Part 22 (1/2)

Malcolm found it dreary waiting in the street while she sat to the painter. He would not have minded it on Kelpie, for she was always occupation enough, but with only a couple of quiet horses to hold, it was dreary. He took to scrutinizing the faces that pa.s.sed him, trying to understand them. To his surprise he found that almost everyone reminded him of somebody he had known before, though he could not always identify the likeness.

It was a pleasure to see his yacht lying so near him, and Davy on the deck, and to hear the blows of the hammer and the swish of the plane as the carpenter went on with the alterations to which he had set him, but he got tired of sharing in activity only with his ears and eyes. One thing he had by it, however, and that was--a good lesson in quiescent waiting--a grand thing for any man, and most of all for those in whom the active is strong.

The next day Florimel did not ride until after lunch, but took her maid with her to the studio, and Malcolm had a long morning with Kelpie. Once again he pa.s.sed the beautiful lady in Rotten Row, but Kelpie was behaving in a most exemplary manner, and he could not tell whether she even saw him. I believe she thought her lecture had done him good. The day after that Lord Liftore was able to ride, and for some days Florimel and he rode in the park before dinner, when, as Malcolm followed on the new horse, he had to see his lords.h.i.+p make love to his sister, without being able to find the least colourable pretext of involuntary interference.

At length the parcel he had sent for from Lossie House arrived.

He had explained to Mrs Courthope what he wanted the things for, and she had made no difficulty of sending them to the address he gave her. Lenorme had already begun the portrait, had indeed been working at it very busily, and was now quite ready for him to sit.

The early morning being the only time a groom could contrive to spare--and that involved yet earlier attention to his horses, they arranged that Malcolm should be at the study every day by seven o'clock, until the painter's object was gained. So he mounted Kelpie at half past six of a fine breezy spring morning, rode across Hyde Park and down Grosvenor Place, and so reached Chelsea, where he put up his mare in Lenorme's stable--fortunately large enough to admit of an empty stall between her and the painter's grand screw, else a battle frightful to relate might have fallen to my lot.

Nothing could have been more to Malcolm's mind than such a surpa.s.sing opportunity of learning with a.s.surance what sort of man Lenorme was; and the relation that arose between them extended the sittings far beyond the number necessary for the object proposed. How the first of them pa.s.sed I must recount with some detail.

As soon as he arrived, he was shown into the painter's bedroom, where lay the portmanteau he had carried thither himself the night before: out of it, with a strange mingling of pleasure and sadness, he now took the garments of his father's vanished state--the filibeg of the dark tartan of his clan, in which green predominated; the French coat of black velvet of Genoa, with silver b.u.t.tons; the bonnet, which ought to have had an eagle's feather, but had only an aigrette of diamonds; the black sporran of long goat's hair, with the silver clasp; the silver mounted dirk, with its appendages, set all with pale cairngorms nearly as good as oriental topazes; and the claymore of the renowned Andrew's forging, with its basket hilt of silver, and its black, silver mounted sheath. He handled each with the reverence of a son. Having dressed in them, he drew himself up with not a little of the Celt's pleasure in fine clothes, and walked into the painting room.

Lenorme started with admiration of his figure, and wonder at the dignity of his carriage, while, mingled with these feelings, he was aware of an indescribable doubt, something to which he could give no name. He almost sprang at his palette and brushes: whether he succeeded with the likeness of the late marquis or not, it would be his own fault if he did not make a good picture! He painted eagerly, and they talked little, and only about things indifferent.

At length the painter said,

”Thank you. Now walk about the room while I spread a spadeful of paint: you must be tired standing.”

Malcolm did as he was told, and walked straight up to the Temple of Isis, in which the painter had now long been at work on the G.o.ddess. He recognised his sister at once, but a sudden pinch of prudence checked the exclamation that had almost burst from his lips.

”What a beautiful picture!” he said. ”What does it mean?-- Surely it is Hermione coming to life, and Leontes dying of joy!

But no; that would not fit. They are both too young, and--”

”You read Shakspere, I see,” said Lenorme, ”as well as Epictetus.”

”I do--a good deal,” answered Malcolm. ”But please tell me what you painted this for.”

Then Lenorme told him the parable of Novalis, and Malcolm saw what the poet meant. He stood staring at the picture, and Lenorme sat working away, but a little anxious--he hardly knew why: had he bethought himself he would have put the picture out of sight before Malcolm came.

”You wouldn't be offended if I made a remark, would you, Mr Lenorme?”

said Malcolm at length.

”Certainly not,” replied Lenorme, something afraid nevertheless of what might be coming.

”I don't know whether I can express what I mean,” said Malcolm, ”but I'll try. I could do it better in Scotch, I believe, but then you wouldn't understand me.”

”I think I should,” said Lenorme. ”I spent six months in Edinburgh once.”

”Ow ay! but ye see they dinna thraw the words there jist the same gait they du at Portlossie. Na, na! I maunna attemp' it.”

”Hold, hold!” cried Lenorme. ”I want to have your criticism. I don't understand a word you are saying. You must make the best you can of the English.”

”I was only telling you in Scotch that I wouldn't try the Scotch,”

returned Malcolm. ”Now I will try the English.--In the first place, then--but really it's very presumptuous of me, Mr Lenorme; and it may be that I am blind to something in the picture.”

”Go on,” said Lenorme impatiently.