He stood there confronting his defaced picture, examining it as keenly as a physician might inspect an interesting phase of human misfortune, pondering the remedy. And, as he stood, silent, preoccupied, his telephone bell rang, and he stepped to the receiver.
“Hello! Is this the Models’ League?”
* * * *
“Yes, James Leeds. Yes, I wanted a model with red hair, if possible, and good limbs.”
* * * *
“Well, that can’t be helped. Send any model as close to Miss Clancey’s type as you can. Send her now. She’s to take a cab. I’m in a desperate hurry.”
* * * *
“Yes, Miss Clancey is ill. — I want a girl of her type, but don’t waste time — hunting. Send me somebody at once.”
* * * *
“All right.... Good-by!”
He hung up the receiver, walked back to his canvas, and began to set a huge ivory-faced palette table, squeezing out tube after tube of color, rainbow fashion, ending in a curly mass of silver white. Then he uncorked a jar of turpentine, filled a bowl with it, and began searching among twisted tubes and scrapers for an ivory palette knife, whistling thoughtfully the while.
A slight sound behind one of the great screens attracted his attention, and he glanced up. Nothing stirred. He sorted some paint rags, and picked up a bottle of drying medium. As he held it to the light, again a sudden sound came from the screen; he turned squarely, surprised, and the same instant a girl stepped out and raised a pair of very lovely and frightened eyes to his.
“Do you want a model?” she asked sweetly, but unsteadily. “Because, if you do—”
“Good Heavens!” he said, exasperated. “Have you been behind that screen all this time while I’ve been telephoning for a model?”
“Ye-s. I — I came in. I heard you.”
“But why didn’t you come out? Why on earth—”
“I think I was a trifle frightened.”
“Oh!... I see... you have never before posed?”
“Never. I — I really have not made up my mind to pose now. I suppose I had better do — do something. I’ve — the fact is, I’ve got to do something to earn my living.”
She was red-haired, white-skinned, blue-eyed, shod and gloved to perfection, and plainly scared. He looked at her from head to foot.
“As a matter of fact,” he said, delighted, “you are a sort of God-sent miracle. Whether you mean to pose or not for a living, I want you to pose for me to-day. Don’t be frightened; sit down here in this chair. I’m in desperate need of somebody. Won’t you help me?”
She looked at him in breathless silence.
“Won’t you please sit here — just a moment?” he said.
She bent her head a trifle, and moved forward to the offered chair with a grace that claimed his instant and serious attention. But he had no time to wonder or speculate on the reasons ‘for such a woman with such a presence being in his studio to seek employment; he took a chair opposite, scrutinizing her fresh young beauty with frank approval. Indeed, he heartily approved of everything about her — the masses of red-gold hair, the lovely azure-tinted eyes, the wonderfully paintable white skin.
“Your coloring — your figure — your hands are beautiful,” he said slowly. “I can give you all day to-day, and I’ll take all the time you can give me to-morrow. You see, that canvas must be finished to-day, be dry by to-morrow, and be delivered Thursday. Tell me, is it only head and shoulders and costume, or will you pose without drapery for—”
A bright flush stained her face. “I — I am not a model!” she stammered.
“Not a model,” he repeated blankly. “Oh, no, of course not — I forgot.”
“Did you — do I look like—” Words failed her; she glanced appalled at the canvas, then straight at him, self-possessed again, but paler.
“I can’t help what you think of me,” she said. “I am perfectly aware of my indiscretion — but your door was open and this — this is my hour of need.”
“Certainly,” he said, soothingly, “I see—”
“No, you don’t see! I came in here to — to hide! By and by I shall go out.” She sat up very straight. “I am determined,” she said, “to remain concealed here until I can leave this building without annoyance. May I?” She ended so sweetly, so piteously, that Leeds caught his breath in astonishment.
“So — may I stay here for a while?”
“Well, there’s a model coming to pose for that figure — if you refuse to pose—”
“Which figure?” demanded the girl.
“That one on the left — the one that is scraped down.”
“You mean that I couldn’t stay here while you painted?”
“I don’t believe you would care to. You wouldn’t bother me, but I don’t think you’d care to.”
“Why?” The blue eyes met his so purely, so fearlessly, that he gave her a frank and gentle answer.
“Oh! Then — then hadn’t you better dismiss your model for the day?” she said, “because I’ve got to stay.”
“But I can’t. The paint on that canvas is exactly in the right condition, neither too wet nor too dry. I’ve simply got to use a drier, and paint on it now. That picture must be dry to-morrow.”
“Must it — truly?”
“It certainly must!”
The girl rose, stood for a moment nervously twisting her veil up over her hat; then: “But I can’t go! You don’t understand. I’ve — I’ve run away!”
“Run away! From whom?”
“Somebody,” she said vaguely, looking about the room. Suddenly he remembered the story McManus told. And he spoke of it, watching her curiously.
“Exactly,” she said, nodding her pretty head, while the tint of excitement deepened on her cheeks, “I ran away from him! You know who I am, don’t you? You know my sister, anyhow.”
She hesitated, searching his face; then impulsively: “I usually decide all matters very quickly!” She made an impatient little gesture and seated herself, looking up at him with bright eyes and heightened color: “For three months I’ve stood it—”
“Stood what?”
“Being engaged. I had not really thought much about it — we’re usually indifferent and obedient in my family — and no doubt I’d have gone on and married just as my sisters have — if something had not happened.” She dropped her head, looking thoughtfully at the floor. Then: “I simply could not stand him, Mr. Leeds; I woke up this morning, understanding that I couldn’t marry him. I was so excited — and dreadfully afraid of telling him — and I was so sorry for my mother, but I couldn’t do it; I knew that, and it was time he knew, too.
“So I told my mother, and there was trouble, and I went out and found a cab and drove here as fast as I could, and I said: ‘Mr. Thorne, I cannot do it!’ You know what I said. That Irishman told you Leeds nodded.
“So that’s all; I simply ran away from him; and I won’t go home and live on my mother, because we are as poor as mice and rabbits, and if I don’t marry Mr. Thorne my mother will probably expire of mortification, and if I don’t marry at all by Monday next, I’ll lose what my grandfather left me in a horrid will, which forces me to marry before I’m twenty-one — and that’s next Monday. All my sisters did it — Mrs. Egerton, and Mrs. Clay-Dwyning, and another you don’t know. But I won’t, I won’t, I won’t! And my mother will probably starve unless I earn our living, so I’d better begin at once.”
“I think you had, too,” said Leeds gravely.
“Oh, I thought of that when I was running away from Mr. Thorne; and when he came up in one elevator, I came down; and when he came down I went up, and I turned into the first corridor I saw, and entered somebody’s office and shut the door.
“A man came to ask me what I wanted. And I asked him if he required a stenographer, and he said he did — very offensively — so I marched out and walked about the hallways trying to find my way out. Then I heard Mr. Thorne’s voice on the stairs, and I opened your door and hid. And b
efore I had courage to leave, you came and talked and talked with that Irishman. And now what am I to do? You know who I am, and you know my sisters — or you did once, before you went abroad to study — for they’ve told me they knew you at Narragansett when you were a boy of twelve.”
“Are you their little sister, Naida?” he asked curiously, when she stopped, clean out of breath, flushed and fascinating in her consternation.
“Yes; I’m Naida. Do you really remember me? I wish I could be civil and say the same to you, but I don’t, Mr. Leeds, though since everybody says you are a very great artist, I pretend I do know you, and I say: ‘Oh, yes, James Leeds; he was such a jolly fellow when he was a boy at Narragansett!’
“But I’m careful not to tell them that I was so little that you never even looked at me, or that I was so young I couldn’t remember you. Oh, dear, what frauds we all are! And here I am, compromising myself and not caring, after having driven my mother distracted, jilted my fiancé, and beggared myself. I think I’d better pose for you.”
“Will you?”
“Why, coward that I am, I don’t want to face the consequences of my own deeds. But I won’t go back after smashing the finances so dreadfully.”
“Suppose you help me a little, then. And while you’re helping me to avert financial ruin we’ll talk of your future,” he said laughingly.
She looked up quickly. “I heard what you and that Irishman were saying. Are you truly in trouble about your picture?”
“All kinds of trouble,” he assented.
“Could I really help you?”
“Indeed you could.”
“Of course, I would compromise myself, wouldn’t I?” she asked innocently. “I’ve been doing it all day, haven’t I?”
He sat there perplexed, fascinated, watching her in silence.
She shrugged her pretty shoulders. A rather valuable fur stole slipped down to the floor, and he picked it up and sat smoothing it and watching the exquisite color wane and deepen in her cheeks.
The telephone rang. He rose and set the receiver to his ear.
“No, that model won’t do. You need not send anybody now; I have exactly the model I require. Good-by.”
Turning to her he said: “You heard me say that I needed no model. Will you help me now? This is an hour of direst need with me.”
“I — I don’t know—”
“Will you? If you will, I will promise to help you — not to become an artist’s model; that is silly. But I promise you, on my honor, that you shall have an offer which no woman need refuse; an offer suitable and honorable, where you may enjoy absolute independence and freedom from all annoyance, live your own life freely, without taxing your mother’s resources, and without care or dread of importunities from anybody attempting to marry you. Will you?”
“If — if you could do that for me I’d be grateful enough to do anything for you,” she said slowly.
The Ghost of Chance sat watching them. His job was nearly ended.
A curious exhilaration, a gayety rather foreign to Leeds’s nature, took possession of him. He lifted a beautiful garment, all stiff with turquoise and gold, and held it toward her. He laid two jeweled sandals at her feet, pulled a table to the screen, and opened a box full of glittering gilded articles.
There was color enough in her face now, flooding it from brow to throat.
“Won’t you help me?” he asked. “It is ruin for me if you don’t.”
She searched his face. There was nothing in the eyes that a woman might not look upon, might not meet with a smile, might not respond to. She measured him in breathless silence, red lips parted. He was her own kind.
“Will you?”
“Yes.”
Then excitement transfigured him. She scarcely knew his face, lighted into quick enthusiasm.
“Never, never, have I had such a model!” he cried, delighted as a boy. “Never have I seen such color, such exquisite loveliness. Good Heavens! A man might really paint with you before him! Don’t — don’t look at me that way — don’t be frightened. I’m simply astonished at my fortune — I don’t mean to be rude — you know I don’t!”
“Yes, I know it,” she said tremulously.
“May I suggest how you should tie the sandals?”
“Am I to — to be barefooted?”
“With sandals, you know, and that gorgeous gold and blue Byzantine robe hung straight from the shoulders! Everything is here. I’ll step out and smoke a cigarette. Will you knock when you are ready?”
She nodded, looking down at the crumpled heaps of gold and turquoise stuff.
Enchanted he saw her raise her pretty arms and begin to unpin her hat, with its floating veil. Then he went out.
For half an hour he walked the resounding corridor, smoking madly. Once or twice he doubted her — half convinced that she meant to lock him out — and the idea scared him. But at last a low knocking on the inside of the door summoned him; he entered, blinking in the flood of light after the darkness of the hallway, and the vision was revealed slowly to his dazzled eyes.
White — a trifle too pale; her eyes burned like azure stars under the gold-red glory of her hair, which fell in two loose, heavy braids straight down, framing her body from shoulders to hips. The rounded throat, the white arms glimmering along the seams of the blue and golden robe, the sandals accenting the snowy feet — and in her eyes the straight, fearless gaze of a child — left him mute, stunned, utterly spellbound, overwhelmed by a magic that sometimes wears another name.
She did not need to ask his criticism. The faint rose color came into her face again slowly.
She turned and mounted the model stand without a word, seating herself in the carved marble chair; and, glancing at the painted figure, let her arms fall in harmony with the drawing. Then she placed one little sandal-shod foot upon the silken cushion at her feet. When she looked up, with a pale smile, he had already begun to paint.
His hand, not steady at first — for a new emotion had given him new eyes — became steadier. Magnificent tints and hues grew upon the canvas, stiff gold folds and creases shimmered, framing the snowy contours of perfect arms.
The glory of hair, the wonder of wide azure-tinted eyes, the lips full scarlet, all took color and loveliness as his brushes flew. And into the picture came something else — a joyousness, a tint of youth and freshness, and something subtle, indefinable.
And now he seemed to hold the whole power of the world in his grasp. The color-wet point of every brush hovered, then left its message of beauty on an enchanted canvas. Power was his; he dominated; he could do anything, achieve anything — with her before him. Difficulties? There were none. He had but to wet a brush with purest tints, look her in the eyes, and the thing was wrought.
Twice she rested. He said nothing, nor did she, and, when she was ready, he went on. But already the work was done — finished! He lingered over it, thrilled, touching it here and there fearlessly, with the silent certainty of mastery.
At last he lay back on his chair, and the arm supporting his palette dropped to his side.
“Won’t you have mercy?” she asked in a low voice.
“Are you tired? Oh, I am so sorry!” he cried, springing to his feet.
She rose. He held out his hand. She laid hers on his arm and descended.
“You are terribly tired!” he said anxiously, almost tenderly.
“No — but — I am a little — hungry.”
He dragged out his watch. “Good Lord! It’s four — almost dark!” he cried. “What a — a beast I am! I must be crazy!”
She stood smiling beside him, looking curiously at the picture in the fading light.
“Am I as — as glorious as that!” she said under her breath. It was not a question, besides he scarcely dared answer, for the magic was thick about him.
“Do you know,” she said slowly, “there is something in that canvas that I have never before seen?”
“What is it?”
“The — the eyes
you have given me — as though I had just opened them on paradise.”
“They are like yours.”
“But I — I never saw paradise. What a heavenly beauty you have given me. My soul was never as untroubled as is hers — the lovely, snowy, golden saint you have raised up on my shadow. What eyes do you see with to work such miracles?”
“You are the miracle. I never painted like that until you came.”
She turned to look at him. And, perhaps, the magic light was strong enough to dazzle her, too, for she thought there was something in his eyes that he had painted into hers upon the canvas.
For a little while they stood silent. Then she raised her head. “And now?” she questioned.
“Now?”
“Yes. What am I to do?”
He gazed at her blankly. “You are not going away?”
“Your picture is finished.”
“Yes, but where are you going?”
“Where?” She pressed her white hand over her brow. “I — I don’t exactly know. I — I thought you had a plan—”
“As long as you have run away,” he began slowly—”
“Yes? And as long as I have done all the dreadful things I have done. Go on!”
“All those dreadful things—”
“Yes; all those common horrid things. Go on.”
“I — I think—”
“Yes—”
“That we — that we might further degrade ourselves by—”
“Yes — goon!”
“By taking tea together.”
“Do you think so?”
“I do,” he said solemnly.
She reflected for a moment. “But what after that?”
“We must consider the situation at the tea table,” he said gravely. “We’ll go out as soon as you can change your gown. And — is there any likelihood of our jumping any of your family if we go to Sherry’s?”
“I’ll risk it,” she said slowly.
“Then,” and he smiled at her through a rosy light which really didn’t exist, “then I’ll go out and smoke until you are ready.”
Works of Robert W Chambers Page 1155
