Artists -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
The spirit was on Geoffrey Ludlow, and the result came out splendidly.
He hoped to gain a good place on the Academy walls, he hoped to do
justice to the commissions which Mr. Stompff had given him; but there
was something beyond these two incentives which spurred his industry
and nerved his touch. After all his previous failures, it seemed
as though Scylla the governess would have the best of it at last.
Charybdis was a splendid creature, a bold, black-eyed, raven-haired
charmer, with her hair falling in thick masses over her shoulders, and
with a gorgeous passion-flower hanging voluptuously among her tresses;
a goddess amongst big Guardsmen, who would sit and suck their yellow
moustaches and express their admiration in fragmentary ejaculations,
or amongst youths from the Universities, with fluff instead of hair,
and blushes in place of _aplomb_. But in his later work the artist's
heart seemed to have gone with Scylla, who was to her rival as is a
proof after Sir Joshua to a French print, as a glass of Amontillado
to a _petit verre_ of Chartreuse,--a slight delicate creature, with
violet eyes and pallid complexion, and deep-red hair brought down in
thick braids, and tucked away behind such dainty little ears; her
modest gray dress contrasting, in its quaker-like simplicity, with the
brilliant-hued robe and rich laces of her rival. His morning's work
must have been successful, for--rare thing with him--Geoff himself was
pleased with it; no doubt of the inspiration now, he tried to deny it
to himself, but could not--the likeness came out so wonderfully. So he
gave way to the charm, and as he sat before the canvas, thoughtfully
gazing at it, he let his imagination run riot, and gave his pleasant
memories full play.
He had worked well and manfully, and had tolerably satisfied himself,
and was sitting resting, looking at what he had done, and thinking over
what had prompted his work, when there came a tap at the door, and his
sister Til crept noiselessly in. She entered softly, as was her wont
when her brother was engaged, and took up her position behind him. But
Miss Til was demonstrative by nature, and after a minute's glance could
not contain herself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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