incarrying it out. His first act was to lock his doors, his second to goto a sort of cupboard where some half a dozen costumes were hanging, andto proceed to attire himself in one which belonged to the typicalItalian at whom he had mocked; for it was one of his fancies to have avery complete set of these costumes, and his brother artists were notslow to avail themselves of his stores and his good-nature. Havingfallen in with the fancy which suggested his present action, he was notthe man to hesitate in the doing. He dressed himself rapidly, but witha care which descended to the smallest details, took down an old fadedblue-green cloak, which had sunned itself often on the Trinita steps,and inspected himself closely in a looking-glass. On the whole, hethought it satisfactory. In an Italian dress his face appeared Italian;a weak point, of course, lay in his hair, which was short, but he pulledhis broad hat over his forehead, and corked his eyebrows to a moregenerous breadth. He had no fear whatever of being recognised in thestreet, and as for Miss Lascelles, he assured himself that by exchanginghim for Giuseppe, she had, unquestionably, no cause for complaint. Hischief danger lay from meeting Jack Hibbert in the court, for Jack, withhis investigating mind, was tolerably sure to overhaul an unknown model,and though in that case Everitt had resolved to take him into hisconfidence, it must be owned he shrank a little from the fun Jack wassure to get out of the affair.
However, he was not going to retreat; he was beginning to feel a keeninterest in his own adventures. Opening the second door, which servedfor models and intimate friends, he took a glance round the court, and,finding it empty, hastily locked his door, and stepped out into theshadow of the trees. He was in luck, for no one was hanging about, andthe next minute he was in the street. The plunge gave him, it must beowned, an odd sensation, the more so when he saw that he was only justin time, for Jack was on the other side of the street in the act ofcrossing, Everitt strode on quickly. He fancied himself the centre ofall eyes, but after a time this feeling wore off. The people whoglanced at him only saw a model on his way to a studio, a picturesquefigure in the midst of unlovely things; the children stared as theywould have stared at a man with a monkey, or any other show; there wasnothing in him to attract unusual notice. But he felt so unusualhimself, that it took him some time to make sure of this. Then, theawkwardness wearing off, his spirits rose. He found the situationamusing. He rather wished to meet some one whom he knew that he mighttest his disguises to the utmost. It was a beautiful morning, and therewas a novelty in the impossibility of shocking probabilities by callinga hansom, which in itself was absolutely exhilarating.
When he reached the Hospital his pleasure increased. It was too earlyin the day for many of the old men to be out sunning themselves, but hebecame immediately aware of the peaceful and old-world atmosphere whichhung about the place. A morning breeze was blowing up the river, anddelicate white clouds sailed across the sky. In the midst of its treeslay the Hospital, warm red brick, with white pointings and grey stonepillars, on which the sunshine rested softly mellow; with its broadfrontage of green turf, and its iron gates, and its little graveyard,where lie the old heroes waiting for the "last trumpet's sounding."Everitt had not been there for years; it seemed to him almost as if hehad never been before--as if all those years he had lost something.When one or two old men, in long blue coats and brass buttons, and broadthree-cornered hats, strolled out of the side gates and stared at him,he felt as if the picture were complete, except that he began to hatehimself for being the incongruous feature.
He was directed to one of the brick houses which cluster near theHospital itself, and closely resemble it in their details; his guidehobbling before him, and now and then throwing at him a suspiciousglance. Everything was exquisitely trim and clean; the warm colours,the tender shadows on the old brick, the sunshine, the sobercheerfulness, the lilacs just breaking out in the gardens, the filmygreen which daintily touched the trees, were full of delightful charm;and, though the river was not visible, a sort of feeling of itsneighbourhood--a freshness in the air, an opening in the distance--addedto this charm.
They were not long in reaching the Lascelles' house, built, like theothers, of substantial, warm red brick, square and solid, withwell-grown trees about it, and gay flowering shrubs, in which blackbirdswere singing, as if London were miles away. It must be owned that, asEveritt walked up the back staircase--which was, however, of oak--hebegan to feel unusually embarrassed.
The little room into which he was ushered was as different from his ownlofty and convenient studio as could be imagined, yet it was all inkeeping with the rest. A rough sandy English terrier, with prick earsand bright dark eyes, made an immediate dash at him, and was seized byhis mistress. This gave Everitt time to glance round him, and toobserve that the room was panelled with old oak, and painted above adull green; that the light was excellent, and the furniture of asomewhat scanty description; that a good many vigorous studies werestuck about; and that the whole aspect of the place looked likebusiness.
Then he surveyed Miss Lascelles, who was pacifying her dog.
She was not at all the sort of person he had expected to see, though itmust be owned he had built his ideas without a vestige of foundation.She was small and very girlish-looking, with a bright, happy face andpretty, graceful movements. Her dress was of some soft brown material,with velvet of a darker shade about the neck which matched the brownhair lying smoothly on her little head.
"Sandy, be quiet!" she said; then looking at Everitt, "You are sent byMr Everitt?"
"Signorina, yes." He felt that on this score, at any rate, there couldbe no question.
"I have been expecting you for some time," she went on; "I should likeyou to be more punctual another morning. But now I will show you whereyou are to stand."
To stand! Everitt's heart sank; he had hoped he might sit.
"I want," said Miss Lascelles, calmly--"I want you to stand with yourhand above your eyes, shading them--so. You are to be one of a group ofpeasants who are coming into Rome with all their goods, escaping from aninundation--you must have seen them, I'm sure? You are leading thestring, and looking before you eagerly, perhaps to see whether some onewho is missing is in front. You understand?"
"Signorina, yes. But--"
"What?"
"The sun with an inundation?"
"It has broken out, and is shining on the pools of water in the road."
Everitt felt much more capable of criticising and suggesting than ofposing as she desired, but there was no help for it. She had evenlooked a little astonished at receiving his last remark. He exertedhimself now to stand in such a position that he could see her at work ather easel, and he was sufficiently experienced to be able to judge fromher manner of handling her brush that she worked with vigour andfreedom. He was conscious at the same time that he was not himself agood model; he even suspected that he now and then read a littledisappointment in her face. Keeping his arm raised was fatiguing; heknew that he swayed, then began to feel as if pins and needles were allabout him, then as though he were turned to stone. The ordinary hourhad seemed to double itself before Miss Lascelles inquired gentlywhether he wished to rest. Rest! Never had the word a sweeter sound.
He sat down by the window. Outside and below there was a littleold-fashioned garden with a brick wall and gravel paths. Two or threechildren ran out into these paths, and began a joyful onslaught uponsquare little plots where mustard and cress were sprouting intodifferent combinations of the letter L. Further on a swing was fastenedbetween two fine elm trees which grew out of the turf. There was agreat deal of sunshine, and as yet little shade: only a finely outlineddelicate network of shadows cast by the branches on the grass. Everitthad never in his life been more glad to sit down, and he thought thelook-out delightful.
Presently the door opened, and another young lady came in.
He looked round idly, but the next moment a very disagreeable sensationshot through him. He recognised her at once--the girl who had come tohis studio with Mrs Marchmont. Supposing she als
o remembered him?What a fool he had been not to take such a possibility into account!Good Heavens! what was to prevent Mrs Marchmont herself from arriving?
He took refuge in the garden, and in a corner of his cloak, horriblyconscious that in a few minutes he would have to stand up before herwith the full light striking upon him. But if she did not know him atthe first glance, she might become more hesitating and confused thelonger she thought of it; and he trusted a good deal to his hat.Meanwhile the two girls were talking, too low for him to hear.
"Well, Kitty, are you satisfied?"
"I'm not sure. It's a good dress--isn't it? But, Bell, he's not--Iassure you, he's not--a good model."
"Not?" repeated Bell. "Mr Everitt seemed to think him splendid. Hesaid he was the best possible, but,"--lowering her voice--"a dreadfulruffian."
"He is a very mild-looking ruffian, then."
"Oh, Kitty, there's a horrid expression in his eye!"
"Put it in, then; I can't see it. But he can't stand--he fidgets. Hewanted to rest long before the hour."
"That," said Bell, severely, "was laziness."
"Perhaps. I don't know," said the other, doubtfully. "There are allyour things; what shall you do?"
"Only his head. But I wish his hat wasn't a necessity for you. It is,I suppose?"
"Yes, my dear, an absolute necessity. You needn't mind so much, though,for his hair is quite short."
"Short? How very odd! How--"
Kitty interposed with a pretty little motion of her hand.
"I really think he has rested long enough. Will you please standagain?" she said in her young, clear voice.
Everitt rose with decided unwillingness. He was reluctant to face MissAitcheson, and began to think that what he had undertaken so lightlymight turn out a serious matter. A hundred possibilities flashedthrough his mind: and then, it annoyed him that Miss Aitcheson placedherself where he could not judge whether she made any discoveries ornot.
Still, he got through this hour better than the last.
There can be no doubt that silence is a power of which we underrate theforce. Hours of ordinary small talk would not have affected Everitt sostrongly as these quiet moments in the old oak-panelled room, with thesunlight, the birds, and the children outside; and inside, this girl--for he could not see her companion--working steadily, and, he was sure,well, with quiet, simple intentness. Sometimes she stepped back a footor two, and stood looking from her picture at him, throwing back herhead, and showing clearly the soft whiteness of her throat and thepretty shape of her head. Instead of looking before him at his unseencomrades, he more than once found himself watching her with steadyinterest, and thinking in what fashion he would paint her if he got thechance. Standing as she was standing now, he determined, for it wasdifficult to conceive anything prettier.
Suddenly Sandy, who had given himself over to sleep to avoid looking atEveritt, jumped up, pricked his ears, trotted to the door, and stoodwith his head on one side. Then a step was heard coming heavily alongthe passage.
"That's my father," said Bell. "He has come here to talk over somethingor other, and he said he'd look in. Don't mind him, Kitty; go on."
"I don't know if I can," Kitty answered a little nervously.
The answer surprised Everitt for a moment; the next he understood. Thenew-comer was an upright, square, red-faced man, and when he came in heseemed to bring with him a dozen elements of disturbance. His bootscreaked, his voice was loud.
"Here you are, here you are, eh?" he began. "Well, Kitty, how are yougetting on with this fad of yours? I've just been telling your father Idon't thank him--I don't indeed. If it weren't for you, Bell would beat home, working at her needle, or doing something with a little sensein it. Painting! What's the good of it when you've done it, eh? that'swhat I want to know. Who have you got here? Italian? No more Italianthan I am, I'll be bound. Here, you Smith, Jones, whatever you'recalled, I should very much like to know whether you've ever seen anycountry but England, eh?"
Bell interposed.
"Father, you mustn't interfere with Kitty's models."
"Models, nonsense! If you want models, why don't you draw one another,eh? Save your money, and not have these fellows hanging about. Iwouldn't allow it if I were Lascelles, not I! Well, I'll take myselfoff, Kitty; I don't want to disturb you, but take my advice, don't youbelieve he's an Italian, and don't let yourself be taken in. If you'reready in half an hour, Bell, I'll take you home.--Hallo! what have Iknocked over now? If you will have these bothering things on three legsstanding about--Never mind? But I do mind; I mind uncommonly. Don'ttalk to me, Bell; if you had decent furniture, a man needn't knock hisshins against it."
He went away grumbling. The girls looked at each other and laughed.
"It _is_ a little like an earthquake," remarked Bell, calmly.
"He is delightful everywhere but in a studio," said Kitty. "He knowsnothing about pictures, but he makes me feel I know less. Bell, _is_ itall a waste of time?"
"I don't know," said Bell. "Make as good a waste of it as you can, atall events, and go on with your picture." To Everitt--"Keep up yourhand, please; it drops more and more. _Are_ you used to standing forartists?"
Everitt felt that he reddened.
"I have not been standing lately, signorina," he stammered.
"So I thought," returned Bell, inexorably. Silence followed for a time;then Kitty put her easel on one side.
"That will do for to-day," she said. "I don't think you can go onlonger. Perhaps to-morrow you will be better able to stand, and pray bemore punctual."
"To-morrow, signorina?" faltered Everitt. This was too much.
"Yes, to-morrow. Are you engaged?"
"I am engaged every day this week."
"Every day? Oh, how tiresome! how very tiresome! What can we do?"
"Is it to Mr Everitt?" inquired Bell, applying a little turpentine to aspot of paint on her dress.
"Signorina, yes."
"Do you know, I think he will let you off?" she said, raising her headand regarding him calmly. "I am almost sure of it."
"Do you think so?" cried Kitty, joyfully. "Then,"--to Everitt--"willyou ask him? Ask him to let you come, at any rate, to-morrow; and wewill leave it in this way, that if he cannot spare you he will let usknow."
"But I think you will be here," repeated Bell, in the same assured tone.
CHAPTER THREE.
A SECOND VENTURE.
As Everitt walked home he was a prey to many conflicting feelings. Itmust be owned that he had entered upon this freak of his in a veryinconsequent manner; he had not so much as reflected what results mightnot grow out of the necessity for repeating it. Moreover, he had lostthe first sense of amusement in his masquerade, and hated the business.Why on earth had he not accepted Mrs Marchmont's proposal, gone withher to see Miss Lascelles, and avoided this extremely false position inwhich he had planted himself?
Why, indeed!
As it was, it was with a feeling of rage that he thought of the nextday, when he would be expected to stand up again before her--like afool, as he said bitterly. Besides, it was a great deal moreuncomfortable than he had expected--he was still cramped and stiff fromthe position. He made a swift resolution to have nothing more to dowith it. It was easy enough to write a letter, as coming from him--Everitt--to say that the model could not be spared, but that he would dohis best to send her another in a day or two. That was certainly whathe would do.
The relief of the decision did not, however, last long.
It was all very well to throw up the engagement, but was it fair uponMiss Lascelles? Everitt knew by experience that one model was by nomeans the same as another, and, as artist, he found his solutionquestionable. Also, he now felt an insurmountable objection tointroducing the real Giuseppe to that little studio--it had an air ofdesecration repugnant to his good taste, if to nothing more. Andthirdly, in spite of fooling, in spite of cramps, it must be owned hehad a lurking desir
e to find himself there again; the homeliness of theplace, its old-fashioned solidity, its mellow brick, its sunshine, itstrees, its birds, its associations--one and all had, as he was obligedto acknowledge, taken a certain hold on his imagination. The girls weremerely an accident--a pleasant and harmonious accident, it is true--buttheir surroundings had an extraordinary fascination; he could notreconcile himself to have no second peep at them. Mrs Marchmont mightno doubt take him there if he announced himself as penitent forrejection of her good offices; stupidly enough, however, he hadeffectually shut himself out, since the risk of discovery in going tocall upon the lady who has been painting you in an assumed character wasrather more than even his audacity could face.
It appeared, under all these circumstances, as if the best thing hecould do was to figure as a ruffian once more.
"It will be a lesson to me," he said, with a half laugh, "even if fatelets me off this time without playing me a scurvy trick."
Fate spared him. He got into his studio unseen of Hill or Jack. Jackcame thundering at his door not three minutes after he had changed hisclothes.
"A pretty fellow you are!" he began indignantly, when Everitt let himin. "Out larking all this morning, while we poor wretches toil andslave! And down upon me for taking an hour now and then! Where haveyou been?"
"Find out," said Everitt, grimly.
"A polite way of suggesting that I should mind my own