shewould have pitied anyone less fortunate than herself. Besides she likedMarkham and admired his perseverance, though she wondered occasionallywhether he would have been quite so devoted had Miss Bolton beenpenniless like herself.
"I saw the Governor on my way home," observed St. John at length,breaking the silence with a short laugh. Mrs St. John's heart gave asudden jump.
"He didn't--cut you?" she queried.
"Oh, dear no! bowed to me almost as though he considered me on anequality. Feels jolly rum being treated by one's father like that."
"I call it abominable of him," Jill cried hotly. "He seems absolutelyheartless."
St. John looked amused.
"Well, I don't quite see what else he could have done under thecircumstances," said he. "I don't blame him for giving me the kick outand all that as I disappointed him, but I do for not bringing me up tosome profession; it's beastly rough luck for me."
Jill laid one small hand upon his shoulder, ever so light a touch but itcarried great comfort with it.
"You don't make a good poor man, dear," she said gently. "You shouldhave known my father; he was always cheerful even in his poorestmoments; yet no one would have called him careless nor improvident. Hewas simply brave and self-reliant."
"Little mentor," answered her husband gravely, drawing her face down tohis. "I accept the rebuke; there shall be no more complaints. I willbe `up and doing--learn to labour and to wait.'"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
Notwithstanding her former reluctance Jill eventually undertook thecommission for Mr Markham's portrait, though some time elapsed beforeshe started on the work, Markham, himself, being out of town staying asa guest at a house where Evie Bolton was also visiting, a circumstancethat filled St. John with pleasurable anticipation, though Jill, lesssanguine as to the result, was more inclined to foresee troubles ahead,and looked forward with no great joy to their friend's return. Yet hismanner, when he did put in an appearance, conveyed absolutely noimpression; as St. John afterwards informed his wife he believed thatMarkham had funked it.
"When shall we have the first sitting, Mrs St. John?" he exclaimedafter the usual greetings were over. "I am quite anxious to begin."
"Why not fix Monday?" suggested St. John amicably.
"Monday!" cried Jill. "It's washing day. How can you be soinconsiderate?"
"Oh, ah! washing day! I forgot. The atmosphere is composed ofsoap-suds, and we have cold meat. Not Monday, my dear boy; it is themost ungodly day of the week."
"Tuesday would do," said Jill, "if that suits, and I think three o'clockwould be the most convenient hour for me. The light, of course, is bestin the mornings, but I am always busy then."
"Any time will suit me," Markham answered promptly, "and any day."
"Ah," said Jill with a little smile, "Jack was like that once. Whydon't you get something to do?"
"Because it isn't necessary."
"But independence is such a grand thing," she persisted.
"Exactly. I inherited it, and I like it best that way."
Jill laughed.
"We can't all be workers, I suppose," she said, "yet I fancy if I hadbeen given my choice I should have chosen that kind of independence.Work is necessary to me."
"From a selfish point of view I am glad that it is; otherwise youwouldn't paint portraits."
"What makes you fancy that?" she asked.
"No one who paints as you do would undertake portraits if they couldavoid it. I know a man who has always one canvas at least in theacademy, but he can't afford to paint pictures now; they don't sell; sohe does portraits."
Jill sighed.
"I am sorry for that man," she said, "his life must be a disappointment.The people who want to be painted are generally so impossible."
"My dear girl," remonstrated St. John, "considering the circumstancesthat is one of the things better left unsaid."
"I am speaking from the artistic sense," she replied; "besides I said`generally.'"
"I quite understand," interposed Markham laughing, "and entirely agreewith you. But that won't interfere with the sitting on Tuesday, eh?"
"I hope not," she answered gravely; "I should be doubly sorry now if youdidn't come."
"There is no fear of that," he said. "I enjoy seeing myself reproduced.It is so often an improvement, you know, yet one invariably flattersoneself that it is as one habitually looks."
"We haven't done much to foster your conceit so far," she observed.
"Oh! I don't know," he answered. "I really thought that that lastportrait was a bit like me. Somebody told me I did look like thatsometimes when I had a liver attack."
"Evie said it was a libel," St. John remarked tentatively.
"Ah! Well, I should be sorry to contradict her," he replied, and Jillfancied, though she could not be quite sure, that he looked slightlydispleased at the mention of Miss Bolton's name. Why should a name thathad once been his sole subject of conversation excite his annoyance now?It was not consistent. Had it been a case of unrequited affection shecould have understood his being hurt, but displeasure was something shecould not account for; it irritated her, why she could not haveexplained. She was not accustomed to analyse her sensations even toherself; it would have been wiser if she had; for her instinct waswonderfully true, and her nature peculiarly observant.
"You put me on my mettle," she said, smiling. "It shan't be a libelthis time I promise you if infinite pains can prevent."
"I am not afraid to trust myself in your hands," he said.
Jill laughed.
"That's very fulsome flattery," she answered. "I was responsible forthe libel, remember. Mr Thompkins declares that I shall ruin the firmyet. It is so humiliating because I was so positive at first that I wasgoing to become one of those celebrated lady photographers who have allthe best people sitting to them, and can charge any price they like."
"It's just as well as it is, perhaps," St. John rejoined withconviction. "Success would make you a horrid little prig, Jill; veryfew people can stand it."
"If Mr Markham were not here," Jill returned, "I would tell you what Ithink of you."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
Jill had got her canvas and everything in readiness, and was waiting forher model. She had been waiting for about ten minutes, and was growingslightly impatient; she hated wasting her time. St. John was busy inthe studio, unusually busy, so that he could not possibly get away evenfor a few minutes. He wanted her badly, she knew; he always wanted amate, and she felt rather as if she were shirking. She looked at thecanvas in a dissatisfied kind of way, and then out of the window at thepeople in the street.
"I believe," she mused, thinking of the absent Markham, "that I coulddraw his face from memory."
Fetching a piece of paper she seated herself at the table and made arough sketch in pencil as she had once done of St. John, only in St.John's case she had not trusted to memory. Markham arrived while shewas thus employed, and he stood by the table watching her, as she put inthe finishing strokes. He smiled while he watched as though he wereamused. Jill was grave and very much absorbed.
"What a wonderful little head it is," he said.
"Do you think so?" she asked, lifting the head he alluded to the betterto regard the one on paper which he was not even looking at. "I don'tcall it wonderful, but I had an idea that I could catch the likeness;some faces are quite easily remembered."
"Yes," he acquiesced, "yours is."
"Mine? I don't agree with you; my features are too indescribable.There. It's finished. I have caught the expression, haven't! But Ihaven't done justice to the nose. Will you sit in this chair near thewindow, please? you are dreadfully late, so we mustn't waste furthertime."
Jill worked rapidly, and there could not possibly be any question as toher ability. Markham watched her with interest, and every now and againhe rose from his seat to have a look how the work progressed,notwithstanding her protest that it spoilt the pose.
"I can't help that," h
e declared, "it fascinates me, I must look."
"I had no idea before that you were so vain," she said.
"I'm not," he answered. "It isn't the subject that interests me but thework. I could stand behind you and watch you all day."
"Not having eyes at the back of my head I shouldn't make much progresswith the portrait in that case," she retorted. "Do you mind going backto