Part 5 (1/2)

Katherine said nothing: she had opened the portfolio and spread out the drawings, and was hanging over them in amazement. How, when, and where the boy had done the things, she could not imagine. There were finished studies in anatomy, of heads and limbs in every conceivable att.i.tude.

There were s.h.i.+lling drawing-books crammed with ill.u.s.trations of most possible subjects and some impossible ones; loose sketches done on the backs of envelopes, the fly-leaves of books, and (fearful revelation of artistic depravity!) the ruled pages of ledgers. And in every one of them there was power and wild exuberant vitality. It was genius, rampant and undisciplined, but unmistakable; and she told him so. Her first feeling sent the blood to her cheeks for pure joy; her second drove it back to her heart again. Katherine was one of those people who can see a thing instantly, in all its possible bearings; and at the present moment she saw clearly, not only that Ted was a genius, but that his genius had everything to learn, and that it would take the whole of his tiny income to teach it, while the necessities of his board and lodging in the meanwhile would more than double her own expenses. She saw herself doomed to the production of an unbroken succession of pot-boilers, and for the next few years at least Ted's career was only possible at the sacrifice of her own. ”Yes,” she said at last, sitting down and tying the strings of the portfolio tenderly, ”you'll have to work hard for four or five years or so; and then you'll have to wait. Art is long, you know, and high art's the longest of all.” And when she told him that it would be a great help to her if they clubbed together, Ted actually believed her, so unaware was he of the complexities of life.

Katherine understood why Ted had gone to Guy's Hospital; but when she asked him--idiot!--why he had wasted a year at his uncle Pigott's office, he said that he wanted to prove to his uncle Pigott's limited capacity that he was utterly incapable of managing anybody's business but his own. Katherine asked no more questions, for she was trying to think. Then when she had done thinking, she took the Witch and turned her with her face to the wall. And when she looked at Ted again it was with a choking sensation, and for the first time for three years she was aware that she had a heart beating under the blue overall. She had come down from Atlas faster than she had gone up. After all, the climate there is frightfully cold, and there are pa.s.ses on that lonely mountain which overhang the bottomless pit, where some have perished very miserably. Katherine had escaped the abyss, and left behind her the dreams and the golden mists and the starry peaks of ice. It was dark in the studio, and a voice was heard inquiring whether the young gentleman was going to stay for supper, ”_Because_, if a bysin of hoatmeal porridge yn't enuff for one----”

Mrs. Rogers was great in the argument _a fortiori_.

CHAPTER V

Audrey had never been able to enjoy the friends.h.i.+p of her own s.e.x for more than ten minutes at a time. Her own society bored her inexpressibly, and that of the women she had known hitherto was uninteresting because it was like her own. But Katherine was unlike all other women, and she had taken Audrey's fancy. Audrey was always devising pretty little excuses for calling, always bringing in hothouse flowers, or the last hothouse novel, which Katherine positively _must_ read; until, by dint of a nave persistency, she won the right to come and go as she pleased. As for Katherine, she considered that a beautiful woman is exempt from criticism; and so long as she could watch Audrey moving about, arranging flowers with dainty fastidious touches, or lying back on the couch in some reckless but perfect pose, she reserved her judgment. She rejoiced in her presence for its beauty's sake. She loved the curves of her limbs, the play of her dimples, the s.h.i.+fting lights in her hair. But she had to pay for the pleasure these things afforded her, and ”man's time” became a frequent item in the account. Katherine had set her heart on Ted's studying in Paris for six months, and was trying hard to make enough money to send him there. With this absorbing object in view, she herself worked equally well whether Audrey were in the studio or out of it; but it seemed that Ted's powers were either paralysed or diverted into another channel from the moment she came in.

The baby was trying to solve a problem which had puzzled wiser heads than his. But he had no clue to the labyrinth of Audrey's soul; he was not even certain whether she was an intelligent being, though to doubt it was blasphemy against the divine spirit of beauty.

His researches took him very often to Chelsea Gardens, and most of his spare time not spent there was employed in running errands to and fro.

Owing to these distractions his nerves became quite unhinged, and for the first time in his life he began to show signs of a temper. He had been full of the Paris scheme at first, but he had not spoken of it now for at least a month.

He had just sat down for the twentieth time to a study of Katherine's head as ”Sappho,” and had thrown down his palette in disgust, exclaiming--

”What's the use of keeping your mouth still, if your confounded eyes giggle?” when a note arrived from Miss Craven.

You can't step out of a violent pa.s.sion all in a minute, and perhaps that was the reason why Ted's hands trembled a little as he tore open the envelope and read--

”DEAR MR. HAVILAND,--Do come over at once. I'm in a dreadful fix, and want your advice and help badly. I would ask your sister, only I know she is always busy.--Sincerely yours,

”AUDREY CRAVEN.”

Audrey wrote on rough-edged paper, in the bold round hand they teach in schools. She had modelled hers on another girl's, and she signed her name with an enormous A and a flourish. People said there was a great deal of character in her hand-writing.

Ted crammed the note hastily into his pocket, and did his best to hide the radiance of his smile.

”It's only Miss Craven. I'm just going over for half an hour,--I'll be back for tea.”

And before Katherine had time to answer he was gone.

Ted's first thought as he entered Miss Craven's drawing-room was that she was in the midst of a removal. The place was turned topsy-turvy.

Curtains had been taken down, ornaments removed from their shelves, pictures from their hangings; and the grand piano stood where it had never yet been allowed to stand, in a draught between the window and the door. Tripping over a Persian rug, he saw that the floor was littered with tapestries and rich stuffs of magnificent design. On his left was a miscellaneous collection of bra.s.s and copper ware, on his right a heap of s.h.i.+elds and weapons of barbarous warfare. On all the tables and cabinets there stood an array of Venetian gla.s.s, and statuettes in bronze, marble, and terra-cotta. He was looking about for Miss Craven, when that lady arose from a confused ocean of cus.h.i.+ons and Oriental drapery--Aphrodite in an ”Art” tea-gown. She greeted him with childlike effusion.

”At last! I'm so glad you've come--I was afraid you mightn't. Help me out of this somehow--I'm simply distracted.”

And she pointed to the floor with a gesture of despair.

”Yes; but what do you want me to do?”

”Why, to offer suggestions, advice, anything--only speak.”

Ted looked about him, and his eyes rested on the grand piano. ”Is it a ball, a bazaar, or an auction? And are we awake or dreaming, alive or dead?”

”Can't you see, Mr. Haviland?”