loved and been proud of, and which had taken many years to gathertogether.
"You were the cause," she continued, bringing her gaze back again to thekneeling figure in front of the grate; "Isobel's modesty would notpermit her to enter the studio with a strange man present; ignorance isalways self-conscious, you know."
He gave her a quick look.
"I am sorry," he said, "to have been the innocent cause of so muchperturbation. Hadn't you better arrange with the Abigail to bring thecoals a little earlier?"
Jill shook her head, but she was still smiling.
"You forget," she said, "that I'm only the attics; it is a favour that Iget them brought at all. I fear it will end in your always having tocarry them in if you won't let me; that and the stairs will soon put toflight your desire for studying art."
He got up, and bending, began to dust the ash off his clothes with angryvehemence. Did she wish to annoy him, or was it merely that she wascursed with a particularly disagreeable manner? Jill feigned not tonote his displeasure, but, returning to the table, resumed her seat andwent on with the lesson as though there had been no interruption,explaining and illustrating her remarks with the care and precision thatshe remembered her father to have used when first instructing her. MrSt. John listened with grave attention; he was at any rate unaffectedlyinterested in the matter in hand, and had, if not the talent, anunmistakable love for art. When she relinquished the seat he took itand made a second, and this time less futile attempt. It is true thathis drawing bore so little resemblance to the copy that it could notpossibly be taken for the same head, nevertheless it was a wonderfulcreation in the artist's eyes, and possessed a power and boldness ofconception which the original lacked, he considered. He put his ideainto words, and again Miss Erskine marvelled at his audacity.
"Not bad, is it?" he queried in a tone the self-complacency of which hedid not even attempt to disguise. "I strengthened it a bit--thought itwould be an improvement, don't you know."
"Yes," agreed Jill, regarding his work with dubious appreciation,"character in a face is greatly to be desired."
He nodded approvingly.
"I'm glad you think that," he remarked with increasing satisfaction;"but of course you would."
"Of course. And, after all, a few inches on to one's nose hardlysignifies, does it? not to mention a jaw that no woman ever possessedoutside a show. Your drawing puts me in mind of somebody or other'scriticism on Pope's translation of Homer--`a very pretty story, MrPope, but it is not Homer.' Yours is a very wonderful creation, Mr St.John, but it in no wise resembles the copy."
St. John glared.
"I thought you said you admired character?" he exclaimed.
"So I do; and there is a great deal of character in the original, Iconsider; but if you wish for a candid opinion, I think your head issimply a masculine monstrosity. But, come, you need not look so angry;we do not win our spurs at the first charge, you know. Must I praiseyour failures as well as your successes, eh?"
"You don't think me quite such a conceited fool, I hope," he saidsomewhat deprecatingly, though he still looked a little dissatisfied andaggrieved. "I only meant that it wasn't altogether bad for a firstattempt."
But it was not Jill's intention to flatter.
"It isn't altogether _good_ for a first attempt," she said.
"You are not very encouraging," he remarked a trifle reproachfully."Had you been my pupil and I had said so much--"
"I should have thought you very disagreeable," she interrupted,laughing.
He laughed also; for despite her contrariety her mirth was mostinfectious, and put him more at ease with her. It was the first glimpseof her natural self that she had vouchsafed him, and he liked itinfinitely better than the half-aggressive dignity she assumed in hercapacity of teacher.
"Do you think," he ventured again after a pause, and with a decidedincrease of diffidence, "that I am likely to be any good at it?"
Jill took up a pencil and penknife with the intent to sharpen the formerbut laid them down again suddenly and looked him squarely in the face.
"If you mean have you any talent for art?" she said coolly, "I am afraidI cannot give you much encouragement. You have a liking for it, and, Ishould say, possess a certain amount of perseverance; therefore in timeyou ought to turn out some fairly decent work, but you have not talent."
He looked displeased, and fell to contemplating his work anew from thedistinctly irritating standpoint of its not being quite such a successas he had deemed it.
"You are very candid," he remarked, not altogether gratefully; "Isuppose I should feel obliged to you. But, to be frank in my turn, youwould do well not to be quite so candid with your pupils; you will neverget on if you are."
She laughed, and shrugged her shoulders with a careless, half-bittergesture.
"Your advice is rather superfluous," she answered; "I am not likely toget any pupils."
"Why not?" he queried. "You have one."
"Very true," she replied, "I had not forgotten that; it is too gigantica fact to be overlooked. Nevertheless, as I believe I remarked before,the coals and the stairs are likely to prove too great odds; facts--evengigantic ones--have a way of vanishing before great personaldiscomfort."
He reached down his overcoat and thrust his arms into the sleeveswithout passing any comment on her last remark; there was such anextreme possibility, not in the stairs, or the coals, but in herselfproving too much for him that he refrained from contradicting her. Jillwatched him busily without appearing to do so until he was ready to go,and stood, hat in hand, apparently undecided whether to shake hands orno.
"Good morning," she said, and bowed in so distant a manner, that,regretting his former indecision, he bowed back, and turning round wentout with an equally brief salutation.
When he had gone Jill sat down in his seat and fell to studying hiswork.
"`Shall I be any good at it?'" she mimicked, and then she laughed aloud."`Do you think that I am likely to be any good at it?' No, I do not,Mr St. John, I don't indeed."
CHAPTER THREE.
When St. John left the studio it was with so sore a feeling ofresentment against Miss Erskine that it seemed to him most unlikely thathe would ever re-enter it. It was not that he disliked her; he did not,but he had an uncomfortable conviction that she disliked him, and feltaggrieved at his presence even while she suffered it on account of thefee. He remembered with some vexation that he had almost forced herinto accepting him as a pupil, for poor as she undoubtedly was she hadplainly evinced that she had no desire to instruct him. Never mind, hewould atone for his persistence by sending her his cheque and troublingthe studio no more; that at any rate would show her that he had no wishto intrude. This decision being final he dismissed the matter from hismind, and, as a proof of the consistency of human nature, on Fridaymorning at the specified hour he stood on the dirty steps outside MissErskine's lodgings knocking with his walking-stick on the knockerlessdoor. The modest Isobel opened it after a wait of some five minutes--minutes in which he had time to recall his past determination and towonder at himself for having so speedily altered his mind--and havingopened it startled him considerably by firing at him without giving himtime for speech the vague yet all comprehensive information.
"She's hout."
"Miss Erskine?" he queried in very natural astonishment.
"Yus; been gone over 'arf a nour."
"But," remonstrated St. John, "the Art School opens at half past nine,it is after that now."
"Carnt 'elp it, she's hout."
"It is a very strange procedure," he exclaimed in visible annoyance. "Icome to the Art School at the hour it should open and Miss Erskine isout."
"Well!" snapped the damsel waxing impatient in her turn, "wot of that?The Art School aint hout, is it? You can go up if yer want to."
The permission was not very gracious but St. John accepted itnevertheless, and striding past her into the narrow passage began theascent. He had not mounted two stairs however, bef
ore the slipshodIsobel called him back, and he noticed with surprise that her manner wasaltogether different, her tone softer, and in the obscurity of the dingypassage she looked less dirty and untidy.
"Ere's the key," she said, holding it towards him. He advanced his handbut immediately her own was withdrawn and thrust behind her.
"Wouldn't yer like to git it?" she said.
He mildly answered that he would and stood waiting expectantly, but shemade no move unless a facial contortion could come under such heading.
"Then take if," she returned with arch playfulness, and a broad grin,but