Part 23 (1/2)
”I wonder,” mused Sara.
”Of course, he's welcome to the sketch, confound him.”
”Would you like to paint her?”
”Is this a commission?”
”Hardly. I know her, that's all. She is a very dear friend.”
”My heart is set on painting some one else, Mrs. Wrandall.”
”Oh!”
”When I know you better, I'll tell you who she is.”
”Could you make a sketch of this other one from memory?” she asked lightly.
”I think so. I'll show you one this evening. I have my trusty crayon about me always, as I said before.”
Later in the afternoon Booth came face to face with Hetty. He was descending the stairs and met her coming up. The sun streamed in through the tall windows at the turn in the stairs, s.h.i.+ning full in her uplifted face as she approached him from below. He could not repress the start of amazement. She was carrying a box of roses in her arms--red roses whose stems protruded far beyond the end of the pasteboard box and reeked of a fragrant dampness.
She gave him a shy, startled smile as she pa.s.sed. He had stopped to make room for her on the turn. Somewhat dazed he continued on his way down the steps, to suddenly remember with a twinge of dismay that he had not returned her polite smile, but had stared at her with most unblinking fervour. In no little shame and embarra.s.sment, he sent a swift glance over his shoulder. She was walking close to the banister rail on the floor above. As he glanced up their eyes met, for she too had turned to peer.
Leslie Wrandall was standing near the foot of the stairs. There was an eager, exalted look in his face that slowly gave way to well-a.s.sumed unconcern as his friend came upon him and grasped his arm.
”I say, Leslie, is--is she staying here?” cried Booth, lowering his voice to an excited half-whisper.
”Who?” demanded Wrandall vacantly. His mind appeared to be elsewhere.
”Why, that's the girl I saw on the road--Wake up! The one on the envelope, you a.s.s. Is she the one you were telling me about in the club--the Miss What's-Her-Name who--”
”Oh, you mean Miss Castleton. She's just gone upstairs. You must have met her on the steps.”
”You know I did. So THAT is Miss Castleton.”
”Ripping, isn't she? Didn't I tell you so?”
”She's beautiful. She IS a type, just as you said, old man,--a really wonderful type. I saw her yesterday--and the day before.”
”I've been wondering how you managed to get a likeness of her on the back of an envelope,” said Leslie sarcastically. ”Must have had a good long look at her, my boy. It isn't a snap-shot, you know.”
Booth flushed. ”It is an impression, that's all. I drew it from memory, 'pon my soul.”
”She'll be immensely gratified, I'm sure.”
”For heaven's sake, Les, don't be such a fool as to show her the thing,” cried Booth in consternation. ”She'd never understand.”
”Oh, you needn't worry. She has a fine sense of humour.”