Part 41 (1/2)
”Yes,” said Sir John, ”... with pleasure.” He moved back a step or two.
”Here are two sovereigns,” he said. ”Pray don't mind the change. The change doesn't matter, I a.s.sure you. Oh, any time, of course, as regards repayment. I am happy to oblige you.” He dropped the sovereigns into Antonia's large palm and prepared to fly.
”You are happy to oblige me?” she said with a sort of gasp. ”Oh, do stay just a single moment. You have made me very happy. Thirty-two s.h.i.+llings must go for a special purpose, but eight blessed s.h.i.+llings remain. Don't you really want the change? May I really borrow the change?”
”Most certainly. I am rather in a hurry.”
”I'd kiss you, but you wouldn't like it,” said Antonia. ”These eight s.h.i.+llings mean--do you know what they mean?”
”If they make you happy, my dear young lady, that is enough for me.”
”They do, they do! Cobalt ... Indian red ... rose madder ... burnt sienna ... canva.s.ses ... a new flat brush for the skies ... some drawing pins--Oh, he's gone! Dear old man. What an affliction I was to him; but how triumphant I feel!”
CHAPTER XXVII.
NELL IS IN TROUBLE.
All Antonia's plans were carried into effect. She paid Mrs. Martin thirty-two s.h.i.+llings and gave the old woman her address in town, begging of her to forward the ring there without an hour's delay. In due course it arrived, and Annie had it once more in her possession. Poor Annie turned pale when Antonia put the little box which contained it into her hand.
”I could cry as well as laugh,” she said, looking at Antonia with tears springing to her eyes. ”I have not behaved well about this ring, and I ought not to have it back like this. I ought to be properly punished. It does not seem fair that I should have the ring returned to me again in this easy manner.”
”Undoubtedly you have been deceitful,” replied Antonia, ”and your conscience must feel ruffled. I can stand most things, but a ruffled conscience, I confess, is too much for me. I suppose you will soothe it in the only possible way?”
”What do you mean?” asked Annie.
”Confession is good for the soul,” replied Antonia, in a sing-song voice. She went to the window as she spoke and looked out into the sunlit street.
The two girls were standing in the room which Antonia was pleased to call her studio. It was an attic at the top of the house, and had a dormer window with a north light. The dormer window had sides which were curtained with green. In Annie's opinion this room was simply hideous.
Huge canva.s.ses covered with great daubs of colour occupied the walls. A skeleton stood in one corner, and one or two draped figures were in others. Antonia had lured Annie up here for the purpose of taking her likeness in a white kerchief. Antonia was fired with an idea that Annie would look well as Marie Antoinette on her way to execution. She was not quite sure whether to make her Charlotte Corday or Marie Antoinette; but, on reflection, decided that the latter character would suit her best, as she did not think that Annie could ever get sufficient tragedy into her eyes for the former.
”I am going to paint myself some day for Charlotte,” exclaimed Antonia.
”I'll study before the gla.s.s whenever I've an odd moment, and I believe I shall do the fixity of purpose stare after another week of hard practice. Now, do stand still Annie--the bother of the ring is at an end, so you can forget it. Just turn your head a little to the left, I want to get a peep at your ear--you have got a good ear, quite sh.e.l.l-like. Now, for mercy's sake look tragical! Think of the guillotine, and the crowd looking on, and La Belle France and the Tuileries, and the horrid feeling when your head is separated from your trunk. Now, then, realise it--get it into your eyes. Are you realising it?”
”Frankly, I'm not,” replied Annie. ”I can't sit for Marie Antoinette any longer to-day. I really can't, Antonia. This room is so stiflingly hot, and I want to go out. I want to get into one of the parks. Are there any near this?”
”Oh, yes! Hyde Park is quite close; but you'll find it as dry as chips.
Remember, it is September now. Hyde Park is not pretty in September.”
”I wonder anyone can live in London,” replied Annie.
”Do you? I don't. I hate this poky little house in the centre of detestable fas.h.i.+on; but if I could have an atelier, or a studio, I ought to say, in Gower Street, it would be nearly as good as Paris. Well, if you won't sit any longer, I suppose you won't. Now let us come downstairs.”
The girls left the studio and entered the drawing-room. Here they found Mrs. Bernard Temple and Nora. Nora was lying on a sofa looking tired and pale, and Mrs. Bernard Temple was moving about the room in a bustling sort of fas.h.i.+on arranging flowers. The drawing-room was small and crowded with knick-knacks. Antonia seldom swept across this room without knocking a table over or flicking a paper on to the floor.
”Now, my dear, be careful!” exclaimed her parent. ”That papier-mache table on which I have just arranged these lovely late roses, sent to me by dear Sir John, will not stand one of your lunges. I cannot imagine how you have got that peculiar walk, Antonia; its exactly as if you were on board s.h.i.+p.”
Antonia lounged towards a chair, into which she flung herself.