Part 17 (2/2)

”At the casino?”

”No,” said Jake, shortly.

”Then you were at Kenwardine's; I'll own that's what I wanted to prevent.

He's a dangerous man and his house is no place for you.”

”One would hardly expect you to speak against him. Considering everything, it's perhaps not quite in good taste.”

d.i.c.k put down the drawing-board and looked at him steadily. ”It's very bad taste. In fact, I find myself in a very awkward situation. Your father gave me a fresh start when I needed it badly, and agreed when your sister put you in my charge.”

”Ida's sometimes a bit officious,” Jake remarked.

”Well,” d.i.c.k continued, ”I promised to look after you, and although I didn't know what I was undertaking, the promise must be kept. It's true that Kenwardine afterwards did me a great service; but his placing me under an obligation doesn't relieve me from the other, which I'd incurred first.”

Somewhat to his surprise, Jake nodded agreement. ”No, not from your point of view. But what makes you think Kenwardine _is_ dangerous?”

”I can't answer. You had better take it for granted that I know what I'm talking about, and keep away from him.”

”As a matter of fact, it was Miss Kenwardine to whom you owed most,” Jake said meaningly. ”Do you suggest that she's dangerous, too?”

d.i.c.k frowned and his face got red, but he said nothing, and Jake resumed: ”There's a mystery about the matter and you know more than you intend to tell; but if you blame the girl for anything, you're absolutely wrong. If you'll wait a minute, I'll show you what I mean.”

He went into the shack and came back with a drawing-block which he stood upon the table under the lamp, and d.i.c.k saw that it was a water-color portrait of Clare Kenwardine. He did not know much about pictures, but it was obvious that Jake had talent. The girl stood in the patio, with a pale-yellow wall behind her, over which a vivid purple creeper trailed.

Her lilac dress showed the graceful lines of her slender figure against the harmonious background, and matched the soft blue of her eyes and the delicate white and pink of her skin. The patio was flooded with strong sunlight, but the girl looked strangely fresh and cool.

”I didn't mean to show you this, but it's the best way of explaining what I think,” Jake said with some diffidence. ”I'm weak in technique, because I haven't been taught, but I imagine I've got sensibility. It's plain that when you paint a portrait you must study form and color, but there's something else that you can only feel. I don't mean the character that's expressed by the mouth and eyes; it's something vague and elusive that psychologists give you a hint of when they talk about the _aura_. Of course you can't paint it, but unless it, so to speak, glimmers through the work, your portrait's dead.”

”I don't quite understand; but sometimes things do give you an impression you can't a.n.a.lyze,” d.i.c.k replied.

”Well, allowing for poor workmans.h.i.+p, all you see here's harmonious. The blues and purples and yellows tone, and yet, if I've got the hot glare of the sun right, you feel that the figure's exotic and doesn't belong to the scene. The latter really needs an olive-skinned daughter of the pa.s.sionate South; but the girl I've painted ought to walk in the moonlight through cool forest glades.”

d.i.c.k studied the picture silently, for he remembered with disturbing emotion that he had felt what Jake suggested when he first met Clare Kenwardine. She was frank, but somehow remote and aloof; marked by a strange refinement he could find no name for. He was glad that Jake did not seem to expect him to speak, but after a few moments the latter wrapped up the portrait and took it away. When he came back he lighted a cigarette.

”Now,” he said, ”do you think it's sensible to distrust a girl like that?

Admitting that her father makes a few dollars by gambling, can you believe that living with him throws any taint on her?”

d.i.c.k hesitated. Clare had stolen his papers. This seemed impossible, but it was true. Yet when he looked up he answered as his heart urged him:

”No. It sounds absurd.”

”It is absurd,” Jake said firmly.

Neither spoke for the next minute, and then d.i.c.k frowned at a disturbing thought. Could the lad understand Clare so well unless he loved her?

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