“My eye and Betty Martin!” cried Cameron, “I’ll take it all back, girls! It’s a real studio after all — and this is the real thing! Louis, do you think she’s seen the Aquarium? I’m disengaged after three o’clock—”
He began to kiss his hand rapidly in the direction of the portrait, and then, fondly embracing his own walking stick, he took a few jaunty steps in circles, singing “Waltz me around again, Willy.”
Lily Collis said: “If your model is as lovely as her portrait, Louis, she is a real beauty. Who is she?”
“A professional model.” He could scarcely contain his impatience with his sister, with Cameron’s fat humour, with Stephanie’s quiet and intent scrutiny — as though, somehow, he had suddenly exposed Valerie herself to the cool and cynically detached curiosity of a world which she knew must always remain unfriendly to her.
He was perfectly aware that his sister had guessed whose portrait confronted them; he supposed, too, that Stephanie probably suspected. And the knowledge irritated him more than the clownishness of Cameron.
“It is a splendid piece of painting,” said Stephanie cordially, and turned quietly to a portfolio of drawings at her elbow. She had let her fleeting glance rest on Neville for a second; had divined in a flash that he was enduring and not courting their examination of this picture; that, somehow, her accidental discovery of it had displeased him — was even paining him.
“Sandy,” she said cheerfully, “come here and help me look over these sketches.”
“Any peaches among ‘em?”
“Bushels.”
Cameron came with alacrity; Neville waited until Lily reluctantly resumed her seat; then he pushed back the easel, turned Valerie’s portrait to the wall, and quietly resumed his painting.
Art in any form was powerless to retain Cameron’s attention for very many consecutive minutes at a time; he grew restless, fussed about with portfolios for a little while longer, enlivening the tedium with characteristic observations.
“Well, I’ve got business down town,” he exclaimed, with great pretence of regret. “Come on, Stephanie; we’ll go to the Exchange and start something. Shall we? Oh, anything — from a panic to a bull-market! I don’t care; go as far as you like. You may wreck a few railroads if you want to. Only I’ve got to go…. Awfully good of you to let me — er — see all these — er — interesting and er — m-m-m — things, Louis. Glad I saw that dream of a peacherino, too. What is she on the side? An actorine? If she is I’ll take a box for the rest of the season including the road and one-night stands…. Good-bye, Mrs. Collis! Good-bye, Stephanie! Good-bye, Louis! — I’ll come and spend the day with you when you’re too busy to see me. Now, Stephanie, child! It’s the Stock Exchange or the Little Church around the Corner for you and me, if you say so!”
Stephanie had duties at a different sort of an Exchange; and she also took her leave, thanking Neville warmly for the pleasure she had had, and promising to lunch with Lily at the Continental Club.
When they had departed, Lily said:
“I suppose that is a portrait of your model, Valerie West.”
“Yes,” he replied shortly.
“Well, Louis, it is perfectly absurd of you to show so plainly that you consider our discovery of it a desecration.”
He turned red with surprise and irritation:
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean exactly what I say. You showed by your expression and your manner that our inspection of the picture and our questions and comments concerning it were unwelcome.”
“I’m sorry I showed it…. But they were unwelcome.”
“Will you tell me why?”
“I don’t think I know exactly why — unless the portrait was a personal and private affair concerning only myself—”
“Louis! Has it gone as far as that?”
“As far as what? What on earth are you trying to say, Lily?”
“I’m trying to say — as nicely and as gently as I can — that your behaviour — in regard to this girl is making us all perfectly wretched.”
“Who do you mean by ‘us all’?” he demanded sullenly.
“Father and mother and myself. You must have known perfectly well that father would write to me about what you told him at Spindrift House a month ago.”
“Did he?”
“Of course he did, Louis! Mother is simply worrying herself ill over you; father is incredulous — at least he pretends to be; but he has written me twice on the subject — and I think you might just as well be told what anxiety and unhappiness your fascination for this girl is causing us all.”
Mrs. Collis was leaning far forward in her chair, forgetful of her pose; Neville stood silent, head lowered, absently mixing tints upon his palette without regard to the work under way.
When he had almost covered his palette with useless squares of colour he picked up a palette-knife, scraped it clean, smeared the residue on a handful of rags, laid aside brushes and palette, and walked slowly to the window.
It was snowing again. He could hear the feathery whisper of the flakes falling on the glass roof above; and he remembered the night of the new year, and all that it had brought to him — all the wonder and happiness and perplexity of a future utterly unsuspected, undreamed of.
And now it was into that future he was staring with a fixed and blank gaze as his sister’s hand fell upon his shoulder and her cheek rested a moment in caress against his.
“Dearest child,” she said tremulously, “I did not mean to speak harshly or without sympathy. But, after all, shouldn’t a son consider his father and mother in a matter of this kind?”
“I have considered them — tried to.”
Mrs. Collis dropped into an arm-chair. After a few moments he also seated himself listlessly, and sat gazing at nothing out of absent eyes.
She said: “You know what father and mother are. Even I have something left of their old-fashioned conservatism clinging to me — and yet people consider me extremely liberal in my views. But all my liberality, all my modern education since I left the dear old absurdities of our narrow childhood and youth, can not reconcile me to what you threaten us with — with what you are threatened — you, your entire future life.”
“What seems to threaten you — and them — is my marriage to the woman with whom I’m in love. Does that shock you?”
“The circumstances shock me.”
“I could not control the circumstances.”
“You can control yourself, Louis.”
“Yes — I can do that. I can break her heart and mine.”
“Hearts don’t break, Louis. And is anybody to live life through exempt from suffering? If your unhappiness comes early in life to you it will pass the sooner, leaving the future tranquil for you, and you ready for it, unperplexed — made cleaner, purer, braver by a sorrow that came, as comes all sorrow — and that has gone its way, like all sorrows, leaving you the better and the worthier.”
“How is it to leave her?”
He spoke so naturally, so simply, that for the moment his sister did not recognise in him what had never before been there to recognise — the thought of another before himself. Afterward she remembered it.
She said quietly: “If Valerie West is a girl really sincere and meriting your respect, she will face this matter as you face it.”
“Yes — she would do that,” he said, thoughtfully.
“Then I think that the sooner you explain matters to her—”
He laughed: “I don’t have to explain anything to her, Lily.”
“What do you mean?”
“She knows how things stand. She is perfectly aware of your world’s attitude toward her. She has not the slightest intention of forcing herself on you, or of asking your indulgence or your charity.”
“You mean, then, that she desires to separate you from your family — from your friends—”
“No,” he said wearily, “she does not desire that, either.”
His sister�
�s troubled eyes rested on him in silence for a while; then:
“I know she is beautiful; I am sure she is good, Louis — good in — in her own way — worthy, in her own fashion. But, dear, is that all that you, a Neville, require of the woman who is to bear your name — bear your children?”
“She is all I require — and far more.”
“Dear, you are utterly blinded by your infatuation!”
“You do not know her.”
“Then let me!” exclaimed Mrs. Collis desperately. “Let me meet her,
Louis — let me talk with her—”
“No…. And I’ll tell you why, Lily; it’s because she does not care to meet you.”
“What!”
“I have told you the plain truth. She sees no reason for knowing you, or for knowing my parents, or any woman in a world that would never tolerate her, never submit to her entrance, never receive her as one of them! — a world that might shrug and smile and endure her as my wife — and embitter my life forever.”
As he spoke he was not aware that he merely repeated Valerie’s own words; he remained still unconscious that his decision was in fact merely her decision; that his entire attitude had become hers because her nature and her character were as yet the stronger.
But in his words his sister’s quick intelligence perceived a logic and a conclusion entirely feminine and utterly foreign to her brother’s habit of mind. And she realised with a thrill of fear that she had to do, not with her brother, but with a woman who was to be reckoned with.
“Do you — or does Miss West think it likely that I am a woman to wound, to affront another — no matter who she may be? Surely, Louis, you could have told her very little about me—”
“I never mention you to her.”
Lily caught her breath.
“Why?”
“Why should I?”
“That is unfair, Louis! She has the right to know about your own family — otherwise how can she understand the situation?”
“It’s like all situations, isn’t it? You and father and mother have your own arbitrary customs and traditions and standards of respectability. You rule out whom you choose. Valerie West knows perfectly well that you would rule her out. Why should she give you the opportunity?”
“Is she afraid of me?”
He smiled: “I don’t think so.” And his smile angered his sister.
“Very well,” she said, biting her lip.
For a few moments she sat there deliberating, her pointed patent-leather toe tapping the polished floor. Then she stood up, with decision:
“There is no use in our quarrelling, Louis — until the time comes when some outsider forces us into an unhappy misunderstanding. Kiss me good-bye, dear.”
She lifted her face; he kissed her; and her hand closed impulsively on his arm:
“Louis! Louis! I love you. I am so proud of you — I — you know I love you, don’t you?”
“Yes — I think so.”
“You know I am devoted to your happiness! — your real happiness — which those blinded eyes in that obstinate head of yours refuse to see. Believe me — believe me, dear, that your real happiness is not in this pretty, strange girl’s keeping. No, no, no! You are wrong, Louis — terribly and hopelessly wrong! Because happiness for you lies in the keeping of another woman — a woman of your own world, dear — of your own kind — a gently-bred, lovable, generous girl whom you, deep in your heart and soul, love, unknowingly — have always loved!”
He shook his head, slowly, looking down into his sister’s eyes.
She said, almost frightened:
“You — you won’t do it — suddenly — without letting us know — will you,
Louis?”
“What?”
“Marry this girl!”
“No,” he said, “it is not likely.”
“But you — you mean to marry her?”
“I want to…. But it is not likely to happen — for a while.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
She drew a tremulous breath of relief, looking up into his face. Then her eyes narrowed; she thought a moment, and her gaze became preoccupied and remote, and her lips grew firm with the train of thought she was pursuing.
He put his arms around her and kissed her again; and she felt the boyish appeal in it and her lip quivered. But she could not respond, could not consider for one moment, could not permit her sympathy for him to enlist her against what she was devoutly convinced were his own most vital interests — his honour, his happiness, the success of his future career.
She said with tears in her eyes: “Louis, I love you dearly. If God will grant us all a little patience and a little wisdom there will be a way made clear to all of us. Good-bye.”
[Illustration: “‘Your — profession — must be an exceedingly interesting one,’ said Lily.”]
Whether it was that the Almighty did not grant Mrs. Collis the patience to wait until a way was made clear, or whether another letter from her father decided her to clear that way for herself, is uncertain; but one day in March Valerie received a letter from Mrs. Collis; and answered it; and the next morning she shortened a seance with Querida, exchanged her costume for her street-clothes, and hastened to her apartments, where Mrs. Collis was already awaiting her in the little sitting-room.
Valerie offered her hand and stood looking at Lily Collis, as though searching for some resemblance to her brother in the pretty, slightly flushed features. There was a very indefinite family resemblance.
“Miss West,” she said, “it is amiable of you to overlook the informality—”
“I am not formal, Mrs. Collis,” she said, quietly. “Will you sit here?” indicating an arm-chair near the window,— “because the light is not very good and I have some mending to do on a costume which I must pose in this afternoon.”
Lily Collis seated herself, her bewitched gaze following Valerie as she moved lightly and gracefully about, collecting sewing materials and the costume in question, and bringing them to a low chair under the north window.
“I am sure you will not mind my sewing,” she said, with a slight upward inflection to her voice, which made it a question.
“Please, Miss West,” said Lily, hastily.
“It is really a necessity,” observed Valerie threading her needle and turning over the skirt. “Illustrators are very arbitrary gentlemen; a model’s failure to keep an engagement sometimes means loss of a valuable contract to them, and that isn’t fair either to them or to their publishers, who would be forced to hunt up another artist at the last moment.”
“Your — profession — must be an exceedingly interesting one,” said Lily in a low voice.
Valerie smiled: “It is a very exacting one.”
There was a silence. Valerie’s head was bent over her sewing; Mrs. Collis, fascinated, almost alarmed by her beauty, could not take her eyes from her. Outwardly Lily was pleasantly reserved, perfectly at ease with this young girl; inwardly all was commotion approaching actual consternation.
She had been prepared for youth, for a certain kind of charm and beauty — but not for this kind — not for the loveliness, the grace, the composure, the exquisite simplicity of this young girl who sat sewing there before her.
She was obliged to force herself to recollect that this girl was a model hired to pose for men — paid to expose her young, unclothed limbs and body! Yet — could it be possible! Was this the girl hailed as a comrade by the irrepressible Ogilvy and Annan — the heroine of a score of unconventional and careless gaieties recounted by them? Was this the coquette who, it was rumoured, had flung over Querida, snapped her white fingers at Penrhyn Cardemon, and laughed disrespectfully at a dozen respected pillars of society, who appeared to be willing to support her in addition to the entire social structure?
Very quietly the girl raised her head. Her sensitive lips were edged with a smile, but there was no mirth in her clear eyes:
“Mrs. Collis, perhaps yo
u are waiting for me to say something about your letter and my answer to it. I did not mean to embarrass you by not speaking of it, but I was not certain that the initiative lay with me.”
Lily reddened: “It lies with me, Miss West — the initiative. I mean—” She hesitated, suddenly realising how difficult it had become to go on, — how utterly unprepared she was to encounter passive resistance from such composure as this young girl already displayed.
“You wrote to me about your anxiety concerning Mr. Neville,” said
Valerie, gently.
“Yes — I did, Miss West. You will surely understand — and forgive me — if I say to you that I am still a prey to deepest anxiety.”
“Why?”
The question was so candid, so direct that for a moment Lily remained silent. But the dark, clear, friendly eyes were asking for an answer, and the woman of the world who knew how to meet most situations and how to dominate them, searched her experience in vain for the proper words to use in this one.
After a moment Valerie’s eyes dropped, and she resumed her sewing; and
Lily bit her lip and composed her mind to its delicate task:
“Miss West,” she said, “what I have to say is not going to be very agreeable to either of us. It is going to be painful perhaps — and it is going to take a long while to explain—”
“It need not take long,” said Valerie, without raising her eyes from her stitches; “it requires only a word to tell me that you and your father and mother do not wish your brother to marry me.”
She looked up quietly, and her eyes met Lily’s:
“I promise not to marry him,” she said. “You are perfectly right. He belongs to his own family; he belongs in his own world.”
She looked down again at her sewing with a faint smile:
“I shall not attempt to enter that world as his wife, Mrs. Collis, or to draw him out of it…. And I hope that you will not be anxious any more.”
She laid aside her work and rose to her slender height, smilingly, as though the elder woman had terminated the interview; and Lily, utterly confounded, rose, too, as Valerie offered her hand in adieu.
“Miss West,” she began, not perfectly sure of what she was saying, “I — scarcely dare thank you — for what you have said — for — my — brother’s — sake—”
Works of Robert W Chambers Page 540
