The Triumph of Jill

by F. E. Mills Young

genuinely in love, had he resisted. He made no attempt to;he just took the small face between his two hands and kissed it. Andthen they sat down together on the twill covered box to spoon a little,and afterwards talk matters over from a practical, common sense view, asJill declared; though it would have been more sensible had they left thespooning and talked matters over first.

  CHAPTER NINE.

  "I wonder," mused St. John, stroking Jill's tumbled hair with his righthand, and holding both hers in his left, "why the governor should havecome here and told you what he did? It was putting us all in such afalse position, and--well, I should have considered it an act altogetherbeneath him."

  Jill sighed and nestled unconsciously a little closer to him.

  "Can't we forget all that for to-day," she asked, "and just think onlyof our two selves? I quite believe you when you say that you are notengaged to your cousin. I think I believed it all along only I was sohorribly jealous. I'm jealous still, jealous that she can see you whenI can't, and that she has a right to call you Jack--"

  "But you have got that right too," he interrupted, "a better right thanshe has. You will call me Jack, won't you? I call you Jill."

  She laughed.

  "Doesn't it put you in mind of the nursery rhyme?" she said. "I neverthought of it before."

  "Yes; let's see, how does it go? We must alter it a little to fit thecase, `Jack and Jill went up the hill to--' we can't say `fetch a pailof water.'"

  "In search of fame together," put in Jill.

  "Ah, yes! Jack and Jill went up the hill In search of fame together,Jack fell down and broke his crown, And--"

  "No," interrupted Jill, "I won't come tumbling after. You can say thatI went on alone."

  "But that's so unkind," he objected; "besides it doesn't rhyme."

  "Oh! well," she answered after a pause devoted to thinking out a finishto the verse, "put, `But Jill goes climbing ever.' That rhymes, andit's true; I'm not going to stop in the valley trying to haul you up."

  "You're a disagreeable little prig," he exclaimed. "I should as likelyas not be obliged to haul you."

  "And I daresay you could manage that," she answered rubbing her cheekagainst his coat sleeve; "you're big enough goodness knows. I shouldlike to be hauled up and have no more climbing to do, Jack; it would besuch a change. But that's too good to come true I'm afraid, it willalways be more kicks than coppers it seems to me."

  "What do you mean?" asked St. John in astonishment. "There will be nomore kicks, Jill, when you are once married to me; I shall take allthose."

  Jill went on caressing his coat sleeve vigorously, and her hand pressedhis with tender warmth.

  "We shall never marry, Jack," she said; "we can't."

  "Why?" he asked amazed.

  "Because we can't live on love, dear; I never did like sweet thingsmuch, and you don't like bread and cheese, and stout. I don't mucheither; but I have to go in for it; it's cheap. Only now I do withoutthe stout--and the cheese also the last day or two."

  "But, darling," he exclaimed, not quite certain whether she was jokingor not, "you are making troubles where they don't exist. There will beno need to live on bread and cheese and affection--though I should beequal to that even if necessary--I have five hundred a year from myfather, and he has promised to increase it when I marry."

  "Providing you marry your cousin," Jill interposed. "He would certainlydecrease it if you married me. Oh! I know quite well all about it.You forget that he called upon me; he told me so then. And though youlove me and I love you we shouldn't be such fools, Jack, as to marry onnothing."

  St. John looked glum. He entertained no doubt that his father hadresolved upon this plan of deterring him from marrying the girl hewished to, and he determined to thwart him if possible.

  "We could get married, and I could come and live here," he suggestedbrilliantly, "and we could work together; that would be jolly."

  Jill smiled at this proposal but shook her head decisively.

  "It's no good; it wouldn't answer," she said. "We should fightdreadfully in a month, and then the models would get smashed. And you'dnever earn anything at painting, you know; your pictures always requireexplaining, and your figures are atrocious. I can't think why you willpersist in going in for the human form divine; it's most difficult; forany fool can see when a figure's out of drawing except the one who drawsit, and you never will learn that green isn't a becoming tint for flesheven in the deep shadows."

  St. John heaved a sigh which seemed to proceed from the bottom of hisboots. He was too genuinely despondent to resent her slightingcriticism of his abilities, or too well aware of its truth perhaps. Herose impatiently, and walked restlessly up and down trying to think.Jill watched him, her own brows knit in a hopeless attempt to solve thedifficulty.

  "This is a pretty kettle of fish," he exclaimed swinging round sosuddenly that he nearly upset the model. "I'm hanged if I see what weare to do."

  "My dear boy," remonstrated Jill in tones of apprehension, "do mind thelay figure. I am trying to finish this canvas with its sole aid,"pointing to the work that she had been engaged upon at his entry--afemale figure recumbent on a night rainbow. "I can't possibly employ amodel, unless perhaps for a final sitting when I know that I shall seeso many mistakes it will be a case of repainting it."

  Then St. John had a happy inspiration.

  "Wouldn't I do?" he asked in all good faith. "I'm bigger, of course;but I'd be better than a lay figure, and I don't mind posing for you abit."

  Jill broke into a laugh, the first laugh of thorough enjoyment that shehad had for days.

  "Ye gods!" she cried, "what next I wonder?" Then she got up and put hertwo arms about his neck.

  "Dear old boy," she said gratefully, "I believe you'd stand on your headif I wanted you to. But no, dear, I won't pose you as `The Shepherd'sDelight,' I'm sore afraid you wouldn't do at all."

  Well the end of it all was that Jill absolutely refused to marry St.John on the understanding that they should pick up a precariouslivelihood by their combined artistic efforts, though she was quitewilling that he should speak to his father again on the subject if hedeemed it of any use. She also thought that Miss Bolton should beapprised of what had taken place, and for the rest things would go onjust as usual, only he would attend the Art School again, and, as hehimself stipulated, pop in as often as he chose. Then Jill went and puther hat on at his request, and they strolled out to lunch somewhere, andafterwards spent the rest of the day as they liked, which wasn't amongpictures as one would have imagined from two such lovers of art. In thefirst place St. John drove to a jewellers and placed a handsomesolitaire ring on the third finger of Jill's left hand, then theyattended a matinee at one of the theatres, and in the evening he tookher to Frascatti's to dinner. There were several men there whom he knewand saluted in passing. They bowed back and stared hard at the dowdylittle girl he escorted, wondering where he had unearthed her, and why?That night Jill tasted champagne for the first time, and its effect uponher spirits was decidedly exhilarating. She liked champagne, she said,and St. John laughed at the naivete of both manner and remark. When heasked her where she would like to finish up the evening she suggested aMusic Hall; for there one could talk while the performance was going on.So they drove to Shaftsbury Avenue, and St. John got one of thecomfortable little curtained boxes at the Palace where one can enjoy thestage if one wishes to, or sit back and not pay any attention to it atall. Jill liked the Living Pictures best. She almost forgot in thedelight of watching that they were actually animate and not marvellouslypainted canvasses by some master hand. But St. John rather spoiled theeffect by remarking that they were `leggy,' whereat she told him that hewas horrid; nevertheless she noticed how very quietly the house receivedthese artistic representations; but it was the quietness of appreciationhad she known it--the appreciation which enjoys, yet with a very commonmock modesty fears to be detected enjoying. Jill glanced at her loveras he sat back watching her instead of the stage w
ith a smile of quietamusement on his face.

  "They are lovely, Jack," she said. "I should like to carry them allhome in reality as I shall in my mind's eye. But this is the wrongaudience to exhibit such things to."

  And St. John agreed with her, though he was by no means certain as tothe soundness of her logic, but he would have agreed to anything justthen; he was in the idiotic, inconsequent stage of love sickness, andhad got it fairly badly.

  When the Music Hall was over he suggested a late supper somewhere, butJill was firm in her refusal; so they drove straight to her lodgingswhere St. John alighted and opened the door for her, and embraced herseveral times in the dirty passage before he finally allowed her to shuthim out and go on up to her room. And that night she fell asleep withher cheek pressed to the diamond ring, and a smile of perfect happinessparting her lips.

  The next morning Jill went to work on the sachets again, though it waswith the utmost difficulty that she managed to concentrate her thoughtsupon anything at all save Jack and the new ring. As it was, her ideaskept wandering, and she caught herself every now and again breaking offinto song--snatches of Music Hall choruses that she had heard the nightbefore. And then in the midst of it in walked St. John, and seeing whatshe was doing he took the satin away from her in his masterful fashion,and crumpled it up in his hands before her horrified gaze.

  "You said that the smirking idiot who gave you these to do made love toyou," he said. "I won't brook any oily rivals of that description."

  Jill laughed. She rather enjoyed the idea of his being jealous.

  "I thought you said that that was a hallucination," she retorted. "Iwas almost prepared to believe you and to think that the next time hechucked me under the chin, or put his arm round my waist that it wasonly my vivid imagination."

  "He did that?" cried St. John fiercely.

  "Oh, dear! yes; several times."

  "Give me his address," commanded her lover. "I'll stop his love-makingpropensities. Where does this greasy Lothario hang out?"

  But Jill was too discreet to say.

  "I forget," she answered lamely; "I never was good at locality. Don'tlook so savage, Jack; he only chucked me under the chin once, and Iwashed my face well directly I got back, indeed I did; I scrubbed sohard that I rubbed the skin off, I remember, and it was sore for twodays."

  "You ought to have returned the work at once," grumbled St. John. "I amsurprised at your taking it after that."

  "Surprised!" she repeated. "You wouldn't have been so astonished hadyou lived for a few days on a stale crust, and expected to dine the nextoff the crumbs if by good luck there happened to be any crumbs left."

  "Oh! Jill," he exclaimed, "I'm a brute dear. Has it ever been as badas that, my poor little girl?"

  Jill nodded affirmatively, and then let her head recline contentedlyagainst his shoulder, glad to nestle within the comforting security ofhis strong arms, and feel that there she could find both shelter anddefence.

  "Have you told your father yet?" she asked a little nervously.

  "No, dear," he answered. Then added quickly, "I will some time to-day,though."

  "Yes," she said, "don't put it off any longer; I think that he ought toknow; and yet I feel somehow that his knowing will put an end to allthis pleasant fooling. Oh! Jack, I'm such a horrid little coward, Iknow I am."

  She lifted her face, and he saw that she was laughing even though thetears stood in her eyes.

  "If you feel like that," he said tenderly, kissing the upturned face,"why not get married first and tell him afterwards?"

  "Oh! Jack, fie," she cried; "you are turning coward too."

  "Not I," he contradicted stoutly, then added with a smile, "I think I amthough; I'm so terribly afraid of your slipping through my fingers, youeel."

  "Oh, you dear!" whispered Jill softly. "It _is_ nice to have someonewanting you so badly as all that. I won't slip through though; I am fartoo comfortable where I am."

  CHAPTER TEN.

  The following day, St. John entered the studio with a face the gravityof which boded no good for their plans, Jill feared. She knew at oncethat his father had refused to countenance the match, and although shehad not dared to hope for his sanction, the knowledge that he hadpositively denied it came upon her with a sense of shock. Not for onemoment did she think of resenting his objection, nor of questioning hisright to forbid the marriage, she just crept within the shelter of St.John's arms and stayed there, her face, with its flush of mortification,hidden against his breast.

  "The governor's a silly old fool," St. John exclaimed savagely, thinkingless, perhaps, of the girl's discomfort than his own personalgrievances. "He's cut me off with nothing--at least five hundredpounds; he gave me a cheque for that amount before giving me the kickout."

  "We won't take it," Jill cried wrathfully with the improvident contemptof the penniless, "We won't touch a farthing of it, will we?"

  "Oh; yes, we will," he answered. "We'll get married on it in the firstplace, and then live on the rest for so long as it will last."

  "I wouldn't get married on that five hundred pounds for anything," Jillsaid firmly.

  "Well, I'm going to," he replied, "I'm going to see about it now. We'llgo before a Registrar--much nicer than Church, you know, doesn't take solong. And then I'm going to invest the rest with a little capital thatI have by me in a snug little business--haberdashery, or something ofthe kind; I'm not quite sure what, though I thought about nothing elseall last night."

  Jill gave a quiet laugh.

  "My dear old boy," she said, "you must allow me a say in that matter ifyou please. I wouldn't let you have a haberdashery; I'd sooner that youwere a pork butcher at once."

  "No good," he answered. "I've thought of that too; but I couldn't killa pig for love or money. I could measure out a yard or two of ribbonthough, and sell worsted stockings to old women. I say, Jill, what doyou think of a photographic studio?--That's the next best thing to art."

  Jill had a fine contempt for photography, and said so, but St. John wasrather taken with the new idea, and as he pointed out while he did themechanical work she could paint portraits and enlargements, and have akind of Art Gallery as well. He spoke with a cheery confidence thatshowed that he fully expected her to fall in with his plan immediatelyand be struck as he was with the brilliance of the idea. But for onceJill's spirit seemed to have deserted her, and she turned away with acatch in her voice, and quite a forlorn expression in the grey eyeswhich a moment ago had been smiling into his.

  "Oh, Jack, don't!" she cried. "I can't bear to listen to you. My poorold saint, I wish that you had never met me."

  "Stop that," commanded St. John sharply. "You make me feel such abeastly cad--the son of a beastlier cad--"

  She turned and laid her hand upon his lips, shaking her head at himreprovingly.

  "Your language isn't fit for a stable," she said in her elder sister,teacher-to-pupil tone. "I can't have you calling people names here.Besides what I said need not have excited your risability like that. Imeant it in all sincerity; it is a pity as things have turned out; I wasquite happy here working by myself, and got along fairly comfortably,and I think now that we have had our pleasant fooling and the crisis isreached I should like to offer you your freedom."

  "Thank you," he answered grimly, and he stood looking down from his sixfeet of brawny manhood upon the small determined figure in front of himbusily engaged in withdrawing the ring--her sole article of jewellery--from the third finger of her left hand. She held the shining circlet,emblem of their mutual love, towards him with a smile upon her lips, buthe made no attempt to take it though he understood the significance ofher action well enough.

  "Wouldn't you like to keep it to wear on the other hand?" he enquiredsarcastically. "It isn't etiquette, I know; but ladies do it sometimes,I believe."

  "But your freedom?" Jill persisted, still holding the ring before hiseyes. "Won't you take that?"

  "Oh, certainly," he replied disagreeabl
y, "but _that_ doesn't constitutemy freedom, does it?" with a contemptuous glance at the small goldenhoop in her hand.

  "No, I suppose not," the girl answered in a voice of such blankdisappointment that St. John grinned despite his ill-humour; herlugubrious expression aroused his mirth. Jill saw nothing to laugh at.The situation had assumed for her quite a tragic aspect, and her eyesblazed with a very wrathful light as she gazed witheringly up into hisbroadly smiling face.

  "I don't see," she observed icily, "that my remark called for anyviolent ebullition of mirth. I wasn't aware that I had said anythingfunny. Is there insanity in your family?"

  "Not that I know of," he replied, taking possession of both ring andhand as he spoke, and keeping his hold despite her angry attempt to freeherself. "'Pon my word, Jill, you're enough to try a fellow's patience.You deserved to be