England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Love stories; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Painters -- Fiction
Upstairs he took some pains to barricade himself in a subdued corner, as
remote as possible from Miss Aitcheson, and made such unusual efforts
for the entertainment of the young ladies who were round him, and whom
he earnestly desired might stay, that he gained quite a new character
for agreeability. Unfortunately, his hostess routed him from his
retreat--some lady was anxious to make his acquaintance. When this was
over he found his cousin at his elbow, and close to her was Bell.
"You haven't been very nice to me tonight," said Mrs Marchmont; "and it
is too late now, for we are going. But you may talk a little to Bell
about pictures. You can be very intelligent, can't you, Bell? Good
night."
Everitt felt desperate.
"You paint, I suppose?" he inquired, "A little," she said demurely.
"Figures." He looked keenly at her, but she was engaged in examining a
gold bangle on her arm.
"That," he said, "is ambitious."
"And often disheartening," she returned carelessly. "My experience of
London models has not been very satisfactory."
"No?" he said in the same tone. "Well, I suspect the experience of a
good many artists goes along with yours. Where is your studio?"
"I have none. You see I am not ambitious, after all. When I paint it
is with my friend, Miss Lascelles, whom, I think, you know?"
Was it a chance thrust, or a well-directed blow?
"I have seen Miss Lascelles," said Everitt coolly.
She glanced at him as he spoke, then, as it seemed to him, rather
forcibly changed the subject. She left him, however, in a state of
perplexity; he found it impossible to decide whether she were utterly
unsuspecting or very well informed. Under these circumstances it might
have been supposed that Everitt would have again gone through the pros
and cons which had already assailed him, and have found a few more
prudential reasons for abandoning to-morrow's scheme. This was not the
case. He had rather an obstinate trick of sticking to the thing to
which he had once committed himself: it had its merits and its dangers,
but it might be called a characteristic.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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