and still more at having thembrought up.
"One would think that I was a first floor lodger," she exclaimed,turning back to her work again, "instead of merely the attics. You'llbe charging me for attendance soon, Isobel, if it goes on at this rate.Put it down on the table, please."
Isobel looked distinctly disappointed.
"But you ain't looked at 'em yet," she said.
"I've seen flowers before," Jill answered.
"They look very pretty and smell nice; but they'll soon die in thisturpentine atmosphere."
"Then you can keep the barskit," giggled the other. "I expect 'ethought o' that; 'e aint so green as I took 'im to be. Fancy you 'avin'a young man, Miss Herskine!"
Jill did look round then, and her glance was withering in the extreme.
"Explain your meaning, please," she said. "I don't understand jestslike those."
"It aint no jest," replied Isobel somewhat abashed but grinning stilldespite the snub. "I didn't mean no 'arm neither, only," edging towardthe door and preparing for flight, "when a gent takes to sendin' flowersit's like when the lodgers begins complainin' o' the charges--thebeginnin' of the hend, so to speak."
The studio door slammed on her retreating figure, and her footstepscould be heard asserting themselves triumphantly in her descent--verilysome people are born to make a noise in the world! Jill listened tothem until they reached the next landing, then she laid down hercharcoal and approached the table. For a minute she stood motionlessregarding the flowers, then she smiled a little and bending forward drewout from among them a card though she hardly needed that to tell herfrom whom they came. "With Saint John's compliments," she read, and thesmile on her lips widened until it broadened into a laugh.
"If all your relations possessed the same amount of tact," shesoliloquised, "what a model family yours would be."
She laid her face against the flowers and laughed again, a soft quietlaugh full of enjoyment.
"What a bright patch of sunshine in the old studio," she continued,smilingly caressing the blossoms, "and what a bright patch of sunshinein somebody's heart, my dear saint, what a warm, brilliant, altogetherdelightful patch to be sure."
CHAPTER FOUR.
On the next occasion that St. John made his appearance at the studiothere was a visible constraint in his manner as there was also in MissErskine's. Jill had rehearsed a grateful little speech to deliver onhis entry, but when their hands met there was silence; the speech, likemany another rehearsed effect, had taken to itself wings, and all shecould find to say after an awkward pause was,--
"Good morning. The weather seems to have turned milder, doesn't it?"
And St. John's remarkably original answer was,--
"Really! Do you think so?"
And then they commenced work. Yet St. John knew that she had receivedhis flowers, and was pleased with them before even he caught sight ofthem, withered and dead now, in their basket on the window ledge; andshe was equally aware that he understood all that she felt and yet hadfailed to express in words. The words came later when the sudden fit ofembarrassment had worn off, and the lesson was nearing its termination,and there was no doubt as to the genuineness of her pleasure when shedid thank him. She was sitting in his seat correcting his work, and hewas standing over her with his hands on the back of the chair. When shesaid.
"It was more than kind of you, Mr St. John, to send me those lovelyflowers," he let his hands slip forward a little until they touched thesleeves of her gown. Jill, unconscious of the slight contact, continuedgravely,--
"I can't very well tell you how I enjoyed them because you could hardlyunderstand how anyone loving such luxuries and yet unaccustomed to themcould appreciate them. It was like a peep of sunshine on a rainy day tome."
St. John drew himself up and stood with his hands clasped behind him.There was something about this girl, small, poorly clad, and friendlessthough she was, that commanded his respect, and he felt instinctivelythat his former lounging position had been an insult to her.
"I am glad," he answered simply. "It gives me pleasure to know that youenjoyed them."
When he left the Art school that morning, he carried away with him apleasanter remembrance of it than he had ever had before, nor was heagain to feel the same annoyance and resentment that he had experiencedon every former occasion. Jill had let fall the mantle of reserve whichat first it had pleased her to gather round her, and though she mightlater repent having done so she could never don it again with the sameefficacy.
The next day Jill paid a visit to the dealer who bought her pictures,and, having managed to dispose of a canvas, spent the rest of themorning shopping; eventually turning her steps in the direction of homeladen with sundry small and not over tidy parcels. When passingShoolbred's she encountered St. John in company with Miss Bolton. Theymet face to face, and though Jill, unhappily aware that she was lookingshabby and insignificant, would have slipped by without recognising him,he saw her and raised his hat with a pleased smile. Jill returned avery slight inclination of the head and hurried on conscious only ofMiss Bolton's cold stare, and her haughty, disapproving question beforeeven the object of her enquiry had time to get out of earshot.
"Who are you bowing to, Jack? I wish that you would remember that youare walking with me."
Jill did not hear the answer; she had walked too fast, but her cheekburned, and she experienced the very unholy desire to upset Miss Boltonoff her bike.
Having once heard of Miss Bolton it seemed fated that she should bothhear and see more; the heiress appeared to cross her path at every turn,and for some reason which she could not altogether explain Jillentertained a very lively antipathy for her. Next Friday when St. Johnarrived at the Art School as usual her name again cropped up, and thistime it was he who introduced it.
"I have found you a fresh pupil," he said, "if you care about botheringwith another almost as great a novice as myself, what do you say, eh?"
"Oh!" cried Jill, "I shall be delighted. But did you explain all thedisadvantages people patronising my studio have to battle with? Did youmention the stairs?"
St. John laughed.
"Yes," he answered. "But indeed you over-estimate the inconvenience ofthose stairs; they are nothing when you get accustomed to them. I amgrowing quite attached to them myself."
"I am glad of that," Jill answered smiling. "Do you know I was ratherafraid at first that they would drive you away."
"_Afraid_!" he repeated incredulously. "I thought you were hoping thatthey would."
"Then how ungenerous of you to have kept on coming. But tell me aboutmy new pupil,--masculine or feminine gender?--minor or adult?"
"It is my cousin Miss Bolton," he answered, "the lady who wasunfortunate enough to run you down last week."
Jill's face fell; he could not help seeing it though he pretended notto. "The lady who had run her down!" Yes, she had indeed "run herdown" in more senses than one. She turned away to hide herdisappointment, and stood looking out of the window at the dirty roofsof the opposite houses. St. John watched her in silence. At length shespoke.
"I hope Miss Bolton doesn't think that that trifling accident which wasas much my fault as hers necessitates a step of such greatcondescension?" she said. "I cannot look at it in any other light for alady in her position could study under the best masters how and whereshe pleased; her coming here, therefore, is a great condescension and Ishould be sorry to think that she inconvenienced herself under themistaken idea that she owed me some slight reparation."
St. John worked perturbed. This small person had a way of making himfeel decidedly uncomfortable at times.
"Miss Bolton's fancy to study art is a merely temporary whim," heanswered. He did not add that the whim had been adopted at hisinstigation, and with a desire to please him rather than any enthusiasmon the subject, but went on gravely. "Her resolve to attend here is, Iam conceited enough to believe, more on account of my doing so than anywish to obligate you. However as it has vexed you I a
m sorry that Imentioned the matter."
"Not at all," replied Jill coldly, flushing with quick annoyance; hisspeech for some reason or other had not pleased her. "Since MissBolton's desire is not simply to benefit me I shall be only too glad toget another pupil. I am very much obliged to you for recommending myestablishment."
"Indeed!" he mentally ejaculated, "I shouldn't have thought so." Aloudhe said,--
"Don't mention it. I will tell Miss Bolton your decision; no doubt shewill come with me next time."
The advent of this new pupil made