CHAPTER XXIX. KATE WRITES A LETTER
Bertram feared that he knew, before the portrait was hung, that it wasa failure. He was sure that he knew it on the evening of the twentiethwhen he encountered the swiftly averted eyes of some of his artistfriends, and saw the perplexed frown on the faces of others. But heknew, afterwards, that he did not really know it--till he read thenewspapers during the next few days.
There was praise--oh, yes; the faint praise that kills. There was someadverse criticism, too; but it was of the light, insincere variety thatis given to mediocre work by unimportant artists. Then, here and there,appeared the signed critiques of the men whose opinion counted--andBertram knew that he had failed. Neither as a work of art, nor as alikeness, was the portrait the success that Henshaw's former work wouldseem to indicate that it should have been. Indeed, as one caustic penput it, if this were to be taken as a sample of what was to follow--thenthe famous originator of "The Face of a Girl" had "a most distinguishedfuture behind him."
Seldom, if ever before, had an exhibited portrait attracted so muchattention. As Bertram had said, uncounted eyes were watching for itbefore it was hung, because it was a portrait of the noted beauty,Marguerite Winthrop, and because two other well-known artists had failedwhere he, Bertram Henshaw, was hoping to succeed. After it was hung, andthe uncounted eyes had seen it--either literally, or through the eyesof the critics--interest seemed rather to grow than to lessen, for otheruncounted eyes wanted to see what all the fuss was about, anyway. Andwhen these eyes had seen, their owners talked. Nor did they, by anymeans, all talk against the portrait. Some were as loud in its praise aswere others in its condemnation; all of which, of course, but helped toattract more eyes to the cause of it all.
For Bertram and his friends these days were, naturally, trying ones.William finally dreaded to open his newspaper. (It had become thefashion, when murders and divorces were scarce, occasionally to"feature" somebody's opinion of the Henshaw portrait, on the firstpage--something that had almost never been known to happen before.)Cyril, according to Marie, played "perfectly awful things on his pianoevery day, now." Aunt Hannah had said "Oh, my grief and conscience!"so many times that it melted now into a wordless groan whenever a newunfriendly criticism of the portrait met her indignant eyes.
Of all Bertram's friends, Billy, perhaps not unnaturally, was theangriest. Not only did she, after a time, refuse to read the papers,but she refused even to allow certain ones to be brought into the house,foolish and unreasonable as she knew this to be.
As to the artist himself, Bertram's face showed drawn lines and his eyessombre shadows, but his words and manner carried a stolid indifferencethat to Billy was at once heartbreaking and maddening.
"But, Bertram, why don't you do something? Why don't you say something?Why don't you act something?" she burst out one day.
The artist shrugged his shoulders.
"But, my dear, what can I say, or do, or act?" he asked.
"I don't know, of course," sighed Billy. "But I know what I'd like todo. I should like to go out and--fight somebody!"
So fierce were words and manner, coupled as they were with a pair ofgentle eyes ablaze and two soft little hands doubled into menacingfists, that Bertram laughed.
"What a fiery little champion it is, to be sure," he said tenderly. "Butas if fighting could do any good--in this case!"
Billy's tense muscles relaxed. Her eyes filled with tears.
"No, I don't suppose it would," she choked, beginning to cry, so thatBertram had to turn comforter.
"Come, come, dear," he begged; "don't take it so to heart. It's notso bad, after all. I've still my good right hand left, and we'll hopethere's something in it yet--that'll be worth while."
"But _this_ one isn't bad," stormed Billy. "It's splendid! I'm sure, Ithink it's a b-beautiful portrait, and I don't see _what_ people mean bytalking so about it!"
Bertram shook his head. His eyes grew sombre again.
"Thank you, dear. But I know--and you know, really--that it isn't asplendid portrait. I've done lots better work than that."
"Then why don't they look at those, and let this alone?" wailed Billy,with indignation.
"Because I deliberately put up this for them to see," smiled the artist,wearily.
Billy sighed, and twisted in her chair.
"What does--Mr. Winthrop say?" she asked at last, in a faint voice.
Bertram lifted his head.
"Mr. Winthrop's been a trump all through, dear. He's already insisted onpaying for this--and he's ordered another."
"Another!"
"Yes. The old fellow never minces his words, as you may know. He cameto me one day, put his hand on my shoulder, and said tersely: 'Will yougive me another, same terms? Go in, boy, and win. Show 'em! I lostthe first ten thousand I made. I didn't the next!' That's all he said.Before I could even choke out an answer he was gone. Gorry! talk abouthis having a 'heart of stone'! I don't believe another man in thecountry would have done that--and done it in the way he did--in the faceof all this talk," finished Bertram, his eyes luminous with feeling.
Billy hesitated.
"Perhaps--his daughter--influenced him--some."
"Perhaps," nodded Bertram. "She, too, has been very kind, all the waythrough."
Billy hesitated again.
"But I thought--it was going so splendidly," she faltered, in ahalf-stifled voice.
"So it was--at the first."
"Then what--ailed it, at the last, do you suppose?" Billy was holdingher breath till he should answer.
The man got to his feet.
"Billy, don't--don't ask me," he begged. "Please don't let's talk ofit any more. It can't do any good! I just flunked--that's all. Myhand failed me. Maybe I tried too hard. Maybe I was tired. Maybesomething--troubled me. Never mind, dear, what it was. It can do no goodeven to think of that--now. So just let's--drop it, please, dear," hefinished, his face working with emotion.
And Billy dropped it--so far as words were concerned; but she could notdrop it from her thoughts--specially after Kate's letter came.
Kate's letter was addressed to Billy, and it said, after speaking ofvarious other matters:
"And now about poor Bertram's failure." (Billy frowned. In Billy'spresence no one was allowed to say "Bertram's failure"; but a letterhas a most annoying privilege of saying what it pleases without let orhindrance, unless one tears it up--and a letter destroyed unread remainsalways such a tantalizing mystery of possibilities! So Billy let theletter talk.) "Of course we have heard of it away out here. I do wish ifBertram _must_ paint such famous people, he would manage to flatter themup--in the painting, I mean, of course--enough so that it might pass fora success!
"The technical part of all this criticism I don't pretend to understandin the least; but from what I hear and read, he must, indeed, have madea terrible mess of it, and of course I'm very sorry--and some surprised,too, for usually he paints such pretty pictures!
"Still, on the other hand, Billy, I'm not surprised. William says thatBertram has been completely out of fix over something, and as gloomy asan owl, for weeks past; and of course, under those circumstances, thepoor boy could not be expected to do good work. Now William, being aman, is not supposed to understand what the trouble is. But I, being awoman, can see through a pane of glass when it's held right up beforeme; and I can guess, of course, that a woman is at the bottom of it--shealways is!--and that you, being his special fancy at the moment" (Billyalmost did tear the letter now--but not quite), "are that woman.
"Now, Billy, you don't like such frank talk, of course; but, on theother hand, I know you do not want to ruin the dear boy's career. So,for heaven's sake, if you two have been having one of those quarrelsthat lovers so delight in--do, please, for the good of the cause, makeup quick, or else quarrel harder and break it off entirely--which,honestly, would be the better way, I think, all around.
"There, there, my dear child, don't bristle up! I am very fond of you,and would dearly love to have you for a siste
r--if you'd only takeWilliam, as you should! But, as you very well know, I never did approveof this last match at all, for either of your sakes.
"He can't make you happy, my dear, and you can't make him happy.Bertram never was--and never will be--a marrying man. He's tootemperamental--too thoroughly wrapped up in his Art. Girls have nevermeant anything to him but a beautiful picture to paint. And they neverwill. They can't. He's made that way. Listen! I can prove it to you. Upto this winter he's always been a care-free, happy, jolly fellow, andyou _know_ what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tiedhimself to any one girl till last fall. Then you two entered into thisabsurd engagement.
"Now what has it been since? William wrote me himself not a fortnightago that he'd been worried to death over Bertram for weeks past,he's been so moody, so irritable, so fretted over his work, so unlikehimself. And his picture has _failed_ dismally. Of course Williamdoesn't understand; but I do. I know you've probably quarrelled, orsomething. You know how flighty and unreliable you can be sometimes,Billy, and I don't say that to mean anything against you, either--that's_your_ way. You're just as temperamental in your art, music, as Bertramis in his. You're utterly unsuited to him. If Bertram is to marry_anybody_, it should be some quiet, staid, sensible girl who would bea _help_ to him. But when I think of you two flyaway flutterbudgetsmarrying--!
"Now, for heaven's sake, Billy, _do_ make up or something--and do itnow. Don't, for pity's sake, let Bertram ever put out another such apiece of work to shame us all like this. Do you want to ruin his career?
"Faithfully yours,
"KATE HARTWELL.
"P. S. _I_ think William's the one for you. He's devoted to you, andhis quiet, sensible affection is just what your temperament needs. I_always_ thought William was the one for you. Think it over.
"P. S. No. 2. You can see by the above that it isn't you I'm objectingto, my dear. It's just _you-and-Bertram_.
"K."