Why, of course you know all themodels in London."
"I don't. I hate London models."
"Well," said Mrs Marchmont with swift inconsequence, "I don't supposeyou expect a young girl to prowl about those places where they live?"
Everitt shrugged his shoulders. "What is it to me?"
"Charlie," repeated his cousin, with a kind of shocked disappointment inher voice, "if you will not take such an absurd fraction of trouble whenI ask you--"
"My dear Mary," he said, turning quickly, "if you ask me on your ownaccount--"
"Of course I do. I ask it as a very personal favour. If you knew KittyLascelles, it would be unnecessary to put it on that ground," returnedMrs Marchmont, still keeping up a little air of dignity.
"I apologise a hundred times. What is it that Miss Lascelles wants?"
"A model--an Italian model."
"Man or woman?"
"Man."
"_Contadino_, broad hat, long cloak--the stock production, I suppose?"
"I suppose so," she said, looking at him doubtfully.
"All young ladies like that style of thing."
"Don't be overbearing. Miss Lascelles is an excellent artist. Herfather is one of the staff at the Military Hospital, and has fitted up astudio for her, where she works with--a friend," she added, with animperceptible glance at Miss Aitcheson. "It is the most delightfulold-world place you can imagine. Shall I drive you there some day?"
"Thank you; you are very good," he said hastily, "but you must rememberthat I am not an idle man. Besides, it is quite unnecessary; I am doingthis for you."
"And you can find just what she wants? I knew you would," said hiscousin triumphantly. Everitt reflected.
"I can put my hand at once on the best man in London for that sort ofthing," he said slowly. "When does she want him--on Monday, I suppose?"
"Yes. Why, however, do you suppose it?"
"Because ladies are impatient in art as in everything else, and while Ishould spend a fortnight in selecting a good model, you would expect himto grow out of the ground at your feet."
"If I had told you that I wanted him."
"I make my bow," Everitt returned. "Well, as it happens, the best manin London for her purpose is coming here on Monday morning."
"That," said Mrs Marchmont, "is what I should have expected."
"He's a first-rate model, and an awful ruffian."
"He can't do any harm."
"Then, in spite of my character of him, you think Miss Lascelles wouldwish him to be sent on to her?"
Mrs Marchmont smiled.
"I am sure she would--_coute que coute_."
"In that case, unless he is hopelessly drunk, I will forward him."
"That is really good of you," she said, getting up; "and to prove thatwe are not ungrateful, we will go away this minute, and allow you tobegin another cigarette in peace. I shall tell Kitty that you have madea solemn vow to provide the man she wants on Monday morning."
"I'll do my best," said Everitt.
"Oh, no limitations, please. If you can't get him, you will have tofind another. I have no doubt they run about quite tamely in this longcorridor of yours. Don't come any farther. I'm immensely obliged toyou, and so Miss Lascelles will be when she hears of the ruffian--won'tshe, Bell?"
In spite of her request, Everitt walked with them to the carriage, whichwaited in the street. When it had driven off, he turned back, lit hiscigarette, and paced up and down under the quaint little avenue. It hadnever seemed more peaceful, or offered a tenderer contrast to the hotexhausted-looking street outside. May had just begun; the delicategreen had burst out, and was clothing the dark boughs with delicious anddainty lightness. A late sun was shining down on the little court, andthe feeling of spring was abroad. Everitt stopped and looked roundimpatiently upon the houses.
"I can't stand this much longer, if the weather keeps fine," he said."It's waste--sheer waste. And those shoals of old women on Saturdayafternoons are becoming intolerable. I must break it off somehow. Thebest I could do would be to shut up and be off to Pont-aven, orsomewhere where one hasn't a hundred and fifty interruptions. It wouldbe a good thing for Jack, who might find fewer excuses to be idle, andit would stop having to provide models for young women who set upstudios when they ought to be drawing straight strokes. I know the sortof thing--exactly. And unless I look out, Mary Marchmont will be makingelaborate arrangements that I should go and correct her drawings. Maythe fates avert that! I'll provide this one model, and there myengagements begin and end."
CHAPTER TWO.
STUDIO NUMBER TWO.
That was a rash boast, with which Everitt concluded his meditationsunder the trees, but no misgivings disturbed him as he went back to thestudio, set a few things in order, gave some directions to the porter,and departed. He dined out and went to the play, and passed the nextday without a thought of Miss Kitty Lascelles, until towards evening hemet Mr and Mrs Marchmont near Albert Gate. As they parted, MrsMarchmont reminded him of his promise.
"If you are faithless," she said, "I will never forgive you. I sawKitty this morning, and she told me that a ruffian was exactly what shewanted."
"Well, she'll have him," said Everitt, grimly. "Why hurl threats at me?I am not likely to forget. But you are, apparently, as much interestedas she is. May I ask why?"
"Because," she said, "she is my dearest friend, and I don't like myfriends to be disappointed. And she is so enthusiastic and eager abouther art! I do wish I could bring you two together. Won't you come anddine? George, persuade him."
"When I come back from Pont-aven," said Everitt, escaping with a laugh.
He was an early worker, and it was his custom to be in his studio,painting, a good hour before Jack Hibbert began his studies. He made aneffective picture himself as he stood at his easel--a handsome man,rather above the usual height, dark and bright-eyed, with a clear oliveskin, and well-cut features. The lofty studio, with its hangings offaded harmonious colours, its pleasant irregularities, and its picturesstanding about, formed an excellent setting. A fire burnt on thehearth, and the parrot was engaged in making pertinent inquiries of hismaster, which Everitt answered absently, for he was at work upon asubject which interested him. At last he looked at his watch with anexclamation of annoyance.
"Where's that fellow? He should have been here half an hour ago." Hepulled a bell impatiently, and it was answered by the porter. "HasGiuseppe come?"
"No, sir."
"Hurry him up when he makes his appearance--that's all. Or--stop! IsGreggs engaged this week?"
"Yes, sir."
"Foster--where's Foster?"
"Mr Sydney has him."
"Well--send that fellow in the moment he comes."
"Very good, sir."
Everitt fell to his painting again, but without success. He was a manwho had a very strong feeling about a promise, and he hated the idea offailing to fulfil it. It began, indeed, very soon to annoy himseriously. He flung down his brushes, and caught up his hat to go insearch of the delinquent, when Hill, the porter, once more appeared atthe door, with a significant grin on his face, at sight of which Everittabruptly stopped and whistled.
"Oh!" he remarked the next moment.
"Yes, sir."
"Bad?"
"Dead drunk, sir."
"Pack off the brute," said Everitt in a disgusted voice.
He came back and stood before his easel with his hands thrust into hispockets; then seized a brush and began filling in a bit of foreground.Presently he left his work again, and resumed his pacing.
"This won't do; I shan't get a decent bit of work done this morning, ifI don't settle the matter one way or other. Now, what on earth's to bedone? Write a note--present my compliments, model drunk, sorry todisappoint, and so on? Go myself, and apologise? No; that's a littletoo strong. What a fool I was to get drawn into this business! If Hillweren't wanted, I'd dress him up and send him--that wouldn't be half abad plan; or if I could hit up
on some one as accommodating as the duke'sdaughter," he added musingly, standing before the canvas. The nextminute an odd, almost eager look crept into his eyes. He began tosmile, shook his head impatiently, smiled again, overmastered by thefancy, whatever it was--suddenly turned away. "Yes, I'll do it!" heexclaimed aloud.
Whatever it was to which Everitt had made up his mind--and, as has beenalready hinted, he was at times the victim of freaks which laid hischaracter open to the charge of inconsistency--he lost no time