Part 20 (2/2)
Middleton was doing very well; everybody admitted that--some patronizingly, others enviously. And yet Middleton aimed high. He eschewed pot-boilers, and devoted himself to important subject pictures, often of an allegorical description. Nevertheless, his works sold, and that so well that Middleton thought himself justified in taking a wife.
Here, again, good fortune attended him. Miss Angela Dove was fair to see, possessed of a nice little income, and, finally, a lady of taste, for she accepted Middleton's addresses. Decidedly a lucky fellow all round was Middleton. But, in spite of all his luck, his face was clouded with care as he sat in his studio one summer evening. Three months before he had been the recipient of a most flattering commission from that wealthy and esteemed connoisseur the Earl of Moneyton. The earl desired two panels for his hall. ”I want,” he wrote, ”two full-length female figures--the one representing Heavenly Love, the other Earthly Love. Not a very new subject, you will say; but I have a fancy for it, and I can rely on your talent to impart freshness even to a well-worn theme.”
Of course there was no difficulty about Heavenly Love. Angela filled the bill (the expression was Middleton's own) to a nicety. Her pretty golden hair, her sweet smile, her candid blue eyes, were exactly what was wanted. Middleton clapped on a pair of wings, and felt that he had done his duty. But when he came to Earthly Love the path was not so smooth.
The earl demanded the acme of physical beauty, and that was rather hard to find. Middleton tried all the models in vain; he frequented the theaters and music-halls to no purpose; he tried to combine all the beauties of his acquaintance in one harmonious whole, but they did not make what tea-dealers call a ”nice blend.” Then he tried to evolve Earthly Love out of his own consciousness, but he could get nothing there but Angela again; and although he did violence to his feelings by giving her black hair and an evil cast in her eye, he knew that, even thus transformed, she would not satisfy the earl. Middleton was in despair; his reputation was at stake. The thought of Angela could not console him.
”I'd give my soul for a model!” cried he, flinging aside his pencil in despair.
At this moment he heard a knock at the door. He existed on the charwoman system, and after six o'clock in the evening had to open his own door. A lady stood outside, and a neat brougham was vanis.h.i.+ng round the corner.
Even in the darkness Middleton was struck by the grace and dignity of his visitor's figure.
”Mr. Middleton's, is it not?” she asked, in a very sweet voice.
Middleton bowed. It was late for a call, but if the lady ignored that fact, he could not remind her of it. Fortunately there was no chance of Angela coming at such an hour. He led the way to his studio.
”May I ask,” he began, ”to what I am indebted for this honor?”
”I see you like coming to business directly,” she answered, her neatly gloved hands busy unpinning her veil. She seemed to find the task a little difficult.
”You see, it's rather late,” said Middleton.
”Not at all. I am only just up. Well, then, to business. I hear you want a model for an Earthly Love.”
”Exactly. May I ask if you----”
”If I am a model? Oh, now and then--not habitually.”
”You know my requirements are somewhat hard to fulfill?”
”I can fulfill them,” and she raised her veil. She certainly could. She realized his wildest dreams--the wildest dream of poets and painters since the world began. Middleton stood half-stupefied before her.
”Well, shall I do?” she asked, turning her smile on him.
Middleton felt as if it were a battery of guns, as he answered that he would be the happiest painter in the world if she would honor him.
”Head only, of course,” she continued.
”Of course,” said he hastily; ”unless, that is, you will give me hands and arms too.”
”I think not. My hands are not so good.” And she glanced at her kid gauntlets with a smile.
”And--er--as to terms?” he stammered.
”Oh, the usual terms,” she answered briskly.
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