Sekhet. Irene Miller
divine emotion that had come to her could touch no answering chord within his breast, life would be as a weed, worthless, without colour, perfume or sweetness.
To realise so much during a single tick of the clock was overwhelming! Instinctively concealing her face in the cushions Evarne found her breathing oppressed, while as to her heart—it stood quite still for one brief moment, apparently daunted by the magnitude of the additional task suddenly imposed upon it. Then loyally rising to the occasion, it continued to beat, but with altogether unusual violence and rapidity, as wishing defiantly to show that it could bear up with a good grace even under this double duty.
Ere long Evarne sat erect again, while then and there her soul soared aloft into vaporous and shining realms of happiness. Yet no white angel would have veiled its face before this sweet maiden's thoughts and ideals in her first love. Not for some time did she so much as remember that Morris was married, and even then she was in no mood to actively regret Mrs. Kenyon's existence.
That lady's rights were so unquestioned; Evarne would have shrunk with horror at the mere notion that she should ever come to resent the wife as either a rival or a hindrance.
The fact that she believed Morris was a kind, affectionate and faithful husband, was quite consistent with his returning her love—at all events, love as she conceived it and desired it in return. Notwithstanding her classical reading, the girl failed to realise that her passion—youthful, virginal and absolutely spiritual, yet ardent and enthralling—was an emotion absolutely unknown to any male mind.
Long she sat, enchanted by the fair landscapes of this unexplored country across whose borders her feet had newly strayed. When at length she nestled down into her soft, scented bed, still the same soft visions gladdened her mind.
Next morning, after finishing her coffee and roll, she lay back lazily and reflected with the clearer, more rational, thoughts of the early hours of the day, upon the one topic that now appeared of paramount importance.
After a while Bianca, her little maid, entered, and with painstaking effort repeated in English a short message that she had evidently just learnt. "Master wishes come pay his respects to signorina."
Evarne renounced day-dreams and meditations and arose immediately. Blissfully independent of hair-curlers or any other such artificial accessories, her toilette could be completed with marvellous rapidity. Now, in considerably less than half an hour, she issued from her room fresh and blooming as a spring flower, and all unconsciously greeted Morris with the richest smile she had ever flashed upon him.
He looked bright and debonnairé that morning, and it was difficult to realise that he was in fact the contemporary of the girl's father. He seemed so glad to behold her again after the few hours' separation, asked with such evident interest and concern if she had slept well, held her hand for so long and finished by pressing it so warmly between his own, that Evarne blushed slightly for very happiness, as with unerring instinct her heart answered its own question, "He does care—he does—he does!"
In her previous notions concerning both men and women who had attained to the mature and dignified age of five-and-forty, she had unconsciously taken it for granted that Cupid always observed a due respect for such elderly hearts. True, she was well-informed respecting poor Hera's troubles. Zeus had surely been old—quite old and grey-bearded—yet apparently he could not ever look down from high Olympus, even on business, without his eye falling on some fair damsel who promptly became entitled to a place amid the crowd of rival fair ones who packed that miraculously capacious heart. Nevertheless, despite this seemingly instructive knowledge, it was only as she grew to know Morris that her ideas became revolutionised on the subject of middle-aged men who were not divinities, but merely modern and mortal. Now, her guardian's years, viewed with the eyes of affection, appeared simply as an additional fascination.
After a while he proceeded to consult her regarding their plans for the day. Would she like to go sight-seeing that morning, or rest after the fatigues of yesterday's journey?
Evarne was still amused at this novel notion, evidently entertained by Morris, that she was a fragile blossom requiring to be carefully tended and cherished. The idea flashed across her: "How different life will be in a year or two when I am all alone in cheap little rooms in London, earning a precarious living by Art."
This led her to recall what her guardian had told her last night concerning the two most celebrated Art masters in Naples.
"They are very different one from another, both in their style of work and their method of teaching," he had said. "I will take you to visit both studios, and you can see if one appeals to you more than the other."
Now she reminded him of this promise.
"I want to oversee the unpacking of my boxes," she said, "and then, if you please, I should like to visit the studios you spoke of. I want to start working in all seriousness almost at once."
"Oh, no hurry; postpone that!" was the lazy advice. But she shook her head with righteous emphasis.
"I don't mean to delay and delay like the foolish virgins in the Bible. You remember that story?"
"I can't say I remember those particular damsels," rejoined Morris, with a twinkle in his eye; "but candidly I maintain that all virgins are foolish."
"That's a very debatable point!" retorted Evarne, smiling, yet slightly biting her under-lip. "Seriously, I want to start work at once. Now, let me go and put on my hat, and we will place business before pleasure, like good people."
This time Morris wisely checked the response that rose to his lips.
The rival studios both got visited that day, and the one wherein Evarne was to experience the pangs and delights of the aspiring Art student was duly settled upon. It was really somewhat absurd that a mere beginner, totally untrained in the very rudiments of drawing, should be introduced into such an advanced coterie as that of Florelli's.
As Evarne gazed with admiring yet somewhat saddened eyes at the work of the other students, she felt this herself. To her they all seemed finished artists already! She could certainly get herself up in a loose overall plentifully besmeared with paint and charcoal, she could allow a curl of hair to escape from its confining bonds, and thus—as far as appearance went—be on an artistic equality with those of her new companions who were of the feminine persuasion. But would she ever be able to work as beautifully as did these young men and women? She doubted it, and yet, appalling realisation! these superior young people were not winning fame and fortune. Alack and alas, they were still studying—still knew their work imperfect—were still striving to attain!
The momentary wave of despair was followed by a somewhat frantic impatience to make an immediate start along this far-stretching road that lay before her. She wanted to return at once to "Mon Bijou," to set up a pot or vase and endeavour to make a drawing of it in which the two sides should at least decently resemble one another. It was all very nice and amusing to sketch pretty little faces with huge eyes, tiny mouths and masses of very curly hair; to cover sheets of notepaper with angels whose big, feathery wings and vapoury bodies conveniently vanished into nothing. But one day in Paris she had tried to make a correct drawing of a dull, unimaginative vase, and her effort had been brought to an abrupt and highly unsatisfactory conclusion by the much-employed indiarubber working a hole in the paper.
That evening, as she and Morris walked in the garden star-gazing, she honestly confided to him her fear that the attaining of artistic excellence would be a longer task than she had at all realised. He did not appear to sink under the shock, but, on the contrary, inquired calmly enough "what that mattered." Hesitatingly, Evarne broached the subject of expense. It was a matter that pressed rather heavily upon her mind.
His answer was unexpected. Half opening his lips as if to speak, he closed them again firmly, looked frowningly into her tremulous, upturned countenance, then suddenly slipping his arm round her waist, drew her closely to him. Her instantaneous impulse was to free herself—not because she wanted to, far from it—but because she knew well enough that such were dull duty's dictates. Still, she hesitated a moment, and thereby lost the strength of mind necessary to maintain strict