wasnow kept as a dressing-room but seldom used, and from thence into thetiny chamber which she called her bedroom. When she returned, in thebig studio apron that he had first seen her in, she found St. John verydeeply engrossed; he did not even glance up as she appeared, but bendinghis head lower over his board went diligently on with his work. Thesketch of himself, she noticed, had vanished but hardly had she time toregret this fact before her attention was caught by the fireless gratewhich on her first entry, heated with her rapid walk, and enveloped in athick jacket had escaped her observation. Seeing it now she turned tohim with a very injured air.
"Why, you've let the fire out," she said reproachfully.
"I beg your pardon," he answered stiffly, "it was out when I arrived."
Jill bit her lip and walked swiftly across the room to the fireplace.There were sticks and paper in a cupboard beside it, and, getting someout, she knelt down before the hearth and commenced laying the fireanew.
"I beg _your_ pardon," she said somewhat crestfallen. "It happened, Isuppose, through my being out so much longer than I intended; but thatwas quite an accident, and not my fault at all. I hope you will excuseall this inconvenience."
"Don't mention it," he exclaimed, "the inconvenience is greater for youthan for me."
He glanced round as he spoke and watched her while she began to arrangethe sticks.
Something struck him as unusual about her, and after a time hediscovered what it was, she was working with one hand, the right one,and on the left wrist was a very neat and very new looking bandage. Ina moment all his resentment against her vanished, the caricature wasforgotten, and with it her former ungraciousness of manner. He recalledhow pale and weary she had looked on entering, and how he hadendeavoured to embarrass her by showing her what he had found. He roseand joined her where she knelt upon the hearth.
"Excuse me
," he began in a slightly apologetic tone, "I see that youhave hurt your wrist; won't you let me do that for you?"
"Thank you," she answered, "but I can manage very well; it is nothing--much."
The much was a concession to conscience, and was thrown in with anunwilling jerk at the end. Then he did a very bold thing; he went downon his knees beside her and took the sticks out of her hand.
"I'm a don hand at building up fires," he said; "there's never anydifficulty about my fires burning."
"I should think not," replied Jill, watching the reckless way in whichhe threw on the sticks; "a fire that wouldn't burn with all that woodought to be ashamed of itself. Mr St. John,
The Triumph of Jill Page 5
