Part 4 (1/2)
”But why is he there at all?”
”Love! Can't you see? I can't explain if it's not obvious. He--er--he _must_ be there.”
Audrey looked up, but the baby was not looking at her; he was absorbed in his masterpiece. She flushed, and pressed one little pointed boot firmly to the ground.
”Yes, yes, I see that; but I can't make out the rest of it.”
Ted shook his head helplessly, while his sister laughed at his discomfiture.
”Please don't mind my sister,” said he, nervously flouris.h.i.+ng his maul-stick. ”The picture represents two people exchanging souls”--Audrey raised her eyebrows: ”those are the souls, and these are the people--do be quiet, Katherine! It's a perfectly conceivable transaction, though I own it might be a very bad bargain for some. I wouldn't like to swop souls with my sister, for instance--she hasn't any imagination.”
Audrey gave a little shudder.
”What a curious idea! It makes me feel quite creepy. But I'm sure I never _could_ lose my sense, of personal ident.i.ty. My individuality is too strong--or something. And then, what _has_ Love got to do with it?
What does it all mean?”
”Obviously, that Love is Master of the Ceremonies at every well-regulated metempsychosis,” said Katherine.
”I see.” Audrey lay back in her chair and gazed dreamily at the painting, while the painter gazed at her. Was he trying to find out the secret of that individuality?
Audrey turned to Katherine with her radiant smile.
”Do you paint like this, too?”
”No, I'm a portrait-painter.”
”Ah! that means that you'd rather paint what you see?”
”It means that I have to paint a great deal that I'd rather not see.”
”But your brother is an idealist--aren't you, Mr. Haviland?”
”Probably. I've always noticed that when people call you an idealist, it's a polite way of saying you're a failure. I may be an idealist; I don't know, and I'm afraid I don't much care.”
”I'm sure you do care; and you _must_ have your ideals.”
”Oh, as for that, I've kept as many as seven of them at a time. But I never could tame them, and when it comes to taking their portraits the things don't know how to sit properly. Look at that woman's soul, for instance”--and Ted pointed to his masterpiece with disgust.
”Why, what's wrong with it? It's beautiful.”
”Yes; I got on all right with the upper half, but, as you see, I've been a little unfortunate with the feet and legs.”
”Of course!” interrupted Katherine, ”because you got tired of the whole thing. That's what a man's idealism comes to!”
Audrey looked up with a quick sidelong glance.
”And what does a woman's idealism come to?”
”Generally to this--that she's tried to paint her own portrait large, with a big brush, and made a mess of the canvas.”
There was a sad inflection in the girl's voice, and she looked away as she spoke. The look and the tone were details that lay beyond the range of Audrey's observation, and she felt hurt, though she hardly knew why.