II.
An hour later Julian Goetze was standing alone in his studio. The sketchfresh from his brush was before him, and beneath it, resting upon thefloor, was another somewhat farther advanced.
He had painted until the light had begun to grow yellow and dim, then hehad reluctantly told his sitter that he could do no more for that day.
"And when shall I come again?" she had asked.
He would have said, "Come to-morrow," had he dared; but rememberingother engagements, and knowing that the work could not be continued sosoon, he had hesitated before replying.
"I can go on with the picture in two or three days; come as soon afterthat as--as you wish," he said, softly.
Their eyes met for a moment; the delicate color deepened in her cheeks,her lips murmured a half inaudible word of adieu, and she was gone.
Julian left alone had flung himself into a large chair that stood nearthe window, and looked out upon the little garden beyond. It was June.The days were long and the sun was still touching the tops of the locusttrees. He was away from the bustle of the city, and an atmosphere ofpeace almost like that of the country was about him. All at once hecovered his face with his hands, pressing his fingers hard into hiseyes.
"I love her, I love her," he groaned; "she is an angel from heaven, andI--oh, my God! if she knew she would hate me."
He rose and stood before the face on the easel; then, as if suddenlyrecollecting, he approached the canvas that was turned face to the wall,and which once before that day had claimed his attention, and, facing itnervously about, placed it beneath the other.
It was the portrait of a woman. Like the one above her, she was fair andbeautiful; but here all resemblance apparently ceased. Nothing could bemore widely different than the characters that had stamped themselvesupon the faces of these two.
The picture on the floor was that of a woman whose age might be anywherefrom twenty-five to thirty-five; a woman of the great world of fashion,of folly, of intrigue, perhaps of vice. Her dress was a rich ballcostume, exposing the white flesh of her beautiful arms, her perfectshoulders, and her pearly tinted throat and bosom. Like the other, herface was oval in shape, but seemed less perfect in its contour. Therewas a certain lack of delicacy and softness about the outline thatsuggested the fierce chase after the sham pleasures of the great socialworld.
The rest of the features were in harmony with this idea. The beautifulmouth was hard and cruel. The lips and cheeks were bright as ifartificially tinted, or flushed with wine. The eyes were bold and thepupils seemed expanded as with belladonna. The nostrils of the finelyshaped nose were full and sensual. Her luxuriant brown hair, singularlylike that of the portrait above her in color, she wore in the lateFrench mode, combed back from her high, broad forehead and twisted intoa massive device at the top. Her eyebrows were unnaturally dark. Anartificial air pervaded the entire picture--one felt that she had anartificial soul. A perfect prototype of Folly's feverish and heartlessworld.
As the artist stood gazing from one to the other, the curious vexed andpuzzled expression that had come into his face once before that dayreturned. He approached closely to the work as if to examine it moreminutely. As he bent low over the face on the easel he heard the streetdoor open. He started guiltily, and hastily turned both pictures to thewall. A moment later a tall, fair-haired man of about his own ageentered without knocking. It was Harry Lawton, the artist's mostintimate friend.
"Julian, old boy, how goes it?" he said, cheerily.
"Pretty well, Harry; come in."
"Yes, I should do that any way. I don't seem to be any too welcome,however."
"Nonsense, Harry, of course you are welcome; I am very glad, in fact, tosee you, just now.
"Well, that's better; although I must say your face doesn't indicateexcessive joy."
"Sit down; not there--here by the door; I want to show you something."
"Oh, some new and wonderful work of your transcendent genius, I suppose.By the way, how is the picture for the Salon getting along?"
"Tediously, Harry; I seem to have lost the spirit of the thing."
"Found too much spirit of another kind, perhaps."
"No, not that. I have been a model of abstinence of late."
"And the heavens do not fall?
"No--yes--that is--let your tongue rest for a moment, please, and useyour eyes."
While the artist had been speaking he had taken the large screen frombefore the window and moved his easel into a stronger light. Upon it henow placed the two portraits in their former position. The effect uponthe other was vigorous and immediate.
"Heavens! Julian, where did you get that angel and that dev--I begpardon, that extraordinary pair of beauties? Oh, I see!--why, of course!a new idea for the Salon. A modern Guinevere and Elaine; Siren andSaint; Sense and Innocence. I congratulate you, old boy; they arewonderful"--
"Please be quiet for a moment, Harry; they are not for the Salon. Theyare two sitters of mine. The one beneath has been here twice--the firsttime about a week ago; the second time day before yesterday. The othercame for the first time to-day."
"And they are real, live women, then?"
"Yes. I was in hopes you might recognize one or both of them."
The other shook his head, and gazed from one to the other in silence.
"Do you see any--any resemblance between them?" asked the artist, aftera pause.
"Resemblance! Good Lord, no! Why? Are they related in any way?"
"Not that I am aware of; in fact, I am quite sure they are not. She toldme she had no relatives."
"Um--and which do you refer to as she?"
"Oh, the upper one, of course."
"Well, I don't see any 'of course' about it. She was here to-day forthe first time. I don't see why she should begin by exchanging familyconfidences. All things considered, I should have thought it more thanlikely you referred to the other. However, I suppose you are familiarwith her family history, too."
"Don't be sarcastic, Harry. I know nothing of either of them; at leastnot in that way. The one who came first gave her name as Evelin March.She came in suddenly, one morning last week, and asked for a sitting.She had on a light wrap, which she laid off and stood before me as yousee her. During the sitting she was inclined to be lively and talkative.Her voice is just a trifle harsh, but she is a remarkably brillianttalker and a very fascinating woman. I had not met the other, then, andfoolishly allowed myself to say some rather silly things to her. Whenshe came again I did more. You know what a rash fool I am, Harry. Well,I made love to her, off-hand. She stirred me up terribly for somereason. Of course, there was nothing of real love in what I felt forher; it was a brief madness of the head. You know about what I would sayunder the circumstances."
"Oh, perfectly. You swore that her eyes were as are lights in a midnightdesert; that her tints would rival the roseate pearl of a June sunset;that her smiles would be your only diet henceforth and forever; that herfrown would be as terrible as the day of judgment. And now what has theother one to do with it?"
"Lawton, you will think I am crazy, and I am, perhaps--but I love her;and more than that, I believe she loves me. No word of it has passedbetween us, but--we understand."
"Oh, we do, eh? We--we understand," imitated Lawton. "Well, this isexceedingly interesting, I must say, although quite the thing to beexpected from one of your temperament. How very fortunate you are in thechoice of subjects, too."
"What do you mean, Harry?"
"Well, I should judge you might divide up your affections on those twowithout any serious confliction of sentiments."
"You are mistaken, though; I do not care for Evelin March at all, now. Iam sorry I ever met her. I shall stop this foolish flirtation with her,at once."
"Quite likely. And when does Evelin come again?"
"To-morrow, perhaps."
"So; well, I'll just drop in to-morrow evening for the latest. Evelinseems to be a trifle outclassed just at present."
"Harry, you are unkind. I tel
l you I love that innocent girl on theeasel there and mean to marry her."
"Oh, of course; I haven't the least doubt of it. And now, what about theresemblance?"
"Why, look! do you see their hair? The shade of each is exactly thesame--the same silkiness and glow through it; it is very peculiar. Andnotice the ear; the outline and formation of each is identical. You maynot have noticed these things as I have, but it is very rare that theear is anatomically the same in two people. There is a similarity, too,about the oval of the face, although less marked and not unusual; andthere is a faint suggestion of something else, which I feel but cannotlocate. I noticed these things, and they struck me at once as being atie of kinship. I hinted, in a miserably awkward manner, as to relativeswho might be having their portraits painted. It was then she told methat she had no relatives, and I believe started to tell me she had nofriends, but she hesitated and was near bursting into tears. From thatmoment I loved her; I shall love her always."
"Charming, Julian. And yet I fancy she is not wholly alone in the world.A beautiful and affluent maiden is not calculated to be friendless; andyou will admit that one who is able to gratify a passing impulse for oneof Julian Paul Goetze's justly celebrated portraits is not likely to bedestitute. Still, I will allow that there are cases, even among thewealthy, that are not entirely undeserving of sympathy; and, if I mayjudge from this incipient work of your magic brush, I think I should bewilling to lavish any amount of that article on its original. However,you haven't told me her name as yet; I trust it is not disappointing."
"I do not even know it myself. She gave me her card; I laid it down andhaven't thought of it since."
"Well, really, if your love is no greater than your curiosity, your casedoes not present any very alarming features, as yet."
The artist had approached a small table in the center of the room, fromwhich he now picked up a slip of white pasteboard and held it to thelight, then he started a little and was silent.
"Well?" said his friend, inquiringly; "is it Mary Mullally or NancyMuggins?"
The artist turned to the table again and selected another card, somewhatlarger, from a little silver tray; then he returned to Lawton and heldthem before him, one above the other, like the pictures. On the lowerone, written in a bold, dashing hand, were the words:
EVELIN MARCH.
And on the other, in a neat and beautiful penmanship:
EVA DELORME.
"Capital, old fellow!" exclaimed Lawton. "There is an air of harmonyabout the name, the handwriting, and the face of your charmer that isdelightful. What a blessing she has no relatives."
"But do you notice nothing strange about these names, Harry?"
"Nothing, except that both are strangely bewitching. What more isthere?"
"Why, the similarity of the first names. Eva--Evelin; one is frequentlya contraction of the other. I don't like this, Harry; it troubles me."
"Now, Julian, you are positively absurd. Here are two women of naturesmanifestly as different as light and darkness. By a coincidence, or adistant family tie, or both, their hair happens to be the same color(not a very unusual one, either, by the way); a similarity in theirnames; also, perhaps, one or two other trifling resemblances, more orless marked. I will admit, myself, that there is something in the faceof that siren that had she kept herself unspotted from the world mighthave suggested the other--that rare being there on the easel who toldyou she had no relatives or friends, and for which reason you are deeplytroubled. It is probable she told you the exact truth. I have seenpeople who were almost counterparts of each other between whom thereexisted no known tie of kinship. There was once a man in New York whoresembled Jay Gould so strikingly as to deceive their best friends. Andbesides, the girl may have relatives of whom she knows nothing. Most ofus have cousins whom we have never seen, or even heard of. ShouldGuinevere prove to be the unknown cousin of Elaine, I cannot see thatthe purity and charm of Elaine is in any manner affected thereby."
"Yes, Harry; that is so. Besides"--
"Besides, the resemblance is positively trivial. No one but an artistwould think of it. I should never have suspected it without yourassistance. In the one face there is written all that is good, andpure, and holy; in the other, all that is reckless, unscrupulous,soulless, and if not vicious might easily become so. It does not take aphysiognomist to see that. I beg pardon for saying so, Julian, but itseems to me that there is no more similarity between the two than thereis between the opposing elements of your own strange nature. The one allthat is good, and the other, well--not all that is bad, but verydifferent, you know, old boy. And it is probably these forces within youthat answer to the charms of these two beings who are so manifestlyopposites. The one inspiring only the nobleness of a blameless love; theother suggesting the abandonment of a reckless passion."