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L162
THE IDEAL ARTIST,
VOL. I.
NEW NOVELS AT ALL LIBRARIES.
BAY RONALD. By May Crommelin, Author of ' Queenie '
' Orange Lily,' 'Miss Daisy Dimity,' &c. 3 vols. '
^^5^^^.^^^^^^^. By M. E. Le Clerc, author of
Mistress Beatrice Cope,' 'A Rainbow at Night,' &c. 2 vols.
THE FATE OF SISTER JESSICA. By F. W. Robinson
author of ' Grandmother's Money,' &c. 3 vols. '
ESTNES OF BLAIRAVON. By Colin Middleton. 3 vols.
KINGSMEAD. By Henry F. Buller. 3 vols.
LONDON: HURST & BLACKETT, LIMITED.
THE IDEAL ARTIST
A NOVEL
BY
F. BAYFORD HARRISON
Love —
A more ideal artist he than all.
Tennyson.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON :
HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED,
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1893.
All Rights Reserved.
o
00
CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLl
IMJ
E.
■^
'^ CHAPTER
PAGE
^ I.
BOOK I.
The Quarrel ....
3
s; IL
The Duel
. 23
BOOK II.
C< I.
Willow Green . .
41
:r>^ "•
Varnish ....
. 68
^. ni.
The de Veres .
. 89
"^ IV.
The Private View .
. 106
^v ^•
The Unsuccessful Author
. 128
^ VI.
Belgravia and Bohemia .
. 155
^? VII.
The Invalid Father
. 375
^ VIII.
Commissions ....
. 207
IX.
On the River ....
. 231
X.
Mont Veraye .
. 253
xr.
The First Sitting
. 279
BOOK I
VOI^. I.
THE IDEAL ARTIST.
CHAPTER I.
THE QUARREL.
I am faint
Talking of horrors that I looked upon
At last without a shudder.
The City of the Plague. John Wilson.
The nineteenth century began on 1st
January, 1801. This is a fact important
to remember, because many persons ima-
gine that it began on 1st January, 1800 ;
such persons think that 31st December,
1799, was the last day of the eighteenth
B 2
4 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
century, and they suj)pose that 31st De-
cember, 1899, will be the last day of the
nineteenth century. And yet if you set
them to count a hundred they would not
stop at 99, nor begin the next hundred
with 0.
So it was on one of the first nights of
this current century, that a party of young
men sat drinking and playing cards in a
large room of a house near St. James's
Street. IS^ot only did they drink and
gamble, but they also swore. Their lan-
guage, if reported, must be largely inter-
spersed with dashes ; for George III. was
king, and George, Prince of Wales, was at
loggerheads with his father, separated from
his wife, the very ideal of a spendthrift
and a debauchee. And in those good old
times the iihe old English gentleman used
THE QUARREL. 5
oaths as strong as his port. I am not sure
that the English gentlemen of the present
day, when unrestrained by the presence of
ladies, always sj)eaks in the style suitable
for the Sunday-school ; but I am quite sure
that he lives a life purer, gentler, healthier,
more godly, righteous, and sober than did
his immediate forefathers.
I shall first show you a little picture of
an occurrence at the beginning of the nine-
teenth century, and afterwards spread out
a wider canvas dated in the last decade of
the same century ; and you may compare
and contrast as you will. And I think
you will prefer the morals and manners of
our own days to the morals and manners
of the good old times.
The room in which six young ' bloods '
were assembled that dark winter night
6 THE IDEAL ARTIST. >
was one at tlie back of a large house, which
was known as the rendezvous of half the
wild fellows of fashionable life, and as the
place in London where more money was
lost, and more duels were arranged, than
any other ten places which you could name.
The company was not so numerous as it
had been a couple of hours earlier. Two
men had been taken away in a helpless
condition and in hackney coaches. Two
others had staggered out to ' box the watch '
in Piccadilly. Several had fallen asleep
on benches. Five others were still playing
cards at a green-baize covered table.
One of these youths was tall and fair,
with regular features and hair of a hue
just escaped from red. The powder had
fallen out of this hair, and its natural
colour re-asserted itself, adding brightness
THE QUARREL. 7
to a face which was delicate and interest-
ing more than strictly handsome. There
was a flush on the cheeks and a thickness in
the voice, but the young man was not
drunk. He had been playing cards reck-
lessly for some hours, and had received
I U's many and various. His luck had
been great and constant ; so great that at
last only one man would continue to play
with him, and then the fair lad began to
lose, and lost more than he had previously
won.
His adversary was a few years older
than himself, shorter, stouter, darker; he
was also handsome ; of an olive-hued skin,
and brilliant dark eyes ; his wig tied be-
hind with a black ribbon concealed his
hair. Rings gHttered on his fingers ; to a
heavy chain was hung an enamelled and
8 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
jewelled and coronetted watch. He was
a more dashing figure than his opponent,
but not so pleasing.
' Will you play any more ?' asked the
dark man.
' Certainly,' replied the other ; ' it,
I am not one to run away because the luck
turns. What do you say to some
ecarte?'
' I say yes, by ,' returned the dark
one ; ' and may your bad luck last an hour
longer, Charley, my dear boy !'
' Thank you for nothing,' retorted
Charley.
The other three men stood looking on
while Charley and his friend played
ecarte ; and shouts resounded of ' I back
Charley!' 'Two to one on Frank !' and of
expressions too strong for record.
THE QUARREL. \)
Almost immediately Charley began to
win. And he continued to win. He held
the king, or turned up the king, time after
time. Frank's face grew darker, and his ex-
pressions stronger; his ruffles were torn, his
Avhole dress disordered, his glass emptied
oftener and oftener. As for Charley, though
excited and noisy, he was far less so than
his opponent. His luck was something
wonderful ; the stakes were doubled, quad-
rupled, still he won ; the blue light of
dawn begun to peep coldly in at the cur-
tained windows.
' Shall we stop?' asked Charley.
' Twenty dashes, no,' cried Frank ; ' I
won't let you oif till I've won everything
back.'
' That you w^on't do. I'm in luck, and I
shall keep in luck.'
10 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' How do you do it?' asked a bystander ;
' what is your secret?'
' Secret?' echoed Frank; 'yes, he must
have a thirty dashes secret to win like
this. Lumsden, where does he keep the
king?'
Lumsden only uttered a mild couple of
dashes, and said that he did not know.
' What do you mean by " keej)ing the
king" ?' Charley said, as he paused in the
middle of a deal.
' I mean what I say, double-dash you.'
' If I thought you meant '
' Think what you like,' said Frank, gulp-
ing down another glass of brandy.
' Then I think that you mean something
offensive.'
' And what if I do ?'
' Say that you do, and '
THE QUARREL. 11
' Gentlemen,' interposed Lumsden, ' no
quarrelling, if you please. Remember
that you are cousins.'
' Is a man to insult me because he is my
cousin?' shouted Charley.
' Is a man to cheat me because he is my
cousin ?' roared Frank.
' Cheat ? you say cheat ? Forty thou-
sand dashes ! Then take that !'
And Charley threw the pack of cards
full into his cousin's face.
This was a serious matter, and the by-
standers saw that it was a serious matter.
The insults which had passed between the
cousins could only be atoned for by blood.
The young men knew this. They were in
a measure sobered. Both grew deadly
pale. Both panted with excitement. Their
teeth were set, their eyes glared. They
12 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
faced each other with the table between
them.
' Come, come,' said Lumsden, a heavy,
good-natured little fellow, ' make it up,
don't quarrel. Dash me, cousins can't
fight. You must make it up.'
' He called me a cheat,' said Charley,
doggedly.
' He threw the cards in my face,' said
Frank, furiously.
' Forgive and forget,' said Lumsden.
' Excuse me,' put in another of the by-
standers, ' this is not a matter which can
be so easily settled. Both gentlemen have
behaved in a manner which cannot be
overlooked. Such a word as " cheat," and
such an assault as we have witnessed, call
for an explanation. Unless both gentle-
men apologise, I, for one, do not see how
THE QUARREL. 13
the honour of either can be vindicated.'
' You are right, triple dash it,' said the
fifth man.
' But they are cousins,' said Lumsden ;
' a man can't put a bullet into his own
cousin-german. Captain Butler.'
' I think he can when honour demands
it. I have perhaps had more to do with
affairs of honour than any one of you
gentlemen. I have been out five times
myself, and I have been witness in a vast
number of encounters. And I say em-
phatically that I never saw a case in which
bloodshed was more urgently demanded
on both sides.'
He walked to the window and drew up
the blind, showing a murky, dull, winter
morning.'
' Certainly,' said Frank, ' I shall not
14 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
tamely endure such an assault as has been
made upon me. Captain Butler, will you
act for me in this matter T
The captain bowed. He had to keep up
his reputation as a iire-eater, and if he
could not himself fight he must set other
men to do so. He saw that young Frank
was wrought to a high pitch of rage by
wine and indignation, and he also saw
that Charley was nerving himself to the
deed of blood which it seemed must take
place. Frank's dark face was flushed and
eager; Charley's was pallid and resolute.
Butler drew Frank to the further end of
the room : a loathsome room it was in the
wintry light, strewn with soiled cards and
empty bottles ; the furniture thrown here
and there ; the oil-lamps expiring ; the air
poisoned by the fumes of wines and spirits ;
THE QUARREL. 15
the men within it disordered as to raiment,
haggard as to complexion, and bloodshot
as to eyes. The sleepers had roused up,
sick and thirsty, dirty and limp. The
landlord, a mangy old fellow, had come
blundering in, only half awake ; a waiter
had ventured inside the door, half-asleep.
For the word duel had been uttered and
repeated as if by diabolic echoes.
Lumsden took Charley by the arm, and
led him towards the door.
' I say, do you want to tight your
cousin ?'
' Not I,' said Charley, ' if he will
apologise.'
' He won't do that ; Butler won't let him.
Besides, you know, you were just as bad
as he was.'
' He began it.'
16 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' True. But a word could be taken
back ; you can't take back a whole pack of
cards.'
* He called me a cheat ; let him apolo-
gise.'
Charley was sulky and sullen ; Lums-
den uttered several dashes, and shrugged
his fat shoulders.
Captain Butler suggested no apology or
compromise; the men must fight.
.' Of course,' said Frank, in a loud tone ;
' perhaps he won't fight, a cheat is always
a coward.'
' And at once,' pursued Butler ; ' it is
still early ; we can call a couple of coaches
and drive out beyond Knightsbridge. I
know a quiet field just the other side of
the village. The landlord keeps pistols
always handy. I and Pratt will be your
THE QUARREL. 1 7
seconds ; Lumsden will act for your cousin.
I'll arrange with him at once.'
The captain went up to Lumsden, who
agreed that certainly their men must
fight.
' Neither can shoot a bit,' he added,
'they won't hurt each other. One shot
on either side will be enough.'
' Probably,' answered Lumsden.
The landlord was almost in tears,
deploring his hard fate, that his quiet
little supper-rooms should be made the
scene of a deadly quarrel, and that j)er-
haps attention should be drawn to his
house, and the police be set on him, and
the aiFair get into the papers, and ruin
ensue. To all which laments neither
Lumsden nor Butler made any rejoinder.
They threw the old man two or three
VOL. I. c
18 THE IDEAL AETIST.
guineas by way of payment for what had
been drunk, and they went down into the
street to call hackney coaches.
A coach with a couple — one could not
call them a pair — of ill-fed, shambling
horses, came up at Butler's call. The
driver, in rough beaver hat and volumin-
ous cajDCs, knew by intuition the errand
on which his fares were bent.
' Chalk Farm, sir ?' he enquired, in a
confidential tone.
' Knightsbridge !' said Butler, as he
put young Frank in among the musty
cushions and damp straw. Pratt followed
his principal, and then Butler got ' in.
The unwilling door was shut, and they
lumbered away westward.
Another coach was summoned for the
other man. Lumsden took a friend. Sin-
THE QUARREL. 19
clair by name, with him, and called in
Half Moon Street for a brother of his,
a youn^ doctor who was struggling to
make a practice without partnership or
introduction, struggling to do what is
impossible. A few words from Lumsden
put his brother ait fait, and the surgeon,
with a small case of instruments and lint,
joined the party in the second coach.
Many a little maid-of-all-work, as she
hearthstoned the doorstep of some subur-
ban villa, gazed after the two vehicles and
guessed that two gentlemen were on their
wav to Kensin2:ton, there to shoot each
other. For such events were not of
uncommon occurrence, and no one thought
very much of them. In fact, duels were
necessary evils like those provoking tin-
der-boxes, and those long bell-pulls which
c2
20 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
came down if you were in a hurry or
a bad temper ; all these things and many
others caused a great deal of trouble, but
there was no remedy, they never could
be remedied ; as long as the world should
last, bell-pulls, tinder-boxes, and duel&
must continue to trouble the world. How
could a man vindicate his honour, his
honesty, his truthfulness, except by stand-
ing up to be shot at ? For instance, how
could young Charley prove that he had
not cheated at cards, except by making
himself a target for his cousin to fire at ?
If he Avent out this cold, foggy morning
in a field at Kensington, and allowed
Frank to put a bullet into him, then all
his friends would know that he never had
cheated at cards. The thing was perfectly
plain. A man must possess every virtue
THE QUARREL. 21
under the sun if only he could face death.
And if ever Englishmen should take any-
other means to prove their probity, or to
avenge an insult, than this means of duel-
ling, then indeed England would go to the
dogs and never return.
Thinking thus, and reflecting on the
intimate connection between virtue and
duelling, the silent party in the second
coach were jolted along to Knightsbridge
and beyond. In the other coach a con-
versation was sustained by Captain Butler
with little assistance from his principal or
from Mr. Pratt. The retired officer had
many tales to tell of his prowess, not on
the field of battle, but in single combat.
He had ghastly details, over which he
gloated, of men shot through the heart;
of men winged; of sword encounters in
22 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
whicli accidentally noses and ears were
sliced off. At length, seeing Frank grow
paler and paler, Mr. Pratt begged Butler
to cease his dash-dashed yarns, and try
to look cheerful. This the warrior was-
the more ready to do, as at this moment
they arrived at the furthest point to which
he intended that they should drive. They
alighted at the entrance to a muddy lane ;
presently the second coach came in sight,
and then the two parties, with a space
between them, walked up the lane, and
through a little wood.
23
CHAPTER II.
THE DUEL.
Then said the Squyer, courteouslie,
Brother, I thank you heartf ullie ;
Of you, forsooth, I nothing crave,
For 1 have gotten that I wold have.
Sir David Lyndsay.
They had passed a farm on their way up
the lane, and though the inmates made
a shrewd guess as to the business which
brought half-a-dozen gentlemen out into
the country on a winter's morning, they
did not offer to interfere even from curi-
osity. There were a good many meetings
24 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
at the other side of the wood ; the gentle-
men mostly fired in the air; and, if it
amused them to do so, why should peace-
able farmers and market-gardeners trouble
themselves about such matters ?
It was a deplorable scene in that open,
muddy, spongy, grass field. The prin-
cipals took ofi* their great-coats, and stood
in their evening suits, the one in bottle-
green with lace at his neck and wrist,
the other in snuff-brown, with a frill of
fine cambric to his shirt, and pink silk
stockings. Frank threw his hat to his
seconds, Charley pushed his hat back
on his head. They were both fine young
fellows, the one dark and distinguished
looking, the other fair and lovable ; both
men of good family and of unblemished
character. Loved of somebody, doubtless,
THE DUEL. 25
both of them ; was there mother or sister
who would be heart-broken this day ?
Was there sweetheart or wife whose very
life would follow that bullet w^hich this
moment has its billet to lodge in the up-
right, healthy frame of yonder youth ?
Dr. Lumsden looked at them Avith a pro-
fessional eye. He shook his head.
' Jack,' he whispered to his brother,
^ can't you stop it even now ?'
Lumsden went up to Charley.
' Will you be satisfied if I get an apology
from your cousin ?'
' Yes, if he makes an ample and humble
apology.'
Jack Lumsden walked down to Captain
Butler, who was pacing the ground.
'My man has no ill-feeling against
yours. If young Frank will apologise,
26 THE IDEAL AETIST.
Charley will be satisfied. Butler, I don't
fancy seeing one of these lads dead before
my eyes.'
' Perhaps, sir, you are not accustomed
to affairs of honour,' said the captain, with
something of a sneer ; ' my man will make
no apology, I assure you ; if either should
do such a thing it is your principal.'
' Will you suggest an apology to young
Frank?'
' I will, sir,' answered Butler, with an
elaborate bow.
He went to Frank, and a few words
passed between them; then he returned
to Lumsden, pulling up the fur collar of
his coat, and saying that it was the most
dashed cold morning he had ever known.
'Any apology?' asked Lumsden, an-
xiously.
THE DUEL. 27
' No, sir.'
' Then they must fight ?'
' So it seems.'
The ground was measured ; the pistols
were loaded ; the men were put in position.
Worn and haggard they were, unkempt,
weary, a pitiable sight. Butler was to give
the signal. Each man turned and fired.
Frank staggered, and then fell headlong ;
Charley dropped on his knees, and re-
mained crouched on the ground.
Lumsden and Sinclair flew to Charley.
' You are wounded?'
' I don't know ; I think something struck
me.'
' It is your arm.'
The left arm was hanging limp, and
Lumsden saw that a bullet had passed
through the fleshy part above the elbow.
28 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' It is not mucli,' said he.
'And Frank?'
They looked at Frank. He lay on his
face, Butler, Pratt, and Dr. Lumsden lean-
ing over him.
' Can you rise ?' asked Lumsden ; ' I will
go and see what is the matter.'
He ran to the other group, Charley fol^
lowing him slowly, supporting his wounded
.arm with the whole one, and leaning against
Sinclair.
Very grave were the three men who
knelt round Frank ; his shirt-front was
crimson, and blood came through it in
spurts. His face was deathly pale, his eyes
fixed wistfully wide open, his breath com-
ing in sudden gasps. Dr. Lumsden had
out his instruments and his lint, but he
was not attempting to use either, his fin-
THE DUEL. 29
gers were on his patient's wrist, and he
looked at the others with an expression of
utter hopelessness.
' Where?' said Lumsden.
' Lungs,' returned the doctor.
' Can you do nothing ?'
' Nothing.'
At this word Charley gave a smothered
groan full of all bitterness and self-re-
proach ; his cousin heard it, and turned his
eyes on his murderer.
' It was all fair,' he murmured, as fresh
spurts of blood dyed his waistcoat ; • we
fought fair. Good-bye, Charley.'
' Oh, Frank ! what have I done ? Save
him, Lumsden, save him ! I'll give my
life if you will save him.'
The doctor made a few movements as if
trying if anything could be done ; but it
30 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
was impossible. Already life was ebbing
with every gush of blood ; the eyes were
sightless and growing glazed ; the breath
was more difficult. Death was at hand.
Charley knelt beside his cousin clasping
the pallid hand which returned no pressure,
calling aloud for forgiveness which could
never be granted on this side of the grave.
Honour was avenged for both ; Frank was
murdered by his cousin. Charley was for
ever a miserable man, the murderer of his
cousin. A rain of tears, though he knew
it not, poured down his cheeks ; he wrung
his hands together, unconscious that he
himself was wounded, but no contrition
could recall that young life which had
gasped itself away in the damp, still
air.
' You must go,' said Pratt to Charley ;
THE DUEL. 31
' get back to the coach ; drive as fast as you
can to the river and take a boat — or get into
the City and jump into the first mail — but
be off — fly — fly the country — your life may
be forfeit.'
' Oh, take it ! take it !' groaned Charley ;
' I can't live with this on my conscience !
Why, man, I went to school with him ! I
was next heir after him ! I love him ! Save
him, kill me !'
But Sinclair and Lumsden seized on the
wretched boy and dragged him away
through the wood, down the lane ; bundled
him into one of the coaches, and made the
driver lash his horses and hurry them
back to Piccadilly. There they found that
London was rousing itself, and their wild
looks might be noticed. They paid off
their coachman, and hailed another vehicle,
32 THE IDEAL AETIST.
and were driven into the city, found that a
mail-coach would start at noon for Dover,
and took a place in it for Charley. Pratt
had some bank-notes, and Lumsden some
gold in his pockets ; this they forced on
Charley, who also had the coin which he
had won, but now forgot in his agony of
remorse. He did not know what they
were doing ; he seemed to be in a haze, a
dream — a frightful dream. Not until he
had fallen asleep in the coach and had
been wakened by an aching sensation in
his left arm, did he really know what had
happened. He had only one companion
inside the coach, an elderly woman who
saw that he was ill and unhappy, and who
pitied him. Arrived at Dover, he found
that a packet was about to sail. He went
on board, was carried across the Channel,
THE DUEL. 33
and was never again seen by any of his
friends or acquaintances.
The scene in the swampy field at
Kensington was not of long duration.
Very soon the pulse ceased, the jaw fell,
and all was over. One of the handsomest,
best-born, best-bred young men in England
lay dead, shot through the lungs by his
cousin, his dearest friend. Even Captain
Butler rubbed his eyes as he gazed on the
work of that fatal duel. He covered the
face of the corpse with the great-coat
which the poor lad had thrown aside, and
he turned to the doctor and said,
' What shall we do now?'
' Who is he?' asked Dr. Lumsden ; 'I
never saw him before. What shall we do
with him?'
' I know him well enough. He is an
VOL. I. I)
34 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
only son. His father and mother will be
frantic. Good people they are, living in
the country on their property. We must
take him to his rooms in Craven Street,
and then I must write or go down to the
old people. Not a pleasant task this
before me, eh, Lumsden ? Do you think
we could get a shutter or a hurdle at the
farm to carry him on to the coach ? I have
seen a good many of these affairs ; I am
sorry about this one.'
The farmer and his son supplied a
hurdle ; the farmer's wife and daughter
looked out from a window at the sorrowful
procession which passed their house on its
way to the coach. All the details of this
affair were gruesome. Poor Frank had
been tall, and his corpse could wdth diffi-
culty be laid inside the coach, and then
THE DUEL. 35
only by twisting the feet round in an un-
seemly fashion. Butler and Lumsden got
inside, and at each jolt of the vehicle the
body of their deceased friend moved as if
with life ; the coat slipped off the face and
revealed the beautiful though ghastly
features. The long drive to Craven Street
was almost more than Butler could endure;
for, being a man who posed as a free-
thinker, he was full of superstitious
terrors. He would not have walked
through a churchyard at night; he would
not pass beneath a ladder, he was afraid
to sit down thirteen at table, or to spill
the salt, or to cross knives. And because
he did not believe in the immortality of
the soul he did not dare to be alone with
a dead body. Therefore as soon as they
arrived in Craven Street, and Pratt had
d2
36 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
climbed down from the box, Butler said ta
him,
' You and Lumsden get it up into his
room ; there are several things which I must
see about.'
He went away, leaving the two other
men to make all necessary arrangements.
It was he who had urged Frank to fight ;
but for him this fatal duel would never
have taken place. He went to his lodg-
ings, packed his portmanteau, and ran
down to Brighton for a fortnight, too much
cut up by what had happened to be able
to face any of his usual companions in
London.
Dr. Lumsden undertook to convey the
sad news of the death of their only son to
the bereaved parents in Worcestershire. It
was a melancholy task, but he undertook
THE DUEL. 37
it cheerfully, for it might prove an intro-
duction to a rich and noble family, who
could, if they took a fancy to him, push
him into good practice. And what he
thought possible did actually occur. Dr.
Lumsden of Bruton Street was, ten years
later, a fashionable medical man, and, hav-
ing passed both the College of Surgeons
and the College of Physicians, was able to
attend any case of any kind.
How the duel and its awful result was
written of in the papers, and how it
was talked of in society; how the dead
man's parents grieved long and deeply;
how one fair young girl became a sour and
bitter woman, and lived out a short and
lonely life ; how these events were all re-
corded in the summaries of the year ; how
the titles and the estates which should
38 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
have been Frank's went away to another
branch of the family ; how advertisements
were drawn up and search was made for
Charley ; all these things are they not written
in the Annual Register for 1801 ? If they
are not there written, it is hardly likely
that they are written anywhere else. And
it is not necessary to write of them any
further in these chronicles.
BOOK II.
41
CHAPTER I.
WILLOW G K E E N.
Bravant le monde, et les sots, et les sages,
Sans avenir, fier de mon printemps,
Leste et joyeux, je montais six etages,
Qu'on est bien dans un grenier a vingt ans !
Beranger.
If the reader does not know Willow Green
he should endeavour to do so. It is a bit
of the country surrounded by London, and
very likely to be crushed to death by the
embraces of the monstrous city. Already
the willows have been cut down because
their branches obstructed light or air, or
42 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
fog or soot, or some other necessary of life.
Already the field crossed by footpaths has
been fenced round and laid out with gravel
paths and iron seats. Soon its name will
be altered to Willow Square, or perhaps to
Queen Anne Square, or Burne Jones Gar-
dens. And yet there is still a charm
clinging to it. It is a piece of ground in
the form of an extinguisher, the pointed
end lies towards a high-road on which
omnibuses ply all day and nearly all night,
and close to which are two stations of
suburban railways. On the south side
are several old houses, brown, substantial,
comfortable ; having big trees in front and
large gardens behind. On the north side
there still stands a cottage, of two low
storeys, even now possessing its little
pleasure-grounds fore and aft; it has a
WILLOW GREEN. 43
synagogue as a neighbour, and also various
small sham ' Queen Anne ' houses ; the
west-end trends away towards labourers'
and laundresses' tenements ; and the east-
end, which is the pointed end, is made pic-
turesque by the graceful spire of a Roman
Catholic church. In summer Willow
Green is the resort of all the children of
the neighbourhood, and also of more staid
persons who can there enjoy comparatively
pure air along with their novels and news-
papers, their pipes and their peppermint
drops.
' And a very pleasant lounge it is, Mr.
Howland,' said Mr. Quekett to his friend ;
' I do not know a pleasanter spot unless
you go to Kew.'
' So it is, so it is, for them that uses it
as a pleasure-ground ; but if you was to
44 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
be always on duty, Mr. Quekett, wet and
dry, with prams and babbies and tarriers,
and chaps and gals, and sometimes a
fellow that drunk he can't find his way
home, maybe you'd not think Willow
Green altogether a earthly paradise.'
' True, true,' returned Quekett, 'oh, by
no means a earthly paradise. As you say,
them prams, and chaj^s and gals, and
drunken fellows, makes the place a dis-
grace to the neighbourhood.'
' The place is well enough,' said How-
land, loftily, ' and will be as long as I am
keeper; and as for chaps, I don't think
much of the chaps at your stoodios, nor
of the girls what they call models, not
models of good behaviour some of them.'
Quekett shook his head.
' A bad lot, some of 'em. Some of 'em
WILLOW GREEN. 45
well enough. Them two gents m the
attics ain't the worst sort. Coleman is
that free and easy you'd think he was
your own brother ; and Vereker has a
sort of Yankee way about him which
seems homely-like.'
' Oh, your Coleman ain't much of a gen-
tleman ; and as for Vereker, when he puts
on his grand airs, why, the Prince of Wales
and the Shah of Persia can't hold a candle
to him. I wonder you ain't afraid to speak
to him.'
' Afraid ? Ha ! that would be a joke !
Me that went through the Crimean War.
Have you ever seen my medals, Mr. How-
land ? . Alma, Balaklava, and Sebastopol,
them were my services. I could tell you
tales of the trenches and the Redan would
make your hair stand on end. Talk of
46 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
being afraid of a artist to an old soldier
like me !'
' I was only joking,' said Howland,
looking across the Green towards the
Willow Green Studios ; ' there's Mrs.
Quekett a-beckoning to you ; but you
need not go yet ; I want to hear about
the trenches and SebastopoL'
' Another day, Mr. Howland ; I be-
lieve there's something special for me to
do this afternoon. Coleman and Vere-
ker has both got pictures going into the
Gallery.'
Mrs. Quekett was now beckoning fran-
tically.
' Stay a bit longer, can't you, old man ?
What the deuce are you in such a hurry
for?'
But Quekett's lofty martial demeanour
WILLOW GKEEN. 47
had disappeared, and he shambled away
in obedience to his wife's gestures.
' I thought you were not coming,' she
remarked ; ' I thought perhaps you hked
your tea cold, and your toast got dry with
standing in front of the fire. And a boy
sent out for to come in and do a job for
the attics which would be a shilling in
your pocket. But of course you need not
do it.'
' It's all right, Rosa, I'm ready for my
tea ; and I'll do anything the attics wants
done. It's all right.'
' It ain't all right with you and How-
land gossiping out in the cold wind, and
business going to wreck and ruin. It is
all wrong, I say.'
' So it is,' assented Quekett, making his
way down to the basement in which he
48 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
and his Avife had their quarters, ' it is all
wrong.'
But the tea and toast established peace
between husband and wife. They occupied
a couple of rooms in the basement of the
Willow Green Studios ; Quekett was por-
ter, and Mrs. Quekett was housekeeper,,
and their duties were manifold and
various.
' Yereker said he should want you to
help him with a packing-case, or some-
thing of that kind ; and Coleman said
you'd have to carry his " Windsor Castle '^
to the Gallery.'
' He was joking,' said Quekett ; ' there
never was such a chap for joking. He's
always making you laugh.'
' There you are quite mistaken,' said
the wife, ' Coleman never yet made me
WILLOW GKEEN. 49
laugh. I should just like to see myself
laughing at his clumsy jokes. Did you
ever know me laugh at him ?'
' Well, no, not exactly ; not you, per-
haps, but me. That apple blossom been
to-day, Rosa ? Now, she's a pretty girl,
if you like, so soft and pink, and yaller
hair. There ain't a prettier girl in London
than her.'
' Then I can't say much for your taste,
Mr. Quekett. A girl with freckles, and
ever such a little nose, and great blue eyes
that seem to be always looking at you.
Call her a beauty, indeed !'
' Well, no, Rosa, of course she ain't
no beauty ; but then she is a well-behaved
girl ; not one of them flouncing models
that comes in as bold as brass, and never
gives you good day.'
VOL. I. E
50 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' Good behaviour don't consist in pride,
Mr. Quekett ; when a girl is too proud to
sit down in your kitchen and have a chat
with you, and won't answer civilly if
a gentleman makes her a compliment,
why, I don't see exactly where the good
behaviour is.'
Quekett shook his head.
' Want of early training, Rosa ; that
gal has no manners to speak of. When
I said " well-behaved," I only meant
that she is not so bad as some of 'em.'
' She's the worst of 'em,' said Mrs.
Quekett, draining the last drop of tea into
her husband's cup, ' because she's the
slyest. And if you have eaten all your
toast, I advise you to go up to the attics
and see what Mr. Vereker wants. A shil-
ling never comes amiss to a man. Lor,
WILLOW GKEEN. 51
if I was to spend as much on bongbongs
as you do on baccy, whatever would you
think of me?'
Quekett did not attempt to reply to
this unanswerable question. He slowly
made his way up the wide draughty stone
staircase to the very top of the high red-
brick building. There, at a door, painted
white originally, but latterly decorated
with three figures in the attitudes of the
three Swiss patriots who show so grandly
on the outer wall of a house at Brunnen,
Quekett paused ; he smiled as he recog-
nised Coleman, Vereker, and Sir Frederick
Leighton in those three figures. He
knocked, and a voice roared, ' Come in.'
The attic studio was a large room with
a sloping roof and a skylight. One half
of it was Mr. Coleman's ground, the other
E 2
52 THE IDEAL AKTIST.
half Mr. Verekers. On the one side
everything spoke of the landscape painter;
small sketch-books, boxes of water-colours ^
a model in cork of a water-mill, and above
all half-a-dozen canvases on which trees
and lakes were indicated, showed that
Coleman devoted himself to the study of
Nature. On the other side were bits of
armour, coloured silk scarves, a lay figure,
a sitter's platform and chair, and canvases
bearing heads in various stages of incom-
pleteness ; and this side was Vereker's.
The two young men were at work:
Vereker touching in here and there little
bits of light and shade on a very pretty
picture, three-quarter length, of a fair
young girl holding a branch of apple
blossom which seemed to tone well with
her fair skin and golden-brown hair. The
WILLOW GREEN. 53
pose was simple, the face more interesting
than beautiful.
Coleman was engaged in getting a can-
vas, some three feet by two, into its frame.
Windsor Castle with an autumn sunset
effect was the subject of this picture ;
not a novel subject, nor one treated in a
novel manner ; but sunset is always beau-
tiful, and so is Windsor Castle, and Cole-
man was fairly satisfied with his work.
As to the young men themselves, Vere-
ker was a fine height, and of rather pale,
dark complexion, a good-looking man of
seven-and-twenty, who struck strangers as
being more of the gentleman than Cole-
man who was shorter, stouter, and more
hirsute than his fellow-student. Both
men were in holland-blouses, Coleman
wearing a green velvet cap embroidered
54 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
with gold, and Vereker having his thick
dark hair, worn longer than is usual, in
wild disorder.
' Give me your help here, Quekett,^
cried Coleman to the porter ; ' I can't fix
this frame without assistance. Vereker
there is too deadly in love with his
*' Apple Blossoms " to be able to succour
a friend.'
' You did not ask me to help you,' said
Vereker.
' Because I see you have no eyes for
anyone but that young woman. I say,
Quekett, don't you like my ''Windsor'^
better than his " Blossoms " ?'
' Well, Mr. Coleman,' repHed Quekett,
critically, ' if you ast my candid opinion
I should say that your colouring is ahead
of his. There's a kind of yellerness and
WILLOW GREEN. 55
mellerness about your sky, much like a
orange, which Mr. Vereker ain't got in his
gal's face.'
'But then,' said Vereker, smiling, ' don't
you perceive that my girl is alive ? Can't
you fancy you see her blue eyes glancing
at you, and her rosy lips just parting to
smile at you? I assure you, Quekett,
my department of art is much higher than
his.'
' No doubt of it, sir ; your gal might
walk out of her frame she's that natural ;
whereas " Windsor Castle " looks as if it
had never moved these thousand years,
and didn't mean to move for a thousand
years to come.'
' Quekett,' said Coleman, * are you open
to an offer ? Will you accept the post of
art critic to the Advance Magazine ? Lots
56 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
of work and no pay; quite a chance for
some rising old journalist.'
' You're a gentleman as must always
have his joke. Now, just let me take that
frame in hand.'
As soon as with the porter's help Cole-
man had fixed his picture in its frame he
brought out the expected shilling, saying,
' Toss you, Quekett ; heads or tails ?
Heads you win, tails I lose. There, heads
it is, so be off with you.'
When Quekett was gone, Coleman sat
down by the fire and lighted his pipe ;
then, as the light was failing a little,
Vereker put aside his palette, and threw
himself into the arm-chair opposite that
occupied by his friend. A silence fell
upon them with the twilight. It was some
time before either spoke.
WILLOW GREEN. 57
' I suppose,' said Yereker, at length,
* there is no doubt as to my picture being
hung.'
' How could there be?' replied Coleman,
between the whifFs of smoke ; ' do you
suppose that Sangster and Co. would
venture to reject our productions ?'
' Not yours^ of course, but mine perhaps.
There's no knowing. Just as he is about
to accept the " Apple Blossoms " he'll get
a telegram. He lives on telegrams, does
Sangster.'
' A telegraminivorous animal.'
' I hope some of them are unpleasant
and disagree with him.'
' I hope so ; barbed wires.'
' Coleman,' said the younger man, earn-
estly, ' this is a serious matter with me.
If I fail to make my mark in this year's
58 THE IDEAL AKTIST.
Advance^ I shall think my career at an
end, and my coming to England a mistake/
' Not a bit of it,' returned Coleman ; ' a
career is never at an end. A minister at
eighty-three is young enough to break up
an empire ; a poet at eighty-two furnishes
love-ditties for the rising generation ; and
a Yankee may go on to a hundred '
' I'm no Yankee,' broke in the other ;
' my people have always lived in Boston ;
I flatter myself that I have no Yankee
accent.'
' Just a little twang now and then ; very
jpiquant^ don't you know? But, I say, old
chappie, why did you not stay in America?
Over there they have no painters of world-
wide reputation. You might have been
the Perugino or the Bellini of your
country.'
WILLOW GREEN. 59
Felix Vereker closed his eyes as he
slowly consumed a cigarette.
' I hardly know. Somehow we always
thought of England as " home ;" my father
and mother both had a fixed idea of spend-
ing their old age on this side of the Atlan-
tic. But, as I have told you, my father
died of disease contracted when out in the
war, and my poor mother never seemed
well after his death. I was a mere babe
at my father's death, and only ten years
old when my mother was taken.'
' I wonder where you got your talent?'
said Coleman.
' From my mother's side. Her father
was a fashionable portrait-j)ainter in his
day ; not a Bellini nor a Perugino, nor
even a Reynolds ; but a respectable artist
enough.'
60 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' Did he make any money?'
'Enough to boil the pot,' answered
Vereker; 'not enough to roast the joint,
had there been one to roast. And so when
Lucilla Whitaker married Henry George
Vereker, the son and successor of Charles
Vereker, the great jute and tallow mer-
chant, it was thought that she had made
£i very fine marriage. But my father was
no man of business, his heart was set on
military matters. The jute and tallow
flared up and burnt out, and at my father's
death the business collapsed, leaving a
small income for my mother, which dwin-
dled down to a pittance for me. I have
left about five thousand dollars in the firm
which took over the embers of the Vereker
business, and, if I am ever a rich man, I
shall have made my riches by my brush.'
WILLOW GREEN. 61
' Five thousand — oli, not pounds, dol-
lars — well, yours is a dollar ous tale, my
dear Felix ; but you are a sly fox, and
your value will be known at last by your
brush. And now, as it is 6.30, what about
a wash and brush-up, and dinner ?'
The friends usually dined at a quiet
eating-house which had a bow-window,,
looking out on the river ; a quaint bow-
window, a survival from the real Queen
Anne days.
It was within Mrs. Quekett's power
to cook a meal for her gentlemen, but
as she had no repertoire beyond a beef-
steak or a mutton-chop, her bill of fare
was apt to become monotonous. And then,
what lovely skies were seen from this
bow- window! What effects of golden-
brown tints ! What murky splendour on
62 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
the flowing Thames, what depths of mys-
terious shadow!
Other artists knew of this old-world
restaurant, and one or two literary men,
w^ho lived out Barnes and Putney way,
also took occasional meals there. And on
this particular evening there was an author
already seated, staring at the cruets. He
was not young, nor beautiful, nor even
interesting ; and he was consumed by a
burning desire to publish a three-volume
novel, but the publishers did not recipro-
cate the good intentions with which he for-
warded his manuscripts to them. He told
many stories against himself, and seemed
quite proud of his rejected attempts.
' Yes, a short tale returned from Messrs.
Gryphon and Wyvern,' he said, when
Coleman and Vereker glanced at the
WILLOW GKEEN. 63
papers which lay beside him ; ' and also
the first three chapters of a novel which
I have offered to seven publishers, who
all think it extremely good and well
worth publishing.'
'And when is it coming out?' asked
Coleman, maliciously.
' Oh,' said the author, with much cheer-
fulness, ' as soon as I find a man willing
to undertake it. I sometimes think it is
hard that fame and fortune would be
attainable if only I had a couple of
hundred pounds to spare. Experts as-
sure me that, if I were to bring out my
books, I should have a great success ;
but they all want me to sign agreements
covenanting to pay down more money
than I possess. So what can I do ? I
will not borrow, I must save.'
64 THE IDEAL AETIST.
He turned his attention to the sweet-
bread before him.
' People think,' he continued, presently,
' that literature is such an inexpensive
profession. A ream of sermon-paper, a
dozen j's, a penny bottle of ink, and there
you are. Scott, Thackeray, George Eliot
wanted nothing more. But, when the
book is written, how is it to be brought
before the world? Now, you painters
iind things much easier. True, canvas
costs more than j^aper, brushes more than
pens, and colours more than ink. But
the dealers and the exhibitions don't
charge you two hundred pounds for
showing your work to the public'
'No,' said Vereker; 'but, Tothill, you
do get a lot of stuff published, don't
you ?'
WILLOW GREEN. Q5
' Oh, just a slight thing, now and then,'
the author answered, very modestly ; ' I
got out of the Annual Register a list of
remarkable duels, and I filled in details
from Burke's Peerage and Landed Gentry^
and the Cheaimde gave me ten guineas
for that. At the present moment I have
an article in type for KnocJc-me-down^ a
j)aper on the Use and Abuse of the letter H.
I am afraid it is a little over the heads of
their readers, but I have counted the
lines and I think it will bring me three
guineas. And so we jog along ! A glass
of sherry,' he added, turning to the
little maid in attendance, for the recital
of his success had put him in a festive
humour.
' Ah, Mr. Tothill,' said Coleman, with
a sigh, ' literature, after all, is better paid
VOL. I. r
^6 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
than art. Are you connected in any way
with any Daily or Weekly ?'
' I have clone — reports — paragraphs —
for the Monday Moon'
' Shall you be at the private view of
the Advance Gallery on the 15th of April?'
asked Coleman.
' I will, if I can get an order,' replied
Tothill, his sallow, flabby face lighting
up ; ' I could do fifty lines for the Monday
Moon.'
' I'll try to get an order for you,' said
Coleman, ' and, in return, you must crack
up my landscape and Vereker's figure
as the finest things in the gallery.'
• Of course,' cried Tothill, ' if a critic
might not pick out his friend's work for
commendation, where would be liberty
WILLOW GREEN. 67
oi' judgment, or the freedom of the
press ?'
And, with this poser from the author,
dinner was ended, and the diners went
out into the clear, cold, spring night.
F 2
68
CHAPTER 11.
VARNISH.
— As there are heights
Seen only in the sunset, so our lives, •
If that they lack not loftiness, may wear
A glow of glory on their furrowed fronts
Until they faint and fade into the night.
Alfred Austin.
The last sitting ; the last touch. The little
maiden, white and pink, whose skin was
as apple blossoms, sat for the last time in
Felix Vereker's studio ; and Harry Cole-
man stood once more gazing upon ' Wind-
sor Castle,' and wondering if another gleam
of yellow on the water, or another rook
VARNISH. 69
^against the yellow sky, would add effect
to his picture. Several times that after-
noon Coleman's eyes wandered from his
own canvas to that of his friend, and he
half wished that his genius lay in the por-
trait line rather than in the landscape
direction. For many reasons he wished
it; one cannot sit out sketching in bad
weather; and the weather is almost always
bad for the sketcher ; the sunshine is so
bright that you cannot see your subject ; the
heat is so intense that your colours dry
before you can get them on your paper ;
or the wind upsets your easel and
umbrella ; or the dust makes everything
gritty; or the rain washes all that you
have done into a fog ; or the cold numbs
your fingers so that you cannot hold
pencil or brush. But the portrait painter
70 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
does not sit out of doors ; summer and
winter, rain or shine, his sitters are there
before him, and himself comfortably under
cover. Ah ! his sitters ! — sometimes such
sitters ! The great statesman, the great
scientist, the great soldier, to know such
men is a privilege, and is the privilege of
the great portrait painter. The noble
matron, the lovely child, the beautiful
girl, to gaze at such women is a rapture,
and this rapture is for the portrait painter.
FeHx Vereker had the privilege, the rapture
of gazing on Edith Crane, but he was cold,
unsympathetic, unworthy of the privilege
and the rapture. Vereker could calmly
draw the bow of that rosebud mouth, the
curve of those perfect eyebrows, could mix
his yellows and greens and greys for that
exquisite complexion, and yet regard the
VARNISH. 71
girl as only a model ! While Coleman, at
the other end of the room, could not turn
his eyes towards Edith Crane without a
palpitation of the heart, a trembling of the
hand.
Now that the last sitting had arrived,
and that Edith Crane was about to take
her leave of Willow (Ireen Studios, Harry
Coleman began to know his OAvn heart.
He hated and despised ' Windsor Castle ;'
one living woman, a painter's model, the
daughter of a superanniiated postman,
whose wife was a humble needlewoman,
was worth all the royal residences in
Europe. Modest, gentle, industrious, duti-
ful, intelligent, this lovely Edith Crane
was a paragon ; Harry Coleman, the
seventh son of a small grocer at Whitby,
determined to make a place for himself
72 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
among English painters, resolved to win
fame and Avealth by hard work if not by-
sheer talent, felt himself a fitting suitor
for this beautiful girl, if only he could sell
his pictures and make enough money not
only to boil the pot but fill it with meat
and vegetables.
The last gleam of light, and the last
rook being finally settled, Coleman strolled
across to Yereker's easel, and watched
that cold-blooded monster touching in soft
shadows here and there, with no more feel-
ing than if Miss Crane had been a martelio
tower, and the artist a house-agent's
draughtsman.
' Your last sitting. Miss Edith ?' said
Coleman.
' Yes, Mr. Coleman,' replied the girl, in
a pretty voice, and with little of the hard
VARNISH. 73
London accent ; ' all the gentlemen down-
stairs have done Avith me. and Nellie and
I will not have to come here any more.'
' I've got some chocolate for Nellie,' said
Vereker ; ' I think I shall paint her next.
I have an idea of a Prince Arthur, and a
girl does best for a boy's head. There,
Miss Crane, I have finished ; wish me good-
luck.'
He laid down his brushes.
' I do wish you good luck, sir,' said the
girl ; ' I hope they will like your picture,
and buy it, and give a good price for it.'
She was putting on a cloth jacket trimmed
with shabby grey fur, and a large hat on
which some uncurled feathers stood in wild
attitudes. However much Vereker liked
her for a model, he felt the lack in her of
that inborn refinement which only comes
74 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
of heredity. Coleman, on the other hand,
a true Bohemian, found the girl all that he
could wish. Your true Bohemian does not
nicely weigh small social differences, or even
great ones ; your sham Bohemian does.
Coleman thought the daughter of a postman
and a dressmaker quite his social equal.
Nor did he feel himself inferior to Vereker,
for all Master Felix's aristocratic ways.
These two men had drifted together in Lon-
don, and the friendship between them was
that of the Bohemian brotherhood. Yere-
ker did not perceive Coleman's intense
admiration for Edith Crane.
' Good-bye, then,' said Felix to the girl,
shaking hands with her ; ' I do hope your
portrait will be appreciated by the Advance-
people. Here is the chocolate for Nellie.
Good-bye.'
VAENISH. 75
He put a packet of chocolate and a packet
of money into Edith's hand, and held open
the door for her to pass out. Coleman
had got out on the small lobby, and went
down the stairs before her.
' I wish I was a portrait painter. Miss
Edith. But this is not an eternal farewell.
When the warm weather comes we will go
out in boats, and gather water-lilies, and
have pic-nics on the banks.'
Edith smiled.
' May Nellie come too ? She has never
been on the river? And if mother gets
better she might come too.'
' I don't know if I should be equal
to the whole family,' replied Coleman,
rather ungraciously ; ' well, good-bye,
good-bye.'
These words he said in a fervent tone,
76 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
and held her two little hands, chocolate,
money, and all.
Quekett was at the open hall-door, hav-
ing just taken in a parcel for one of the
ground-floor tenants. He beheld the adieux
of these young people, and thought it a
good thing that his wife did not see them ;
she might have formed strong opinions and
expressed them.
' Not a bad thing them sittings is over,
Mr. Coleman,' said the porter, looking after
Edith Crane as she walked quickly away ;
' young girls sitting to be stared at by
young gents is not quite what I would
like for my own daughters if I had any.'
' Why, you old Philistine, it is the best
kind of life possible for a young girl. She
gets a healthy walk coming here, she gets
a good rest sitting here, she gets a hand-
VARNISH. 77
ful of silver for her services, and she gets
another healthy walk going home. Is not
that all very good for a young girl ?'
' Well, yes, as you put it, Mr. Coleman ;
yes, I don't know as a young gal could do
better.'
Mrs. Quekett's voice was heard calling
to her husband not to waste his time gos-
siping ; he took up the parcel and carried
it to its owner while Coleman slowly
mounted the many stairs feeling that the
light was duller, and life gloomier now
that Edith Crane would be no more in the
joint studio.
He painted nothing that day. He hired
a bicycle and went for a long ride into the
country. Vereker also kept holiday. He
turned over all his personal possessions ;
a few charms and rings which had be-
78 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
longed to his parents, a miniature and an
old watch come down from some ancestor,
a few coins and bits of china picked up
on his travels, and innumerable sketches
in pencil, chalk, water-colours, oils, which
he knew to be of no value, and yet could
not bring himself to destroy. At this
time Felix Vereker believed himself de-
stined to become a power in art, a leader
in intellect; he intended to make his name
in England, and then to return to America
with his honours blazoned on his forehead,
and a tag of initial letters after his name. ,
Every young man who is worth his salt
cherishes similar dreams, though at times
his heart sinks and he moans to himself
that he is a very common-place person,
with only a small amount of talent, and
no claim nor hope to be anything great or
VARNISH. 79
even remarkable. And then he turns to
again, and picks up his brush or his pen,
his scalpel or his wig, his sword or his
trowel, and he strives on manfully towards
the unattainable heights. ' A man's reach
should exceed his grasp.' And who
would be content to think himself a
' perfect painter ' ?
On the day when they chartered a cab
and took their pictures to the Advance
Gallery, both Vereker and Coleman fell
into a fit of depression. The entrance of
the gallery was blocked up with pictures,
all of them the work of young men. No
man over thirty years of age could be
admitted a member of this gallery; though,
once admitted, he might remain a member
to the end of his life. The president was
Eugene Sangster, who wore his hair quite
80 THE IDEAL AKTIST.
long on his shoulders, and usually had
two ' buttonholes,' a flower displayed on
either side of his coat.
Eugene Sangster, P.A.G., was super-
intending the entrance of pictures, when
Coleman and Vereker arrived with their
contributions to the general mass. He
w^as small and slight, dressed in the very
neatest and nattiest suit of steel-grey, and
two white narcissi shone on either side of
his white satin necktie. The inventory
of Sangster's peculiarities and affectationij
would take too much space ; suflice it to
say that they were numerous. He was
adored and reviled, fawned upon and
scofl'ed at ; he w^as a bachelor, his mother
was Lady Maria Sangster, he had a private
income, he had talent amounting to genius,
he was extremely vain, and extremely
good-natured.
VAENISH. 81
' There is the Pag!' whispered Coleman
to Vereker ; ' I have something to say to
him.'
The P.A.G. was within the turnstiles,,
Coleman outside them. Approaching
those sacred gates, Coleman said, ' How
goes it, Eugene Sangster, with you to-day ?
Is there any hope that space may be found
for my humble production T
' Oh. yes, yes,' responded Sangster, who
lisped ; ' oh, yes, there may be space ; I
will make a note, Harry Coleman, that
your picture shall be hung, if possible.*
With a gold pencil set with turquoise he
wrote on a sheet of pink paper. ' But,
you see, we are overwhelmed with applica-
tions for space. Art is advancing; we
advance it ; it grows beneath our fostering
influence.'
VOL. I. G
82 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' You say sooth,' remarked Coleman ;
* and do we not advance also the interests
of these porters and ' carpenters, who so
busily are employed in carrying our
works of art? By my halidom, Master
Eugene Sangster, you are vastly to
be '
But Harry's oration was cut short by
the corner of somebody's picture being
poked in between his shoulder blades.
Sangster never quite knew how to receive
Coleman's remarks, whether as affectation
of a different kind from his own, or as
impertinent jesting. Therefore the P.A.G.
was not sorry to turn away and interview
another aspirant to a place on the walls of
the gallery.
A few days later Coleman and Vereker
each received a printed notice that his
VARNISH. 83
picture was accepted, and that he had
better attend at the gallery on the 5th or
6th of April, in order to varnish his paint-
ing and to make sure that it had not been
injured in the process of hanging. On
this occasion the friends took a hansom
and drove up in style to the Advance.
Coleman had fastened three huge bunches
of primroses to the front of his coat ; but
Vereker had pulled them off, and presented
them to Mrs. Quekett. Still, without any
decorations, both young men were in high
spirits, being quite confident of selling
their pictures and of receiving commis-
sions. About a hundred other artists were
full of the same confidence.
No one was ' skied ' at the Advance ;
you were either well hung, or not hung
at all. Vereker found ' Apple Blossoms *
g2
84 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
on the line, looking very pretty and fresh
and spring-like, a very taking little com-
position. ' Windsor Castle ' was above the
line, but in a capital light, and Coleman
had no cause of complaint. All around
were young painters with varnish, which
was to improve perfection : for every pic-
ture was perfect — in theory. Eugene
Sangster, wearing two great spikes of
hyacinth, went about smiHng and distri-
buting cards of admission to the private
view on the 15th instant.
' It is a mercy,' said Coleman to Yere-
ker, ' that the Pag is not as great an idiot
as he looks. Have you seen his " Queen
Eleanor " ? It is perfectly fiendish, every-
thing wrong; but there's such stuff in it,
such vigour and grandeur, that you feel
as frightened as ever Rosamond did.'
VARNISH. 85
' We must get our cards,' said Vereker ;
* here, Sangster, I want one of your paste-
boards. Oh, by George ! green type on
green paper. Rather a new departure, is
it not? Thanks. When is the Advaiice
Magazine to be started?'
' As soon as we have the sinews of war,'
answered Sangster ; ' we think of forming
a syndicate to bring it out. It must be
financed, edited, written, and illustrated by
members of this gallery.'
' If you have not fixed on the editor,
may I mention '
' I shall be editor myself,' lisped
Sangster.
'Then as a contributor, may I men-
tion '
' Everything will be judged on its own
merits.'
86 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' May I liave a card for him T
Sangster, whose thoughts were fixed
on a very large woman who had sent in
a very small drawing of a tuft of forget-
me-nots, gave Vereker a second card, and
tripped across the room. This second
card was for poor Tothill, who would ' do '
the Advance Gallery Exhibition for the
Monday Moon^ and thereby earn a few:
shillings.
Coleman had received his card of ad-
mission to the private view, and was
standing with some other irreverent j)er-
sons who found something to laugh at,
not only in their small president and his
large female friend of whom he evidently
was much in awe, but also in each other's
pictures. Smith's flesh-tints were leath-
ery ; Brown's anatomy was nowhere ;
VARNISH. 87
Jones's sea was pea-soup ; Robinson's
mountains were hard ; Coleman's trees
were ' green lumps lolling about the coun-
try ;' Vereker's 'Apple Blossom' was
grown in the Burlington Arcade ; and yet,
collectively, the members of the Advance
Gallery formed the finest body of artists
who had ever been banded together, who
made the old fossils at Burlington House
turn green with envy and shake in their
shoes.
Greatly as the pictures differed in
quality and size, in faults and in beauties,
yet they differed even more in price.
The P.A.G. had put two hundred pounds
on his huge ' Queen Eleanor,' one hundred
on his ' Toadstools,' fifty on his ' Inhabitants
of the Disused Belfry.' The stout lady '
priced her ' Forget-me-nots ' (six inches by
88 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
four) at seventy-five pounds. Coleman
hoped to get thirty pounds for his ' Windsor
Castle;' and Vereker only asked twenty
for ' Apple Blossoms.' But then, as was
often reproachfully cast at him, Vereker
was a fellow with private income.
' I don't care about a long price at first,'
he explained to Coleman, as they walked
home after the varnishing, ' I want to
make my name very quietly and humbly,
and then, when it is made, I can raise my
prices to anything I like.'
' But I,' said Coleman, ' I want high
prices first and last. I can't afi*ord to
wait.' He was thinking of Edith Crane.
89
CHAPTER III.
THE DE VERES.
Why were they proud ? again we ask aloud,
Why in the name of glory were they proud ?
Isabella ; or the Pot of Basil. Keats.
It was commonly said of the Countess of
Lillebonne that she was the proudest
woman in England. She had been Lady
Clara Willoughby, and proud enough as
a girl ; when she married Eustace de Vere,
Earl of Lillebonne, she increased in pride
until she attained to such a height of
haughtiness that she looked down upon
90 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
every royal family in Europe. The de
Veres had coine over with the Conqueror,
but their lineage went back in Norman
records, and beyond Norman records, to
times far earlier than the Christian era.
The name itself was as old as Truth ; vera
is the Italian for true. The de Veres
were the people of Truth, the true people.
As long as Truth had existed, so long had
the de Veres existed ; if there ever was
a time when Truth was not honoured, then
there may have been a time when the de
Veres were not held in honour. Why,
the word revere pointed to the honour in
which the de Veres have ever been held.
Perhaps had Lady Lillebonne been born
a Vere de Vere she might not so have
insisted on her j)osition.
For Lord Lillebonne w^as by no means.
THE DE VERES. 91
SO proud as his wife ; or, if he was, he
was too proud to show his pride. He was
an elderly man of noble presence, but
afflicted with much nervousness which
sometimes made him shy and awkward,
and at other times drove him into a re-
action of self-assertion which astonished
his most intimate friends. Lord Lille-
bonne was a great trial to his wife, as
husbands always are to their wives. But
she had to put up with him, because with-
out him she could not have been a do
Vere, or Countess of Lillebonne.
The lady had four other trials : her two
sons and her two daughters. Of her sons
not much need be said. The elder, Francis
Edward, Lord Senlac, was quite wanting
in pride, and his mother was in mortal
terror lest he should marry some one out
92 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
of a shop or a music-hall. He was in the
Guards, and his family saw little of him.
The second son, Eustace, was also in the
army, but in a line regiment now quar-
tered in Ireland ; a good-natured, rather
stupid and extravagant young man.
Lady Clara Vere de Vere deserves a
paragraph to herself. She was tall, stately,
dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a fine figure,
beautiful hands and feet, and manners as
haughty as her mother's. At this time
Lady Clara — the eldest of the family —
had passed her thirtieth birthday. Xo
woman supposes that she looks her age ;
and Lady Clara believed that the world
thought her younger than her brothers.
Some three years previously a very un-
pleasant incident had disturbed Lady
Clara's life. She had spent the winter
THE DE VERES. 93
at the chief family seat, Mont Veraye,
near Malvern, and had found time hang
so heavy on her hands that she had be-
guiled it by beguiling a young farmerly
fellow of the neighbourhood into loving
her. Her beautiful dark eyes, her gentle
voice, had due effect upon the youth, and
in the hunting-field, at the County Ball^
at the parochial entertainments, he was
ever at her side. Lady Clara amused her-
self with his attentions, thinking no more
of them than she did of the fawnings of
her dog. But it is possible to break a
dog's heart, and it was possible to break
young Laurence's heart. One evening,
when Mont Veraye was open to an omnium
gatherum of Lord Lillebonne's tenants, ac-
quaintances, and political sympathisers,
Laurence declared his love. Lady Clara
94 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
turned upon him witli the one word,
' you !' and walked away. Laurence ^ot
home that night. He lived in an old-
fashioned, big farmhouse with his mother,
who never went to parties. Next morn-
ing when he did not appear at breakfast
his mother went to his room. She found
him, in his evening dress, with a gaping
wound across his throat, and a photograph
of Lady Clara Vere de Vere in his dead
hand. The mother burst into wild abuse
of the woman who had murdered the be-
loved only son ; jilt was the mildest term
which the miserable, bereaved creature
could bring herself to utter. It was a
wretched time for Lady Clara ; there was
an inquest ; the local papers used harsh
language; the neighbours gave the boy
quite a public funeral : even in London
THE DE VERES. 95
Lady Clara's conduct was condemned ;
the Monday Moon advised her to fill up
her spare time in teaching orphans to
read and to sew ; and the most eligible
men of the next London season seemed
repelled rather than attracted by her hard,
dark beauty.
Lady Flora Vere de Vere was the
youngest of the family, and was now just
two-and-twenty. She was fair, with a
delicate complexion and hair of a rich
ruddy gold. Her eyes were either grey
or green, or some other soft shade, no
matter Avhich. She was not a girl to dis-
cuss piecemeal ; she was one to love.
Having been kept back in the nursery
while her sister was shown off in society,
she had retained an innocence of mind and
manner which drove her mother distracted,
96 THE IDEAL AETIST.
and also — though in another sense — drove
several gentlemen distracted. She did not
know that she had refused two or three
offers ; for she did not look out for such
things, and her unconscious reception of
the strongest hints made the hinters feel
themselves rejected before they had fin-
ished urging their suits.
Lord Lillebonne posed as a patron of
Art. He and his family were invited to
all private views. A large pale-green
card printed in large dark-green type came
to him by post ; with it was another of
pale-blue with dark-blue type for Lady
Lillebonne, and a third of pale-pink with
deep rose type for the Ladies Clara and
Flora Yere de Yere.
' Ha ! the Advance Gallery Exhibition/
said Lord Lillebonne to the ladies : ' that
THE DE VERES. 97
is one of the most delightful functions of
the spring.'
' I suppose we must go,' said the coun-
tess ; ' our absence would be commented
on.'
'And you will explain the pictures to
me, will you not ?' said Lady Flora to her
father ; ' I should so like to know the
difference between a good picture and a
bad one.'
' The worst of these places,' remarked
Lady Clara, ' is that one meets such extra-
ordinary people. One wonders where they
can have come from, and whether they are
really human beings.'
' They come from studios and schools of
art,' explained Lady Lillebonne, ' and it
can do us no possible harm to meet them.'
So, when the day came, the party from
VOL. I. H
98 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
Eaton Place got into their carriage and
drove to the Advance Gallery. There was
not a line of carriages, but, ever and anon,
a landau, a brougham, a victoria, drove up
and deposited its occupants at the door.
A stream of unfortunate people on foot
was flowing continuously through the turn-
stiles ; and when Lady Lillebonne led her
party into the first long narrow room, down
the middle of which ran a sort of crystal
horse-trough in which gold-fish disported
themselves, she was actually j)ressed uj)on
by the crowd. She put up her double
eyeglass and stared at the people.
'Very strange that Mr. Sangster does
not come to receive us !' she said to her
eldest daughter.
And then she saw the P.A.G. struggling
through the multitude. He was clothed
THE DE VERES. 99
in brown velvet — not velveteen — and his
waistcoat was embroidered with gold. His
flowers to-day were two full-blown Mare-
chal Niel roses. Sangster w^as anxious to
revive the mediseval decollete style of dress
for men ; and on this occasion he had gone
as near it as modern prejudices and tailors
would allow. He had a courteous word
for the Lillebonne party; but not many
such Avords ; dukes and marquises awaited
him in other parts of the gallery, and he
was the host, the cynosure of London, that
day, as he felt very deeply.
' I wonder who is here?' said Lady Lille-
bonne, when Sangster had passed on ; ' I
see Lady Sackbutt on the other side of the
•fish-pond ; and I should not be surprised
if we met Sir Ronald Stanley. I hear that
he has returned from the East, but so
h2
100 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
changed that his own brother did not
know him. Ah, Mr. Pigot, how do you
do?'
Sir Ronald Stanley was supposed to be
the great match of the season. His
baronetcy was one of the most ancient in
existence, and his income one of the larg-
est in England ; for he had been only a
few months old when his father died, and
the twenty years' minority had had the
effect of enormously increasing his pro-
perty. Lady Clara did not deign to look
about for Sir Ronald, but she noted every
young man whose face was unfamiliar to
her. When she saw a tall, well-made
fellow with an easy swing of movement,
and a glance which seemed to pass over
the heads of those around him, she made
up her mind that he was Sir Ronald, whom
THE DE VERES. 101
•she remembered as a thick-set lad of eigh-
teen, and who must have been wonderfully-
improved by his many years of sojourning
in the East. But the tall young man was
only Felix Vereker.
Lady Lillebonne's glasses fixed them-
selves upon a person who shocked all her
ideas of right and wrong ; a person male
as to sex, shabby as to dress, eccentric as
to manner, and evidently altogether out of
his sphere. He carried a catalogue, and
made notes in it of all the pictures ; some
of them he examined carefully, and of
these he wrote a good deal; others he
only glanced at, and of these he wrote
little. Lady Lillebonne at first thought
that he might be a dealer ; afterwards
she came to the conclusion that he was
one of those country gentlemen who
102 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
come to town in the spring and buy up
pictures at small prices, and keep them
buried in the country ; then when this
half-crazy person dies it is found that his
house contains priceless treasures of art,
and his next-of-kin — he never marries —
sells them and becomes a very rich man.
But the shabby person was only Tothill
making notes for an article in the Mondai/
Moon. The countess Avould have been
furious if she had known that Tothill had
made a note of herself, her style and title,
her bonnet, mantle, and gown, all for the
Monday Moon. He was sent to notice
people, as well as pictures, present at this
private view.
At length Lady Lillebonne and her elder
daughter subsided into seats in the upper
gallery, where the great pictures of the
THE DE VERES. 103
year were arranged in artistic fantasies.
A sunny landscape by the P.A.G. was
placed between a large cage of canaries
and a small fountain of rose-water. A
moonli2:lit view of Venice bv a risino^
F.A.G. could only be approached through
a dark closet, and only seen by the glimmer
which fell through an aperture filled in
with grey glass. The huge ' Queen
Eleanor' was placed behind a bower
twined with real ivy, and stuck about Avith
hyacinths, jonquils, marguerites, and other
flowers, all real, for the A.G. abominated
anything artificial except its own President
and Fellows. The '■ Forget-me-nots ' of the
stout lady were surrounded by mirrors.
In fact, as Lady Lillebonne observed to
Lady Lollington, who was sitting beside
her, the entire thing was got up in the
104 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
manner of the Wiertz Gallery in Brussels ;
quaint surprises and strange devices were
sprung upon the visitor in every direction.
Lady Lollington quite agreed with her
friend.
' But the Musee Wiertz is a larger room
than this, I think ; and I fancy they have
no private views there. I don't remember
meeting anyone there whom one would
care to speak to.'
' Oh, I did not mean any similarity in
that way. And I am sure M. Wiertz is
not at all so charming as Mr. Sangster.
Dear Mr. Sangster gets together so many
nice people, and always has such very
good tea. I should think the tea-room
must be open by this time. Clara, if Ave
could see your father and Flora we might
go and have tea.'
THE DE VERES. 105
' Yes, we might,' replied Clara, languid-
ly ; then, as ^ Felix Yereker passed just
before them, she said to Lady Lollington,
' do you know if that tall, dark man is Sir
Ronald Stanley?'
' Oh, dear no !' laughed the other lady,
' Sir Ronald is a little squat, dumpy
fellow, who looks like a comic actor. I
have no idea who that man may be. I
have never met him anywhere.'
By the above scraps of their conver-
sation it will have been seen how much
these three ladies were enjoying the pic-
tures in the Advance Gallery.
106
CHAPTER IV.
THE PKIVATE VIEW.
Faut-il se condamnee a I'ignorance pour conserver I'espoir T
Emile Souvestre.
While Lady Lillebonne and her daughter
Clara Avere enjoying the pictures after
their fashion, the Earl and Lady Flora
were amusing themselves in quite another
way. With a catalogue in his hand, Lord
Lillebonne moved slowly from canvas to
canvas, making his remarks in a low voice
to his daughter, fearful lest his praise or
his blame might wound the feelings of
THE PEIVATE VIEW. 107
some young artist. He passed by the
' Queen Eleanor ' embowered in real ivy
and jonquils ; he hardly glanced at the
' Venice ' in the dark closet, or at the
* Forget-me-nots ' among the mirrors ; but
he paused before a seascape and pointed
out the movement of the water, and the
deep transparent green under the curled-
over crest of the wave.
' How do you get that transparent,
watery look ?' asked Flora, in a whisper,
dreading lest anyone should overhear her
ignorance.
Of course Lord Lillebonne did not
know how to paint ; he only knew how
to admire good painting.
He lingered at a view on the Thames
Embankment, in which the sun shone
more brightly than he often shines in
108 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
London. Flora wanted to know how
they got that look of heat on the buildings.
Again Lord Lillebonne confessed his
ignorance; he supposed by contrast, or
by using yellow paint. They came op-
posite Coleman's ' Windsor Castle ;' the
subject is always charming, and they
stood admiring it.
Beside them came Tothill the shabby.
He knew the earl by sight, and now cast
about for an opportunity of speaking to
him. The great disadvantage of non-
success is that a man's whole heart grows
to fix itself on success. And Tothill was
ready to stoop to almost any vileness
short of crime which might help him on
his way.
' I like that very much,' said Lady
Flora, as she looked up to the ' Windsor
THE PRIVATE VIEW. 109
Castle;' 'it makes one think of the sum-
mer evenings when Senlac used to take
us on the river from Eton. Who is the
painter?'
Lord Lillebonne had turned over two
pages of the catalogue, and could not find
the number he wanted. He fumbled with
the leaves and grew nervous.
'I really can't tell you, I can't see;
something wrong somewhere.'
Tothill saw his chance.
' Allow me, my lord ; that picture is
by Harry Coleman, whom I am happy to
count among my friends.'
' Thank you, sir,' said Lord Lillebonne,.
much flurried at being addressed by a
stranger.
He would have moved on, but Tothill
spoke again.
110 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' A fine work of art, and one which your
lordship does well to admire. I am mak-
ing notes of the best pictures, with a view
to publishing them in one of the leading
journals, and if I might add your lord-
ship's opinions to my own I should be
much pleased.'
' Oh, yes, no,' Lillebonne stammered, ' I
really know nothing of art practically.
Excuse me, I am very ignorant.'
Lady Flora, supposing Tothill to be some
experienced critic, some great authority,
or distinguished litterateur^ began to listen
to him Avith attention; which her father
perceiving, hngered a little in order to
please the girl. Then Tothill set to work
to confuse her utterly Avith the shibboleths
of modern art, and when he had talked for
some ten minutes she was fully convinced
THE PRIVATE VIEW. Ill
that Coleman was the most rising artist of
the day, and Tothill the most eminent of
the new order of journalists.
' And if your ladyship will permit me,'
he continued, ' I will point out to you one
or two other pictures as magnificent in con-
ception and as perfect in execution as Cole-
man's " Windsor Castle." Oh, we need
not despair of art while we have such men
among us. There are those who tell us
that luxury is sapping the foundations of
our Empire, that art can only flourish in
dry and barren ground, that the increase
of knowledge is the destruction of aesthetics,
that it is only the ignorant who hope in the
future — believe it not!'
' Thank you, sir, good-day,' said Lord
Lillebonne, with one of his sudden bursts
of self-assertion, as putting his hand on his
112 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
daughter's arm he drew her away from the
critic ; ' that man is insufferable. How
dare he accost you ?'
' Oh, father,' said Flora, ' I am afraid he
is very poor : he has no cuffs.'
' Poverty is no excuse for impertinence,'
said the earl.
' He did not mean to be impertinent, I
am sure. I do wish I knew some people
who really understood art !'
Tothill stood where they had left
him.
^ My lord,' he muttered, with his teeth
closed, ' rank is no excuse for impertinence.
You may look down on the poor author,
but he has no such ghastly secret as you
have. Everyone knows that you have in
your family cupboard a monstrous skeleton,
which terrifies you more than anyone else.
THE PEIVATE VIEW. 113
Now, you may lock that cupboard, and
ignore that skeleton, but if you make an
enemy of the literary man you Avill have
to deal with a difficult adversary. Why
should I not hunt out your secret, and
publish it ? It would make splendid copy
for the " society " papers. " The Skeleton of
Mont Veraye," orof " Strathtartan Castle,"
will be a capital title.'
Tothill was quite absorbed in his rage
and his prospects of ' copy,' and stood in
the midst of the well-dressed throng, un-
conscious that anyone was near him. He
was recalled from his visions by the sound
of Yereker's voice.
' What is the matter ? You look as if
you were composing an ode.'
' Boys,' he said, solemnly to Vereker and
Coleman, 'there is a man here, a monster^
VOL. I. I
114 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
who requites with ingratitude my efforts to
instruct his ignorant daughter.'
' Who is it?' asked Vereker; ' but don't
speak so loud.'
' He calls himself the Earl of Lille-
bonne,' returned Tothill ; ' but I call him
a conceited ass. Does a man understand
art merely because he is an earl ? Should
a man be impertinent to literature merely
because he is a peer?'
' Which is the man?' enquired Coleman.
Tothill pointed out Lillebonne in the
throng ; Vereker saw that a young lady
was with the impertinent peer.
'He would have bought your "Wind-
sor " presently, had he waited a few
minutes longer. I had almost sold it for
you. Now he has lost his chance of it,
and he has made me his enemy. He does
THE PRIVATE VIEW. 115
not know who I am, and how I can devour
him, though he is an earl.'
' In fact,' said Coleman, laughing, ' you
are the voracious vulture who will devour
the early worm.'
Tothill looked superior to a pun, and
walked away.
Lord Lillebonne and Flora had gone on
as far as the 'Apple Blossoms.' There
they made a pause, for it caught the earl's
eye, and pleased him. It was, without
question, a very pretty, graceful picture,
and the colouring Avas so much that of his
favourite daughter that Lord Lillebonne
felt instantly much taken with it. He
looked from the ruddy-gold hair in the
2)icture to the ruddy-gold hair beneath the
little green bonnet ; he looked from Edith
Crane's soft hazel eyes to the soft hazel
i2
116 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
eyes beside him ; lie saw tlie warm white
skin on the canvas and the warm white
skin of the living girl ; and then it came
into his mind that Flora would make a
very pretty picture. Clara had been paint-
ed twice, and photographed and engraved
many times ; but since Flora had been
grown up her likeness had not been done
in any way worth preserving.
' I do like that very much/ said the
father, comparing the two bright young
heads.
'What a pretty girl !' said Flora; 'do
you suppose that the people who sit to
artists are really as lovely as they are
painted?'
' I imagine,' replied Lord Lillebonne^
' that artists correct any defects which they
may find in their models. But a clever
THE PRIVATE VIEW. 117
portrait-painter will manage to preserve
the likeness while correcting the defects.
I should think that the model who sat for
this picture was an extremely pretty girl.'
He read and re-read the entry in the
catalogue — ' Apple Blossoms ' . . . Felix
Yereker.' He did not know the name of
Vereker as a painter, so he turned to the
list of exhibitors, and found, 'Vereker,
Felix, Willow Green Studios.' But he did
not know where Willow Green might be.
' I should just like to ask the price of
this picture,' he said to Flora, as he looked
round for some one of whom to inquire.
A young man of clerkly aspect sat at a
small table with piles of catalogues and
written papers before him. When Lille-
bonne inquired the price of ' Apple Blos-
soms,' the young man took up a catalogue
118 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
in which appeared the price of every pic-
ture, jotted down in pencil. He turned
over the pages until he came to what he
was seeking, and then he said, • Twenty
pounds,' in a very contemptuous voice ;
for how could a clerk respect a painter
who only priced his picture at twenty
pounds ?
' I should like to buy it,' said Lord Lille-
bonne ; ' at least, if the artist cares to sell it.'
' Artists are generally glad to sell their
pictures,' said the young man, making a
cabalistic mark in the catalogue ; ' you will
have to give your name and pay down half
the price.'
Now the earl had not ten pounds in his^
pocket; he grew red and fidgety, and
stammered out,
' I have no money with me, except a
THE PKIVATE VIEW. 119
few shillings ; perhaps I could speak to
Mr. Vereker.'
The clerk shrugged his shoulders and
looked about the room, which was clearing
a good deal as the tea-hour approached ;
not seeing Vereker, he went up on the
short flight of marble stairs towards the
upper gallery, but on them he met Vereker,
who was growing tired of the crowd and
thinking of getting out into the air.
' There's an old fellow wanting to buy
your "Apple Blossoms," but he has no
money with him. You had better come
and speak to him.'
Felix followed the clerk to the table,
and as soon as he saw Lady Flora he felt
that here was a girl of whom he could
paint a picture even prettier than that
which he was about to sell.
120 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
Lord Lillebonne was fingering his
shaggy grey moustache.
' Oh, Mr. Vereker, I beg your pardon,
but if you would allow me I should be
very glad to possess your " Apple
Blossoms." '
' I shall be only too happy to sell it,' an-
swered Vereker ; ' I think I am speaking to
Lord Lillebonne ?'
' Yes. I am much pleased with the
little picture ; it is very pretty. Unfor-
tunately, I have neither money nor cheque
with me ;' he was rubbing one thin hand
over the other with a nervous action, and
his white face had taken a flush of shame.
• It is of no consequence whatever,' said
Vereker; then turning to the clerk he
added, ' please mark my picture as sold to
Lord Lillebonne.'
THE PRIVATE VIEW. 121
' Thank you, thank you,' said the earl,
apparently much relieved ; ' here is my
card,' which he fumbled out of an old card-
case ; ' and, perhaps, Mr. Vereker, you could
make it convenient to call uopn me some
morning.'
Felix replied that he should be most
happy to do so ; and all the time he was
talking to the father he took occasional
glances at the daughter, seeing in her not
only such beauty as he had seen in Edith
Crane, but also that stamp of high birth,
that cachet of nobility, which is seldom
wanting in the women of the English aris-
tocracy. A duchess is not always beauti-
ful, but she generally looks like a duchess.
' A very interesting exhibition,' said
Lillebonne, becoming more at his ease
with young Vereker, ' very interesting ; a
122 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
good deal of affectation among some of
your members, but, on the whole, very in-
teresting. I am very ignorant on the
subject, but it certainly appears to me
that the knowledge and the love of art are
increasing very largely among us.'
Vereker bowed.
Lord Lillebonne went on.
' I remember what passed as art in the
days of my childhood. The illustrated
books of that period would not now be
placed in the hands of the poorest children.
The coloured prints which used to please
the middle-classes would not now be hung
on a costermonger's wall. They still linger
in out-of-the-way villages, but only as
curiosities, and I would venture to ask,
and I am hopeful that some one will con-
tradict me if I am wrong '
THE PRIVATE VIEW. 12^
Flora saw that her father was getting
into what she called his ' House of Lords
manner,' which consisted in rambling on
in a drily didactic style, which wearied
those who tried to listen to it.
' Father,' she said, softly, ' do you think
Mr. Vereker would point out to us some of
the best things here ?'
' With the greatest pleasure,' cried
Felix.
His alacrity alarmed the earl.
' No, my dear, I think your mother and
sister must be waiting for us somewhere.'
Glancing round the room he saw that
they three were the only occupants of it ;
even the clerk had retired to some private
den.
' I think,' said Vereker, boldly, ' that
the rest of your party have gone to the
124 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
tea-room. Allow me to show you the
way.'
Nothing loth, Flora let herself be es-
corted by the young artist, and her poor
father had no choice but to follow; he
could not allow her to be carried quite
away from him. Arrived at the tea-room,
they met a stream of people coming away
from it ; but still there was a large assem-
blage of ladies and gentlemen, and a con-
siderable clatter of cups and saucers. The
earl caught sight of the purple feathers in
his wife's bonnet, and was re-assured.
' Wait here a moment,' said Vereker to
Lady Flora, ' and I will bring you some tea.'
He went away, and shortly afterwards
returned with tea for both Flora and her
father. Then he brought bread-and-butter
and cakes ; and Lillebonne, who was de-
THK PRIVATE VIEW. 125
voted to afternoon-tea, felt his heart warm-
ing towards the young man, who was,
moreover, good-looking, gentlemanly, and
altogether attractive. It did not strike
him — such things never do strike fathers —
that perhaps Flora might also find Felix
Vereker attractive. He ate his bread-and-
butter and drank his tea while Felix
discoursed, chiefly on art. Flora listening
with both ears. She caught an occasional
intonation Avhich sounded like an echo
from across the Atlantic, but the sound
was not unpleasant; indeed it was very
piquant. People streamed away, and the
tea-room became half-empty, and still the
Lillebonne party were all there, though in
two divisions.
' Who is that man talking to your sis-
ter ?' the earl asked of Flora.
126 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
But Flora did not know : a short, squat
little fellow, with a parchmenty yellow
face, colourless hair and moustache, and
yet with a curious twinkle of humour in
his pale eyes.
Almost at the same moment. Lady
Lillebonne, Clara, and their ugly com-
panion moved towards the door, and the
^arl. Flora, and Yereker stood up from
their seats.
' We really must be going,' said the
countess to her husband ; ' this is Sir
Ronald Stanley. I think you knew his
father.'
' Yes, I did,' said Lillebonne, who had
no pleasant recollections of the late bar-
onet ; ' let me introduce Mr. Yereker.'
Mutual bows, and then a general move-
ment to get away. In the hall Yereker
THE PKIVATE VIEW. 127
had a few more words with Flora, and
Sir Ronald a few more words from Clara.
' You will come in some day to lunch T
said the countess to Sir Ronald.
' You will call on me some morning ?'
said Lillebonne to Vereker.
Then the landau received its occupants,
hats were lifted, and the day of the private
view was over as far as our special friends
were concerned.
128
CHAPTER V.
THE UNSUCCESSFUL AUTHOR.
That city's atmosphere is dark and dense,
Although not many exiles wander there,
With many a potent evil influence,
Each adding poison to the poisoned air ;
Infections of unutterable sadness,
Infections of incalculable madness,
Infections of incurable despair.
The City of Dreadful Night. James Thomson.
A SHABBY sloucliing figure was tramping
up and down a paved bit of pathway
which runs for a hundred yards or so
beside the Thames near Fulham. Only
a low brick wall divides the footway from
THE UNSUCCESSFUL AUTHOR. 129
the water which a high tide washes against
the wall. It was an April evening, and
the sunset light was strong in the west ;
an amber glow near the horizon, and above
it some level grey clouds which divided it
from a space of pure pale green, that
green only to be seen in April skies.
Higher still were clouds of darker grey
deepening into purple, and overhead was
an intense azure specked with steady,
mellow stars. The shabby figure tramped
up and down many times ; the head sel-
dom uplifted itself to gaze at the glories
above it. Nor did Tothill look once at
the black river rippling against the wall.
Several times his hand went into his
pocket as if to bring out something, but
each time it emerged empty. Then at
last he began to mutter,
VOL. T. K
430 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
'Dare I do it? Have I the courage,
the hardihood ? Would there be crime in
such a deed? Better men than I have
done such things, and the world has cried
shame on them, while those who knew
their temptations have tenderly pitied
them.'
He stood beside the wall and looked
over on the river.
' There,' he said, in that theatrical voice
with which he often talked to himself,
' there lies a mean by which to escape
from my difficulties, but not for me !
That which hampers me in the one case
also hampers me in the other. Oh, this
Republic of Letters ! What corruptions
exist in every Republic ! We republicans,
are we better off than the aristocrats ?
Am I, Augustus Algernon Tothill, one
THE UNSUCCESSFUL AUTHOE. 131
whit better off than the Earl of Lille-
bonne ? Truly, in worldly matters I am
poorer than he, though in brain and intel-
lect infinitely his superior. But he — proud
wearer of a material coronet — tramples on
me the man of letters, the historian, the
future author of novels which will inau-
gurate a new era of literature. He wal-
lows in his whitebait and champagne in
Eaton Place, while I have come to this !'
Tothill leaned over the parapet of the
wall, a forlorn object stretched headfore-
most towards destruction.
A footstep behind him, a hand on his
shoulder, and he turned his head and saw
Felix Vereker.
' What are you doing here ?' said Felix,
sharply.
Oh — nothing.'
k2
132 THE IDEAL AETIST.
' Come away, old man. Come with
me.'
^ Why stiould I ? Where are you
going ?'
' I am going to dinner. Have you
dined?'
'Dined? Oh no, I don't think I am
hungry.'
' Will you do me a kindness ? I can't
bear sitting down to dinner alone; just
come and talk to me, and cheer me up
while I eat.'
' If you wish it,' replied Tothill ; and
they slowly went away from the river-
side.
The amber and green had faded from
the sky, the tide had turned, and the water
was running down very fast. The red
curtains which screened the old bow-
THE UNSUCCESSFUL AUTHOR. 133
window of the little eating-house were
bright from the light within. Both men
knew that this was the evening for beef-
steak puddings.
Vereker said to the maid,
' Bring two beef-steak puddings, and a
pint of sherry.' And when they were
brought, he said to Tothill, ' Do me the
honour to be my guest at dinner.'
The man of letters looked slightly con-
fused, but said nothing, and seated him-
self, and fell-to on the viands with remark-
able vigour. When he had eaten and
drank, the haggard look on his face passed
away, and a smile took possession of
him.
Vereker now ventured to ask him,
' What folly were you thinking of, there
by the river?'
134 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
'Well, it was folly, worse than folly.
For one thing, I was wondering whether
one could catch fish here at Fulham, and
whether, if one were put to it, one could
in that way supply one's bodily craving
for material food. But that is not all.
Vereker, would you believe it,' and here
he lowered his voice, lest he should be
overheard, and the tears of shame were in
his eyes, ' the thought was in my mind
whether I could summon courage to cheat
the good people who keep this hospitable
house — whether I could come in and eat a
dinner, and then tell them that I had no
means of paying them.'
Yereker sat silent, but an amused look
stole over his countenance ; he had sus-
pected poor Tothill of intending suicide
while he had only been meditating a petty
THE UNSUCCESSFUL AUTHOR. 135
felony. And then the smile faded away,
and Fehx became very grave, as he
thought how more than sad it was that a
man of education and ability should be in
such distress. He was young, was Felix
Yereker, and he had a hundred a-year
private income, and he did not yet under-
stand how heavily handicapped a man is
with education and ability and no private
income. The poor man with genius is
pretty certain to force his way upward ;
the iire which burns within him will keep
him warm, and will heat his frugal meals,
until he has attained to a position where
clothing and food come as natural events ;
and the man of ability who has some
private income can keep himself going
until his talents have won him such a
place as he deserves. But education and
136 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
ability with nothing more create aspira-
tions and hopes which they have not the
force to make realities, and the man starves
before he can achieve that small suc-
cess which is to be his ultimate reward.
' Letters are not a very paying profes-
sion,' said Vereker.
' Not to some of us. But when I hear
of the enormous sums paid by those
rascally publishers for rubbish — some
sensational story — some ridiculous panto-
mime play — some silly weak verse — I feel
how blind they are to their own inter-
ests '
' And to yours,' added Yereker.
Augustus Tothill gave a burst of laugh-
ter which made the diners at other tables
turn and stare. The clerks and shopmen
who came hither for supper knew that
THE UNSUCCESSFUL AUTHOR. 137
Tothill was a hauthor and Vereker a
hartist^ and this peal of merriment sound-
ed to them like the laughter of the
gods.
' Fill your pipe,' said Felix, hand-
ing his tobacco to his companion ; ' tell
me, has not the Monday Moon been giving
her proper light of late ?'
' She is only a crescent, and but few
rays of silver enlighten my darkness.
Oh, they pay shamefully — absolutely only
a penny a line. Then again, the Advance
Magazine says it will print a paper of mine
in the first number, but they can't pay
their contributors at present. The more
one wants money the more one can't get
it. If I were a Rider Haggard, or a Besant,
or even a Mrs. Humphrey Ward, the pub-
lishers would be outbidding each other for
138 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
my writings. The world is full of injustice,
and the greatest of all injustice is that done
to authors.'
' But what made you take to writing at
iirst, Tothill ?'
' The love of it. I began to write when
I was seven years old. My father was the
master of a National School, and I had
books at my disposal. So I read, and then
I wrote. My father died mad — he drank.'
After a pause Yereker said,
' When did you begin to publish T
Tothill recovered himself.
' When a mere lad. I sent some sketches
of village life to a magazine, and the editor
said he would print them though he could
not afford to pay for them. As I was still
kept by my father, and was supposed to be
preparing to be a schoolmaster, I was en-
THE UNSUCCESSFUL AUTHOR. 139
chanted at appearing in print. All my
work went to that magazine, but I never
got a penny for it. Then I heard of a new
review about to be started and to pay a
guinea a page. They took my papers ; I
left my mother, now a widow, and gave
myself up to writing. After six numbers
the new review collapsed, and I got no
guineas. Since then, some seventeen
years, I scramble along somehow. But
the day will come when you will be proud
to know me, and when I will return this
dinner with one of whitebait, venison,
turtle-soup, oyster-patties, chartreuse and
champagne, I will !'
Vereker laughed, and said,
' I hold you to that promise. But don't
you sometimes come across generous
publishers?'
140 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
'Never; I don't expect generous pub-
lishers ; why should they be generous ?
They would be great fools if they were. I
only want them to be just. Now, I'll tell
you what a certain firm did to me : a high
class firm, established a hundred-and-fifty
years, much given to bringing out religious
literature. They commissioned me to write
a little work on a certain period of Spanish
history — you may have seen the book — it
deals with Ferdinand and Isabella, and
that lot; I had to buy and hire any num-
ber of books, and the story itself took me
three months of hard labour. After I had
begun they sent me a letter to ask what
price I expected ; I thought it best to be
moderate, and I said thirty pounds. They
wrote that they could not give more than
twenty pounds, but if I consented to that
THE UNSUCCESSFUL AUTHOR. 141
price they would send an agreement for
me to sign. My poverty and not my will
consented.'
' If you consented, what complaint have
you against them?'
' Hear me out. The agreement arrived ;
it declared that they agreed to give me
twenty pounds for the copyright of my
tale — that is to say, fifteen pounds on pub-
lication of the first edition, and five pounds
more if it went into a second edition.'
Vereker said,
' Has it gone into a second edition ?'
' Not that I know of.'
' It was a pity that you signed the
agreement.'
' I was young, I was hungry; que voulez-
vous ?'
Then for a time the two men sat
142 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
silent and smoked; Vereker had had
experience of some of the ways of
picture-dealers, but he saw that there
are j)^Wishers who also know how to
drive hard bargains. And he thought
that painters lead pleasanter lives than
authors. The man who writes is a lonely
being, and the woman who writes is even
lonelier ; he — or she — may sit all day in
some little dull room, the back bent, the
fingers cramped, over sheets of paper and
penny bottles of ink ; the manuscript
may be sent off by post, the proofs arrive
by post, the whole business of publication
be transacted by post, and the solitary
worker never comes face to face with
editor, or with publisher, or with any
fellow-author. The appearance, the age,
the sex even, of the writer may remain
THE UNSUCCESSFUL AUTHOR. 143
entirely unknown to publisher and to
public; and the pen which delights a
hundred thousand readers may be to its
owner as the crutch of an agonized body
or as the sword of a self-destroying
soul.
But the painter, if he studies nature,
sits out in the open air, he drinks in sun-
shine and light, the country people won-
der at him, the passers-by stop and ad-
mire and say a pleasant word ; if he
studies human nature, he has the society
of noble men and beautiful women. A
Lord Lillebonne and a Lady Flora Vere
de Vere may be among his acquaintances,
perhaps even among his friends.
' I would not change with you,' said
Vereker at length, a strange light in his
eyes, and a strange softness in his voice;
144 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
. ' I tliink the painter is happier than the
author.'
Tothill took up this remark as a chal-
lenge. His spirits had revived, and he
proceeded to show eloquently*how great are
the enjoyments of literary life ; how the
author increases his own fund of know-
ledge as he increases that of his readers ;
how he lives among his characters who
are to him far more real than the people
amid whom he dwells. He can paint the
woman whom he loves so that all other
men must love her though they have
never seen her; and he can caricature
the man whom he hates so that the whole
world shall detest and abhor the life-Hke
yet loathsome presentment.
' I could hold that Earl of Lillebonne/
snarled Tothill, who never having been
THE UNSUCCESSFUL AUTHOR. 145
acquainted with men of rank always gave
them their full titles, ' up to universal
execration ; I could ferret out his terrific
secret and place it in the glare of the
midday sun.'
'What can you mean?' exclaimed Felix,
astonished and alarmed.
' He is a proud, surly cur!' cried the
author, bringing his fist down on the oil-
cloth covered round table ; ' I saw the
scorn on his sickly face ; and I will pay *
him out. Had he spoken civilly to me,
had he offered to help me in my profes-
sion, then I would have treated him well;
I would have dedicated a book to him.
As it is I will never rest until I have dis-
covered the family skeleton, and I will
drag it out from its cupboard, and display
it to the world. The Daily Photograph
VOL. I. L
146 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
would pay well for such a paper ; and if
I could get on tlie staiF of the Daily Photo-
{jra^oh my fortune would be made.'
It had often crossed Felix Vereker's
mind that his poor friend Augustus Tot-
hill was not quite sane. This extraor-
dinary outburst of rage against a man
who had committed no offence, and this
fury of desire to hunt out the ' family
skeleton ' of the Vere de Veres, seemed
to Felix to savour of madness, though
there was method in the plan for getting
on the staff of the Daily Photograjoli.
^ How has Lord Lillebonne offended
you? And, by-the-by, he pronounces his
name not Lilebon, but Lillybun.'
" He cut short my explanations at the
Advance the other day in the most beast-
THE UNSUCCESSFUL AUTHOR. 147
ly manner ; and why can't he pronounce
his name as it is spelt ?'
' Really ! And what do you know about
the family secret?'
' I don't know anything,' said Tothill,
' except that there is one. Surely you
must know about it.'
' I have never even heard of it. You
must remember that I have only been
three years in England, and those three
years have been almost entirely occupied
in studying art.'
' Then I will tell you what is known.
The Earl of Lillebonne has two country
seats — think of it — that semi-idiot with
two large places, and myself with a gar-
ret ! And at one of those houses — I don't
know which, but I can find out easily
l2
148 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
enougli — ^there is a secret room which is
never opened but on the day on which the
eldest son comes of age. On that day
the reigning earl takes his eldest son,.
who is called by courtesy the Viscount
Senlac, into the secret room, and when
that viscount comes out, he is a wiser and
a sadder man, and he is never seen to
smile again.'
' A strange legend,' said Vereker.
' Legend, man ! it is a fact. I noticed
myself how nervous and queer the old
earl was the other day. I don't believe
he smiled even at the Pag's get-up. Now,
I am going to find out what is in that
secret chamber. The records of a ghastly
murder, or — or — something horrible.'
' Better leave it alone,' said Vereker.
' I won't leave it alone !' cried Tothill,
THE UNSUCCESSFUL AUTHOR. 149
excitedly, ' do you suppose that when one
sees a chance of copy of the sensational
kind, that one is to let it slip from one's
grasp?'
At this moment the master of the eating-
house stalked through the hot, smoke-filled
room, and turned out all the gas-burners
save one. Slowly the guests rose ; those
who had not paid their scores, laid down
money on the tables ; they all got into
their overcoats, and trooped out into the
cool night. Tothill seized Vereker's arm,
and continued to pour out abuse of Lord
Lillebonne.
It seemed to Felix that his poor friend
was not sane, and he wondered whether
the sherry — of which Tothill had drunk
nearly the whole — had affected a brain
weakened by constant want of nourishing
150 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
food. Then he thought of heredity, and
that perhaps the drunken father had be-
queathed a diseased brain to his son ; and
he thought of the dark, gloomy repubhc,
of which Tothill was a starving citizen, the
golden possibilities, the squalid realities,
the miserable disappointments, the prompt-
ings of despair.
They came near to Willow Green.
■• Go home now, Tothill, and sleep
soundly, and don't trouble yourself about
Lord Lillebonne. His family secret is
nothing to you. Take up pleasanter sub-
jects for your pen.'
' I must take up what will pay best.'
Tothill gave a yell of laughter and dis-
appeared in the darkness. Vereker went
on to the red-brick house and let himself
in with his latch-key. He did not turn
THE UNSUCCESSFUL AUTHOR. 151
into the studio, but went strai^-ht to his
bed-room ; for possibly Coleman might be
in the studio, and on this evening Yereker
did not wish to have to talk to Coleman.
This young man, Felix Vereker, had a
habit not very usual with young men,
especially those who live on the confines
of Bohemia ; a habit of reading every
night in an old book translated from the
Hebrew and the Greek. He did so this
evening, and afterwards he knelt upon
the floor, with his hands clasped together.
When he stood up he began slowly to
undress, and, as he wound his watch and
took off his ring, he thought very sadly of
Augustus Tothill and his life. Little
could he, or anyone, do to help the un-
successful author ; there is no back stairs
to literary fame. But perhaps Tothill
152 THE IDEAL AKTIST.
could be prevented from annoying Lord
Lillebonne. Any endeavour to pry into
the family secret — if secret there were —
must be extremely distasteful to the earl.
And Felix went on to reason that, if Tot-
hill made himself objectionable to Lord
Lillebonne, the peer would be sure to
include Vereker in his displeasure, as
being a friend of the half-insane writer.
As Felix pulled off his collar, his mind
had strayed away to Lady Flora de Vere ;
it had often strayed to her since that day
at the Advance. He had not yet been to
call on the earl ; why not ? Some inde-
finable feeling of shyness held him back.
He did not want to seem anxious to keep
up the acquaintance of an earl. Had it
been a poor man and his daughter who
were in question, Felix would have gone
THE UNSUCCESSFUL AUTHOR. 153
to see them long ago ; but a peer — no, no
tuft-hunting, nor the appearance of such
a thing. And yet, to hold off too long-
would be foolish and ungentlemanly.
Lord Lillebonne's friendly request should
be met in a friendly manner. And Felix
was not above hoping for a commission ;
already he had begun a head of Edith
Crane's sister, little Nellie ; and he had
been planning other work which might
please the earl, or some of the earl's rich
friends. Yes, the very next morning he
would pay his visit in Eaton Place. And
if he should chance to meet Lady Flora —
well, she would not eat him up, and pro-
bably no harm would come of it. A girl
whom he had seen once — did he think
himself a perfect fool? And, though
she was the daughter of an English
154 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
peer, is not an American citizen — — ?
Felix fell asleep, thinking, not of the
English peer and his daughter, but of that
unfortunate citizen of the republic of let-
ters who was determined to bring shame
on the English peer. And, our dreams
seldom being suggested by our thoughts,
he dreamed of painting Lady Flora's por-
trait, and of being wonderfully successful,
and of enjoying the task as he had never
before enjoyed any task ; for this was
indeed a labour of love. And then he
awoke, with a jerk and a start, and mut-
tered,
' A dream — perhaps only a dream !'
155
CHAPTER VI.
BELGRAVIA AND BOHEMIA.
Out upon it, I have loved
Three whole days together ;
And am like to love three more
If it prove fine weather.
Sir John Suckling.
The greatest charm of the English clhiaate
is its uncertainty. However disagreeable
it may be to-day, a change is certainly
near. It snoAVS hard with a cutting wind,
but last week the land was wrapped in a
still, wet fog, and next week the sun will
shine fiercely and the dust lie thick on
156 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
our boots. The 15th of July and the 15th
of December, 1892, were exactly alike in
London as to temperature and duration of
sunshine. How many variations there
must have been between those two days !
Monotony is the most wearisome thing in
life ; and there is no monotony in the
English climate. For which we should
be very thankful.
It is a glorious day in early May ; high
summer in London. The squares have
green hedges and green trees ; in the
parks there are beds full of glowing and
delicious flowers ; every balcony, every
window-sill in the fashionable quarters
are ablaze with marguerites, calceolaria,
geraniums, lobelia, and other flowers, set
out daintily and artistically about the
fronts of those stolid houses which have
BELGRAVIA AND BOHEMIA. 157
no possibility of beauty except floral
decoration. But stop — may there not be
human decoration ?
An awning is spread over the balcony
of Lord Lillebonne's house in Eaton Place ;
an awning striped red and white, and
somehow reviving memories of boats ply-
ing between Bellaggio and Menaggio. And
never did a sunnier day shine on Lake
Como than that which now shines upon
Belgravia.
Felix Vereker descends from the top of
an omnibus and walks down Sloane Street.
He presently turns to the left, and makes
his way to Eaton Place, somewhat un-
decided in his course, because he is not
much at home in the haunts of the
wealthier classes. It must be confessed
that he has a little ' got himself up ' for
158 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
this morning's visit. He wears a new pale
grey scarf, his hat has been carefully
brushed, his umbrella tightly rolled, his
boots blacked by his own hands, Avith
some wonderful composition which Cole-
man lauds highly. Now, Vereker is not a
man to think about his dress as a means
of softening the heart of one of his fellow-
men ; what, then, can be the reason of all
this care spent to-day on his toilette ?
He arrives at the west end of Eaton
Place. He looks up and down the street,
scanning the numbers on the doors. He
soon sees that which he seeks, and he
slowly approaches it. Over the whole of
the balcony, which includes the square
top of the porch, extends an awning, and
from under it peep out lovely, bright
flowers. A few moments Vereker lingers,
BELGRAVIA AND BOHEMIA. 159
glancing at the flowers and at the awning.
He fancies that in the shadows he sees
forms moving; figures clothed in white,
or blue, or mauve, graceful female figures.
He steps up on a marble-paved door-
step, and knocks with the heavy knocker.
Had it been after three o'clock, a couj^le of
footmen Avith a butler in reserve would
have responded to his peal ; as it was only
just eleven o'clock, one young man in un-
dress livery opened the door after a few
minutes' delay.
' Is Lord Lillebonne at home ?' Felix
asked.
' I think his lordship is within,' replied
the footman, showing Felix into a small
morning-room off the hall. Some needle-
work lay on a table, betokening the recent
presence of a lady.
160 THE IDEAL AKTIST.
The footman went away, and presently
returned, saying, 'Will you please to walk
into his lordship's study.'
This study was at the back of the morn-
ing-room, and looked into a sort of yard
which lav between Lord Lillebonne's house
and his stables. -A few struggling lilac-
bushes bordered a gravel-path which led
from the house to the stables. The look-
out was dull, but the room itself was ex-
tremely cheerful. Many small but fine
pictures hung on the walls. Between the
pictures were bookshelves filled with
richly-bound volumes of which Felix
caught some of the titles, such as Shake-
speare s Worhs^ Miltoiis Works^ Byroiis
Works ^ Waverley Novels. There was a time-
piece which looked very ancient ; a pair of
bronze horses, antique as Felix could
BELGRAVIA AND BOHEMIA. 161
see ; and two or three bits of old blue
china.
Lord Lillebonne was in his dressing-
gown, a rich brown plush trimmed with
gold cord; and this dress seemed more
congruous to the pale and thin elderly-
man than the lio^hter and tio^hter attire of
society. He seemed more at home in it,
and Vereker immediately felt more at
home Avith him.
The artist had sent in his card, and the
earl was ready to receive him.
' Oh, Mr. Vereker, this is very good of
you. I am afraid I am occupying your
valuable time.'
' Not at all, my lord. One cannot al-
ways be at work ; and this fine morning it
has been very pleasant to come out into
the open air.'
VOL. I. M
162 THE IDEAL ARTIST
' Yes, it is very fine. Won't you sit
down ? There is an armchair somewhere.
Yes, it is very good of you ; very good.'
Lord Lillebonne was pulling about the
papers on his writing-table, and had the
nervous, fidgetty manner usual with him.
An awkward silence followed, which Vere-
ker thought that he ought not to be the
first to break ; but, when it became oppres-
sive, he said,
' AUoAV me to remark that you have
some very fine pictures.'
' Oh, yes,' cried the earl, brightening ;
' yes, truly. That Cuyp is considered
quite a masterpiece; the sunshine in it
is wonderful. I often look from it to the
window to see if the sun is really shining.
And that Metsu, over there. Is it not a
gem ? Did you ever see such minute
BELGRAVIA AND BOHEMIA. 163
details ? Oh, wonderful, wonderful !'
' Is this a Guido ?' enquired Felix, who
was coasting round the room ; ' I fancy
I must have seen it Avhen I was studying
in Florence.'
' You are right, Mr. Vereker ; you may
have seen it in Florence, or a replica of it,
■or a copy. I think there can be no rea-
sonable doubt that this is the genuine
original, and the picture at Florence a
good copy. Those Italian fellows are
wonderfully clever at copying.'
' They are,' returned Felix ; ' at Venice
I saAv a man in the Belle Arti whose copies
were identical with the originals. He had
the same rich colouring, and his Bonifacios
and Carpaccios were equal to the ori-
ginals ; but he could do nothing more
than copy. He could not have painted
m2
164 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
from the life, not to save his. Now, you
know, the man was not an artist.'
Yereker's tone had become very fami-
liar, carried away as he was by his sub-
ject; the earl was slightly surprised at it^
but the bright, good-looking young man
was a pleasant companion, and for the
moment Lillebonne forgot the difference
in their position, forgot his nervousness,
forgot himself in fact, and was friendly
and chatty. Vereker's genuine admiration
of the fine paintings in the study opened
the heart of the reserved man.
' I have a Holbein in the dining-room ,'^
said his lordship, ' and two Romneys ; also
a Reynolds and a Gainsborough, all four
are family portraits. And in the drawing-
rooms there are some good miniatures.'
' Miniatures are most interesting,' re-
BELGRAVIA AND BOHEMIA. 165
marked Felix, thinking of the female
figure which had flitted under that red
and white striped awning ; ' the art of
miniature painting has almost died out
in our day; photography has taken, but
not filled, its place.'
' ^^ery true,' returned the peer ; ' I be-
lieve my lady is in the drawing-room, or
we might go and look at the miniatures.
I think I hear my youngest daughter play-
ing the piano. So we must be content to
sit here without seeing them.'
• Them !' thought Felix, ' the ladies, or
the miniatures?' He said aloud, 'I have
one miniature which I value highly, and
only one. It is also a family portrait.'
Lord Lillebonne mused over that sen-
tence of Vereker's. Could an American
have ancestors, or family portraits ? Could
166 THE IDEAL AETIST.
a portrait-painter, a mere portrait-painter^
liave ancestors and family portraits ? The
earl was somewhat old-fashioned in his
ideas ; he still kept a haunting notion that
men of good family only went into the Guards,
or the Foreign Office, or the Navy, and that
portrait-painting was quite a Bohemian,
not to say plebeian occupation. Of course
it was true that artists were sometimes
made baronets ; but he only knew one man
of old and noble descent who had adopted
portrait-painting as a profession ; and
Lillebonne forgave him that lapse because
he was such a very bad painter.
' Our family is English,' Felix was
saying.
' I suppose most American families are
English. We are all cousins, no doubt.
And Vereker is a good English name.'
BELGRAVIA AND BOHEMIA. 167
There was just a something in Lord
Lillebonne's tones which nettled the young
man. But then, the peer had a lovely
daughter, and Felix felt constrained to for-
give him. At this moment he heard a door
open and shut, and then he saw Lady
Flora, in a ravishing light blue gown, pass
out into that gloomy garden, accompanied
by a great collie, and enter a door in the
stable-wall, and so disappear. He looked
after her in her rapid transit.
' My daughter is going to visit her fav-
ourite horse,' said Lillebonne, who had
noticed a curious look in Vereker's eye,
though he did not know what it meant ; ' I
suppose you do not paint horses ?'
' I am sorry to say I cannot paint
animals.'
' Flora looks very well in her habit,*
1C8 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
said tlie earl, thoughtfully ; ' and that brings
me to what I really want to propose to you,
Mr. Vereker; I dare say you know that I
have bought the '* Apple Blossoms." '
Yes, Felix knew it.
' And it struck me the other day that my
daughter would paint quite as well as your
model.'
Felix had no breath with which to
speak ; he coloured and bowed.
' Lady Flora has much the same com-
plexion and hair as the girl in your pic-
ture, with, I venture to think, something
added.'
' A great deal added,' said Felix, in a
low tone.
'And if you would undertake the
work '
' There is nothing,' cried the artist,
BELGRAVIA AND BOHEMIA. 169
'' which I would undertake so willingly.'
' But the scheme must remain a strict
secret. Lady Lillebonne's birthday is in
July, and I should greatly like to surprise
her with a present of the portrait of her
younger daughter. We have several like-
nesses of Lady Clara, but not one good one
•of Lady Flora. Therefore, if she sits to you,
the sittings and the portrait must remain a
secret until the day when I present the
picture to my wife.'
Felix thought that this would be the
most excellent arrangement, but he re-
strained all expressions of delight lest he
should betray himself.
' Lady Flora would have to sit in your
studio, and I should come Avith her myself
or send her maid with her. And, before
quite settling the matter, I should wish,
170 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
with your permission, to visit your studio/
'Oh, certainly,' said Felix-; 'whenever
you like to come I shall be very happy to
see you.'
Vereker's tone rather grated on the
earl's ear ; there was a certain confidence
in it, confidence in his own power and his
own position, which Lillebonne hardly
expected to find in a struggling artist.
' I will come some morning, shortly ;
and now, as you are willing to undertake
the commission, I need not further occupy
your time.'
Felix got towards the door.
' Willow Green is ?' queried the
earl.
Felix described how it could be found.
' Thank you ; I daresay a cabman will
be able to find it. Good-morning.'
BELGRxWIA AND BOHEMIA. 171
And Felix shortly was out in the street.
He looked up at the awning, which had
lost its charm, for Lady Flora was in the
stables. He got into the Park and walked
among the bushes, and into Kensington
Gardens. He was naturally much excited.
A commission to paint a beautiful girl,
the daughter of an earl ! that alone was
enough excitement for a young artist.
And when it is remembered that the girl's
beauty and manners had struck the artist
far more than her rank, it will be under-
stood how very much excited he needs
must be.
He was also somewhat annoyed and
angry. Lord Lillebonne had put on airs
of haughtiness and grandeur which an
American could hardly endure ; indeed,
had not the earl been Lady Flora's father,
172 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
Felix Vereker would not have endured
them. Did the mere accidents of rank
and wealth make one man superior to
another? Lillebonne, with his almost
imbecile nervousness and his idiotic as-
sumption of the part of a connoisseur^
placed him far below a man like Vereker,
who understood art practically. Suppose
the artist should turn, like the proverbial
worm, and refuse to paint the peers
daughter ? At this thought, Vereker
laughed and shook his head.
Then arose the question of terms.
Felix ought to be well paid by the head
of the caste of Vere de Vere. Fifty
pounds ? Yes, perhaps it would not be
advisable to ask a higher price ; indeed,
if the earl should haggle at that sum,
Felix would say forty, thirty, twenty.
BELGRAVIA AND BOHEMIA. 17^
Now that he was engaged to paint Lady-
Flora, he must do it at any price, or any
loss ; for it would be a labour not of lucre
but of love.
How delightful it would be to have her
sitting in his studio ! to be able to study
her sweet face, and her angelic expression.
A man would be the better for the society
of so charming a woman. Already, after
one afternoon with her, and one passing
glimpse of her, he found that he could
think of little else than her eyes, her
voice, her hand. Of course it was utterly
a,bsurd, nothing could come of it ; earls'
daughters do not marry penniless Ameri-
can artists ; but a wise man enjoys the
passing pleasures which are sent to him ;
and Felix Vereker was a wise man, and
quite ready to fall desperately in love with
174 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
Lady Flora Vere de Vere. As for the
future, even if matters went to the ex-
tremest point, and he should find his hap-
piness dependent on Flora, and Flora
should confess that her happiness was
dependent on him, what then ? Was there
any just impediment?
175
CHAPTER YU.
THE INVALID FATHER.
I know my life's a pain, and but a span ;
I know mj sense is mocked in everything :
And, to conclude, I know myself a man,
Which is a proud and yet a wretched thing.
Nosce Teipsum. Sir John Da vies (1570— 1626>
The work with which Felix Vereker was
playing since he had finished the ' Apple
Blossoms ' had all along very little inter-
est for him; Nellie Crane was a pretty
child enough, not so fair nor so brightly
coloured as her sister, but with a certain
ofracefulness which made her valuable as
176 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
a model. She was a patient little thing,,
and would sit silent for hours while Vere-
ker worked very lazily, smoked, and spoke
little. Sometimes Edith came with the
child as far as the door of the studios ;
but more often Kellie came alone. The
extreme quietness of his young model
struck Felix as unnatural in a girl of
eleven, but with the carelessness of a
young man he took little notice of it, and
supposed it to be constitutional. He
painted mechanically, and felt that he
was not doing good work ; he thought
that he should do better work when he
began on Lady Flora's portrait. Nellie
Crane — ' Buttercups,' as he meant to call
the picture — did not inspire him. He
even found more pleasure in a full-length
reproduction of the ' family miniature,*
THE INVALID FATHER. 177
which he had mentioned to Lord Lille-
bonne. At these two pictures he worked
fitfully, and with the feeling upon him
that he was only filling up his time while
waiting for the great event of his life —
the • Portrait of the Lady Flora Vere de
Vere.'
Not that Felix was in love with Flora ;
of course not, when he had only seen her
twice, only spoken to her once; when he
was an unknown artist, and she a fashion-
able young lady. But it would be a
great gain to the unknown artist to be-
come known as the man who had painted
the portrait of the fashionable young
lady. Oh, Felix knew very well that
he had not fallen in love with Flora;
he had been in love many times, had
conducted many flirtations, was well up
VOL. I. N
178 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
in the art of love-making. His admi-
ration of Lady Flora was quite unlike that
which he had felt for any of his former
flames. And it was the artist, not the
man, who Avas so very anxious for Flora's
sittings to begin.
He had the studio very much to him-
self at this time ; for Coleman had begun
to make excursions into the country for
studies of nature.
' And I suppose I had better clear out
on those days when your grand young-
lady comes to be painted.'
' Well,' said Vereker, ' perhajDS I should
get on better if I had the studio to myself.
But no day is fixed at present.'
' Let me know the days when they are
fixed, and I will make myself scarce. I
think I shall do " Eton College " as a match
THE INVALID FATHER. 179
for '' Windsor Castle." I hear that there's an
alderman who is nibbling at the" Windsor ;"
now, aldermen always like things in pairs !
so I shall get an " Eton " ready for him.'
' You are a sharp man of business,' said
Yereker.
They were talking together while Felix
worked languidly, and Nellie Crane sat
silent in the pose which had been chosen
for ' Buttercups.' As they talked they
heard Quekett's heavy step coming up the
stairs, and then they heard his heavy knock
on the door.
Coleman flung it open, and cried, * Enter
Quekett, the porter, with a head !'
He looked round to see whether Nellie
was amused ; but she did not even smile.
Quekett was panting for breath.
' Them stairs do try me uncommon.'
N 2
180 THE IDEAL AKTIST.
' Sit down, Quekett ; there's no spare-
chair, but plenty of room on the floor.
Do you call the stairs trying ? Why, when
I was in Paris, studying the French im-
pressionist school, I lived au septieme ; and
I have counted eleven storeys to some of
the Edinburgh houses. I assure you fiYQ
storeys is nothing ! I could tell you five
hundred without any difficulty.'
Still Nellie did not laugh.
' I know, Mr. Coleman,' said Quekett,
' that five floors with near upon a hundred
steps is nothing to a young gent like you ^
but when it's me it's difi*erent.'
' Not a bit difl^erent, Quekett ; the stairs
never change. But, pray, to what do we
owe the honour of your visit?'
' Well, it was that there little gal that I
wanted to speak to. She slips away so
THE INVALID FATHER. 181
sudden-like when Mr. Vereker lias done
with her, that I says to Mrs. Quekett —
leastways, Mrs. Quekett says to me — just
run up and catch her afore she leaves the
studio.'
' Does Mrs. Quekett want Nellie?' asked
Felix.
Quekett nodded.
' You can go at once, Nellie.'
The child slowly moved and got down
from the platform.
' We want you to come and eat a bit of
dinner with us,' said the porter to the
little girl, in a friendly tone ; ' it is nigh
upon one o'clock, and it strikes me — least-
ways, Mrs. Quekett — that your dinner-
hour will be past before you get home.'
' We don't have no regular dinner-hour/
said Nellie.
182 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' Nor no regular dinner, I'm a-thinking/
said Quekett.
'What?' cried Coleman, turning upon
the porter.
Vereker laid down his palette.
'Don't you have regular meals?' he
asked of Nellie.
There came a little burst of tears.
' Not so — not so regular as they used to
be before father got so ill.'
The three men stood round the child.
Harry Coleman put his hand under her
sharp little chin and turned up her
face.
'Do you mean to say that you don't
get enough to eat ?'
The tears had been checked.
' Sometimes I should like a little more.
Edie says I have a tremendous appetite,
THE INVALID FATHER. 183
but I am sure slie has a very small
appetite.'
' Can't you see that she ain't half nour-
ished ?' cried Quekett ; ' can't you see that
every day she comes here she is thinner
and thinner?'
' I had not noticed it,' said Coleman.
' She is very thin,' said Vereker.
' Anyone with half an eye can see that
the child is pretty well starved,' said
Quekett, pinching her scraggy arms, * it
was Rosa who pointed it out to me.'
' Only a woman sees these things,' re-
marked Felix, hunting in his pockets in
case there might be a loose shilling any-
where.
' Yes, it is only women as sees these
things.'
^ I see it,' cried Harry, passionately, ' I
184 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
see it ! While we have been keeping the
little creature here hour after hour for our
advantage, she has been ready to faint
from hunger. And Edith too ? Child, is
your father out of work ?'
' He's never in work,' she answered, ' he
only does odd bits of mending for the
neighbours ; he has not strength for hard
work, and he can't draw the stitches tight
now. And when he stoops much he
coughs dreadfully. And all he earns has
to go for medicines. And then mother
does not get much work now, because
she can't keep up with the fashions, and
parlour-maids are that particular no one
knows, mother says. And Edie helps all
she can ; but there's Arthur and Baby to
be looked after, and they take up nearly
all Edie's time.'
THE INVALID FATHER. 185
These details of a sad family history-
were told by Nellie in a quiet, smooth
tone which sounded more like the reciting
note of a school exercise than the flow
of personal sorrow. Children brought
up in decent poverty do not complain ;
they starve and sicken and die.
' Well, now, come along ; we don't want
no more talk ; there's something else for
your mouth to do. There's hand-and-
s]3ring of pork, and carrots and mashed
potatoes. So come along, Nellie.'
Quekett hurried the child down the
stairs, at the bottom of which his Rosa was
muttering reproaches for his long delay.
Neither Vereker nor Coleman said any-
thing until the porter and the child were
gone, and then they looked at each other
with a long, thoughtful gaze.
186 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' I ordered lamb cutlets with tomato
sauce for my lunch,' said Felix, * and I
daresay they are served in the dining-hall
by this time.'
' And I ordered sweetbread with goose-
berry tart to follow — all on the strength
of the alderman's j)ossible purchase of
" Windsor." We must eat what we have
ordered — or shall we send the cutlets and
sweetbread to poor Crane?'
'After all, one must eat, even though
others are hungry. But I am sorry to
hear all this ; Crane must be much worse
than he used to be. And to think that
they do not get enough food !'
Harry washed his brushes with angry
energy, and then he went down to the
dining-hall common to all the residents
in the studios, and saw^ on a table the
THE INVALID FATHER. 187
covered plates which concealed the food
prepared by Mrs. Quekett for himself and
Vereker. Two lady students, grotesquely
plain and hideously attired, were eating
their lunch which consisted of plum cake
and tea. When Felix looked at his cutlet
he felt that charity begins at home, and
that if he wanted to feed the hungry he
must feed himself. Which he did. Harry
put on an extra plate a portion of the
sweetbread, intending to take it to poor
Crane. But presently he reflected that
sweetbread is a very awkward thing to
carry as a brown-paper parcel, that perhaps
Crane might not like sweetbread, and that
a little money would really be more useful
to him. Thus, common-sense prevailed,
and he ate his lunch and was thankful for
it.
188 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' I really will do something for Crane as
soon as Lord Lillebonne has paid for
*' Apple Blossoms." The gallery closes on
the 15th of June, and then I shall get my
twenty pounds minus the commission. I
suppose it is a better deed to give money
in charity than to pay one's bills.'
Harry did not reply. He had brought
down his hat, and it lay beside him while
he hastily swallowed his luncheon. Now
he took it up, thumped it down on his head,
and, saying to Felix ' I am going out.' he
went out by the swing-doors of the bar-
rack-like dining-hall, and down into the
airy entrance hall. Here he Avaited a few
minutes until he heard rising from the
basement regions the rasping voice of Mrs.
Quekett, bidding Nellie run home and not
stop to gossip by the way with any other
THE INVALID FATHER. 189'
girls, but to carry the little pies safe and
not finger them, and stand over her father
ever till he had eaten them. Nellie's small
clear voice was just audible in some reply
of thanks, and then she appeared at the top
of the stairs.
She made a curtsey to Coleman, which
struck him as old-fashioned but pretty, and
then she went out into the street. He was
beside her in a moment.
' Nellie, I am going to walk home with
you, and to pay a visit to your mother.'
' Oh, thank you, Mr. Coleman,' the child
replied, with pleased surprise.
^ I have never been in your house, you
know, but your sister has told me where
you live.'
' It is not a pretty street,' said Nellie ;
' and the people who live in it are not very
190 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
nice people. There are two publics at the
corners, and one in the middle ; and there
are a great many tipsy people at night.
There is a man in our house who is almost
•always tipsy ; and one day he was so rude
to Edith.'
' The brute !' exclaimed Harry.
' And he has fights with his wife ; she
does not drink, but she does swear ! And
we all think that some day they will kill
each other.'
' And a good thing too !' said Harry,
-cheerfully.
But his heart was hot and angry at
the thought of Edith Crane among scenes
-of obscenity, drunkenness, and violence.
So, too, he was shocked by the knowledge
that Edith often wanted food. Of course he
knew that superannuated postmen have
THE INVALID FATHEK. 191
small pensions, and that broken-down
needlewomen must sing ' The song of the
shirt;' but it tilled him with horror to think
that Edith, young, fair, and amiable, should
have to share the fate of her parents. He
said little more to Nellie ; and presently
they passed the two public-houses, and
turned into the poor, ugly street where
lived the Crane family.
Nellie led him up a creaking staircase to
the top storey where she dwelt. The roof
sloped, and the space was small, but this
part of the house A\^as airy and clean.
Nellie opened the door of the front-room
and entered quickly ; Harry took off his
hat and entered too.
He saw the ex-postman sitting in an old
easy-chair beside the grate in which burnt
a little bit of fire ; a kettle lay inside the
192 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
fender; Mr. Crane poked at the embers
with an old walking-stick. He saw the
dressmaker, faded but pretty, sewing hard
at some black material, and every now and
then casting an anxious look at her hus-
band or at the baby which lay on a ragged
blanket on the floor ; she had the long,
slender fingers, and the curled-back thumbs
of the needle-woman ; she stooped, and
often closed her eyes as if they ached. He
saw Edith standing at a side-table, her
sleeves rolled up from her smooth white
arms, and with a tub full of linen and
soapsuds before her. Her hair was thrown
loosely back from her face ; exertion and
heat had given her a colour, and she looked
brilliant, even beautiful in Coleman's eyes,
as she paused in her washing and glanced
up at him.
THE INVALID FATHER. 193
He should have bestowed his first greet-
ing on Mrs. Crane, but instead of doing so
he rushed at Edith and seized her soapy-
hands. When he found his all wet and
slippery he began to laugh, at which
everyone else laughed, even the pale, red-
eyed baby.
' Excuse me, Mrs. Crane,' said Coleman,
turning to the mother, ' I should have
spoken first to you, but then you see I
know your daughters. My name is Cole-
man, Harry Coleman, and I live in the
same house with Mr. Vereker to whom
your daughters have been sitting.'
' We are much obliged for your visit,
sir,' said Mrs. Crane, ' excuse me if I go on
with my sewing ; this body is wanted very
particular.'
' Pray don't stop for me,' said Harry ;
VOL. I. O
194 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' I'm a working-man myself, and I know
how precious the daylight is.'
' Are you an artist, too, sir, the same as
Mr. Vereker?'
' Yes ; I am a landscape painter. I'm a
poor man now, but I hope one of these
fine days to get to one of the upper
branches, even if I don't get quite to the
top of the tree.'
He perceived that his visit had not dis-
turbed the occupations of the Crane
family ; the mother sewed, the daughter
washed, the father poked the fire. By this
time NeUie had opened a parcel and taken
out four small pies, one of which she placed
before her father, the other three near her
mother.
' Now, daddy,' she was saying in her
low, refined voice, ' these are mutton-pies
THE INVALID FATHER. 195
which Mrs. Quekett made on purpose for
you ; and you have got to eat one of them
this very minute, sir, do you hear?'
The invalid had brightened up, and was
gazing greedily at the food which Nellie
placed before him on a broken plate.
' I'll cut it up for you, dear ; there, now
eat it up quick.'
Crane took a mouthful on his fork
eagerly, and put it into his mouth. He
chewed it for a long time, and swallowed
it with an effort. Then he laid down the
fork and pushed away the plate.
' Can't you eat any more ?' asked his
Avife.
He shook his head.
' No appetite, Mr. Crane ?' said Harry.
' None at all, sir ; and I don't expect to
have any till I have had change of air.
o 2
196 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
As soon as I am strong enough to bear
the journey, I am to go to the sea-side,
and then I expect my appetite will return.
I should be Avell enough, if only I were a
little stronger.'
' I am afraid,' said Harry, * that you have
found the winter very trying?'
' Oh, very trying ; and now the warm
weather takes every bit of strength out
of me. I'm looking forward to the sea,,
for I know it will do wonders for me..
And then, as soon as I come back from-
the sea, I can get to work again ; and if
I have more work and more money I
shall be able to have food more to my
liking.'
' You'll have your tea presently,' said
Mrs. Crane ; ' you always enjoy your
tea.'
THE INVALID FATHEK. 197
Harry looked at her.
' Tea is not very nourishing.'
' But if he won't take anything else ?'
' I would take other things if you
brought me what I like. I could eat a
bit of the breast of chicken, or oysters ; 1
love oysters.'
' Well, you see, Mr. Crane,' Harry put
in, ' oysters are not in season just now.
And I believe chickens are very dear in
the spring.'
' Of course, that is the way. Whatever
would get up my strength and set me up
is just the very thing I can't have. Why,
I've heard about lap-dogs having roast
chickens for their dinner.'
Mrs. Crane cut oiF a loose thread.
' Yes ; when I was in service I saw it
with my own eyes. I was young ladies'
198 THE IDEAL AETIST.
maid in tlie family of the Earl of Lille-
bonne, and Lady Gertrude, that is the
present earl's sister, used to give chicken
to her dog, a little, yelping, snapping,
thing as ever I saw.'
' Oh,' said Coleman, ' really ? Were
you in the family of the Earl of Lille-
bonne ?'
' I was only with them three months.
But I never could master the hair-dress-
ing ; so I had to go in the nursery after-
wards ; and then I married Crane, and
he thought he should get on in the Post
Office. But they treated him very badly,
and he never rose at all : and then, when
he got ill, and I had all the children to
look after '
She broke off with a deep, hopeless
sigh.
THE INVALID FATHEK. 19^
' We've buried five,' said tlie father.
And then Coleman understood that
there was strumous disease among the
Crane family, and that the father was
dying of consumption, which would pro-
bably, in some form or another, carry off
all the remaining children. The bright
colouring of Edith and Nellie, the flabby
pallor of the baby, both pointed to the
latent constitutional terror. Edith was
doomed.
Poor Crane took up again his string of
grievances. Harry aj^peared to listen to
them, but he was really engaged in watch-
ing the others of the family. Edith had
finished her washing ; she wrung out the
garments and carried them from the
room.
Her mother called out.
200 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
'Are you not going to hang them
up?'
' Yes.' said Edith from the door ; ' I've
stretched the line in my room, because I
don't think it is good for father to hang
the damp things here.'
'She's that thoughtful!' said Mrs.
Crane.
After a few minutes, during which no
one spoke, Edith returned from the room
which she and Nellie occupied ; her hair
was smoothed, her sleeves were brought
down to her wrists, and her brilliant
colour had faded. She now looked tired,
and sat down on the floor beside the baby.
It seemed to Coleman that he must bring
his visit to a close.
' I think I must be going,' he said, as
he rose ; ' but before I go I should like to
THE INVALID FATHER. 201
arrange to keep an engagement made
some time ago. Miss Edith promised to
come out on the river when the weather
grew warm; and now the weather has
grown warm.'
Edith rose from the floor. Her colour
had come back, her eyes glittered.
' If Miss Edith and Nellie will come
with me '
' It would do me good,' said Mr. Crane,
striking the stick on the floor ; ' the river
comes up from the sea with the tide, and
it brings the sea-air with it. Thank you,
Mr. Coleman ; we accept.'
Harry was in a dilemma ; he must take
Joseph Crane on the Thames to his own
great annoyance, or he must decline to do
so, and so offend the father of the girl
whom he was learning to love. As wise
202 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
men do in such dilemmas, he temporised.
' Much will depend on the weather.
We could not go out in rain, and you,
Mr. Crane, must not go out even if the
air be damp. I think I must leave it
in this way. When there comes quite a
suitable day I will call for you.'
' A Sunday,' said Mrs. Crane.
' Oh, a Sunday, yes.'
' We could not give up any other day,^
said Edith, ' because we have so much to
do on week-days.'
' A Sunday be it,' returned the yonng
man.
And then he shook hands all round,
and departed.
Now, as he walked about this mono-
tonous neighbourhood, his thoughts were
very various. He was falling in love
THE INVALID FATHER. 203
with Edith Crane, and he had no intention
of doing anything to break his fall. He
intended, vaguely, to marry her some day,
and in the meantime the courting would
be very pleasant. He knew that she came
of a consumptive family, and that she
ought not to marry ; he knew that she was
penniless, and had sickly relatives drag-
ging upon her ; he knew that she was not
his social equal, and that the gap between
his father, a small country grocer, and her
father, a letter-carrier, was immeasurable.
He also knew that he had no income
worth speaking of, only occasional wind-
falls from the sale of pictures ; he knew
that he owed money all round, to his
tailor, his hatter, his hosier, his colour-
man ; he knew that he had no right to
think of marrying a wife unless she were
204 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
a woman with money. But, though he
knew all these things, he was determined
to take Edith Crane out on the river some
fine Sunday, and to give her to understand
that he was her lover. Moreover, he was
determined that Joseph Crane should not
be of the party, nor Mrs. Crane, nor the
boy Arthur, nor the red-eyed, hideous
baby.
No one who is young, or who has been
young, shall dare to blame Harry Coleman
very severely. ' Love shall still be lord
of all,' and shall be so to the end of the
chapter. ' The course of true love never
did run smooth,' nor ever will to the end of
the world. And the love of Harry Cole-
man and of Edith Crane could prove no
exception to the rule. They were sowing
the wind and likely to reap the whirlwind,
THE INVALID FATHER. 205
and, in spite of all proverbs and all de-
hortatory poetry, Harry Coleman was
quite resolved to persevere in his love-
making, for the girl pleased him very
much.
But it was strange that, when he tried
to picture her face, he could only see the
drawn features of her father. That
shrunken iigure, huddled in the chair
by the fire, came ever before him ; that
hollow, fretful voice sounded ever in his
ears. He thought of Edith as a bride, but
Joseph Crane intruded as a corpse ; he
talked to himself of the marriage service,
but he heard the mould flung u23on a
coffin. He could not, all that day and all
that night, shake off the painful impres-
sion made upon him by the selfish, whin-
ing invalid.
206 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' If only I were a rich man !' siglied
Harry, as he turned into a tobacconist's
for half a pound of bird's-eye.
207
CHAPTER VIII.
COMMISSIONS.
Caresses par des fleurs au gai parfum sauvage,
Laves de la rosea, et s'attardant expres.
Bonheur. Verlaine.
These two young men, Henry Coleman
and Felix Vereker, had now each a secret,
not quite known to himself, and not quite
unknown to his friend. Each guessed
what the other had begun to feel, and
each was careful not to betray what he
felt or guessed. Felix knew that the lady
whom he admired was far above him in
208 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
rank ; Harry knew that tlie girl whom he
loved was far below him in rank. Felix
looked on the stammering, nervous,
haughty Lord Lillebonne as the greatest
impediment to any possible engagement ;
Harry felt that the querulous, selfish, dy-
ing Joseph Crane was the most serious
obstacle to the marriage which only
obstinate infatuation could think of con-
tracting. The two artists worked together,
talked together, dined together, but they
never discussed, they seldom even alluded
to, Lady Flora Yere de Yere, or Mis&
Edith Crane.
The first Sunday after Harry's visit to
Edith's home was hopelessly wet. He
went to call on a friend who lived at
Hampstead, and did not go near the Cranes.
He had sent Mrs. Crane a postal note for
COMMISSIONS. 209
one pound, and was half afraid that she
might have discovered from whom it came.
As he could not take Edith out, and as the
mother might want to thank him, he would
not go near them that day. He thought
that probably the next Sunday would be
fine.
The weather was slow in taking up. It
rained all day Monday ; and Tuesday was
a sunless, steamy day, on which all the
rain which had lately fallen tried to rise
again towards the skies. On that morn-
ing, or rather at that midday, Felix was
alone in the studio, Harry having gone to
the Academy in order to be able to de-
clare that it contained nothing worth look-
ing at. Vereker was feeling very idle.
He had worked for an hour on the full-
length reproduction of the family miiiia-
VOL. I. p
210 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
ture, and then had turned to the ' Butter-
cups,' and began painting a hazy land-
scape background taken from a sketch
which Coleman had lent him. The ances-
tress, in her blue gown and gold-spotted
gauze scarf, had been turned face to the
wall, and Nellie Crane stood unfinished on
the easel, when Felix heard a knock on
the door.
He shouted ' Come in !' but as no one
entered, he sauntered across to interview
the visitor. It was Lord Lillebonne.
' Oh, I beg your pardon, my lord !' cried
Vereker ; ' I thought it would only be one
of my set, some art-student. Pray come
in and take a seat.'
Lord Lillebonne sat down on a bench
covered with an Algerine shawl, both
COMMISSIONS. 211
l)ench and shawl being ' properties ' useful
in ' interiors.'
' The person who came when I rang/
said the earl, ' was not very courteous ;
neither can I say that he was very clean.'
' Poor old Quekett has a great deal to
do,' said Vereker; ' and he feels the stairs
so much that he never comes up them if
he can possibly help it.'
' There should be a lift,' said the earl ; ' it
is hard for your sitters to have to toil up
ninety-eight steps.'
' Alas !' said Felix, ' our sitters are so
few that we do not trouble ourselves about
them.'
' You must have sitters,' said Lord Lille-
bonne, ' that young girl's head is surely a
portrait.'
p2
212 THE IDEAL AKTIST.
Felix moved the easel into the best
light, and explained that this ' Buttercups '
was own sister to ^ Apple Blossoms.'
Then he said, rather shyly, that he was
glad to know that the latter picture had
passed into Lord Lillebonne's possession ;
and the earl expressed his pleasure at
possessing the picture, and seemed to
chuckle over his purchase. He quite be-
lieved that he had discovered a great
genius in this Willow Green studio, and
he intended to become the patron of Felix
Yereker.
' My coachman had great difficulty in
finding this place,' the earl said, with a
lofty manner, for the young artist seemed
inclined to ignore the differences of rank,
and even a genius must be taught that he
is not the equal of a peer.
COMMISSIONS. 213
' It is just within the radius,' said Vere-
ker, carelessly.
After some talk, in which Lillebonne
showed that he was not without know-
ledge of art, though that knowledge was
much less than he supposed, the business
of the day was approached.
' I think,' began the earl, ' that you saw
my daughter. Lady Flora de Vere, the
•other day at the Advance Gallery ?'
Felix felt a sort of thump at his heart.
' And I think I mentioned that I had
some idea of having her portrait painted?'
' You did, my lord,' replied Felix.
' I should be very glad if you would
undertake the work.'
' I shall be much honoured by the
commission.'
' I intend to present the picture to Lady
214 THE IDEAL AETIST.
liillebonne as my birthday gift to her, and
of course I wish it to be executed in the
best possible style. I should not object
to its being exhibited in the Academy
next year. And you must allow me to
add, that a successful likeness of my
daughter will bring your name very pro-
minently before the public'
' That will add profit to pleasure,' said
Felix, lightly.
Lord Lillebonne did not quite like that
remark; there was something tradesman-
like in talking of profit, and something
familiar in talking of pleasure. However,
one must forgive many things in a genius.
And presently it struck Lillebonne that,
after all, Vereker wanted to sell his wares,
and the price of them must be mentioned. =
' Then — as to — terms '
COMMISSIONS. 215
' Oh, terras be — ' Felix caught himself
up, ' — terms must be as you are pleased
to value my work.'
' Well, Mr. Vereker, should you say —
fifty pounds ?'
' That will suit me capitally. If the
picture should not be satisfactory — should
not do justice to Lady Flora — I should
not allow it to leave my studio.'
Felix thought that it would be very
pleasant to keep it there.
At length everything was arranged ;
Lady Flora would come twice a week,
with either her father or her maid, and
w^ould sit for an hour or two hours as she
might feel inclined. She would wear a
dress of some soft green material in which
she looked remarkably well, and she would
bring some lace or gauze shawl or scarf,
216 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
in case it should be necessary to soften
down the green. The picture must be
shown to no one ; the name of the sitter
must never be mentioned ; and it must be
completed as quickly as possible. To all
these conditions Felix consented with a
glad heart. The earl's manner softened
by degrees ; he was evidently very fond
of his daughter ; and he could not help
feeling that the young artist was a gen-
tleman, though less deferential in his
manner than he should be to the head of
the caste of Vere de Vere.
Nothing could be more cordial than the
final chat between the two men ; each was
pleased with the other ; and then, to
Vereker's horror, everything was spoiled
by a vulgar rap on the door, followed by
the noisy entrance of Augustus Tothill.
COMMISSIONS. 217
The author was ill-dressed, ill-mannered,
and altogether wanting in tact. Instead of
standing aside quietly while Vereker and
the earl said their parting courtesies, he
first stared at the visitor, then twisted
round on his heels, with something not
far removed from a whistle, and, with his
back to Lord Lillebonne, began to finger
Vereker's curios.
Felix grew scarlet with rage ; Lille-
bonne slightly paler with indignation.
The latter put on his hat and stalked
away, the former pursuing him doAvn the
ninety-eight stairs. Nothing was said
until they were at the door, when Lille-
bonne stammered out, fiercely,
' I trust that you will have no visitors
when my daughter is sitting.'
' I pledge you my honour,* Felix cried^
218 THE IDEiVL ARTIST.
almost theatrically, ' that no one shall
enter my room.'
' Thank you,' said the earl.
The brougham had been waiting in the
shade, for the sun had conquered the mist.
It was now brought across the road, Lord
Lillebonne stepped into it, and was driven
away. Yereker tore upstairs, three steps
at a time, and burst in upon Tothill.
' Now, look here, Tothill, this is intol-
erable ! How dare you come into my
room in that rude manner, and behave to
my visitor like an utter cad as you are ?
I'll thank you to be polite to anyone
whom you may meet in my rooms, and, in
fact, I'll thank you not to visit my rooms
at all Avhen I have other friends with me.
You don't know how to conduct yourself
COMMISSIONS. 21^
in the presence of any decent man or
woman.'
' Indeed !' said Totliill, coolly, ' is that
your opinion ? Pray how did your friend
Lilebon behave to me at the Advance ?'
' It is pronounced Lillyhun. And so you
suppose that Lord Lillebonne is bound to
treat you with deference, you T
'Yes,' returned Tothill, 'he would treat
me with deference if he knew what I am
about to do to him.'
'What is that?'
' I am going into Worcestershire to fer-
ret out his family skeleton. If it is not
to be found at Mont Veraye I shall go to
Scotland and visit Strathtartan Castle.
I'm in funds just now; I've had three
articles in the May Mags, and I can afford
220 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
myself a holiday. And I shall make my
holiday pay, and make old Lillebonne
pay.'
He had learnt at last how to pronounce
the name.
' You mean to blackmail him?'
' Not a bit of it. I would not stoop to
such a thing. I prefer to work up the
skeleton into an article '
' An articulated skeleton,' put in Vere-
ker, amused in spite of himself.
' And then I shall get it into one
of the most scurrilous of the weeklies ; I
shall call the owner of the secret the Earl
of Eosecake^ and his places Mont Rather^ and
Strathplaid Tower. The public will have
no doubt as to Avhom I mean.'
' And an action for libel will ensue.'
' That will concern the publishers, not
COMMISSIONS. 221
me. Afterwards I shall look into the
private histories of other noblemen. I
shall write a second article ; a third ; per-
haps a whole series; they will be collected
into a volume, and I shall be known as
the author of a standard work.'
Felix laup^hed. Tothill entirely be-
lieved in his own powers, and thought
that only the opportunity was needed to
enable him to become a great writer.
' You bloated democrat !' said Felix.
' I am certainly not an aris '
' Aris — Tothill ' said Vereker.
' Neither aristocrat nor philosopher !'
cried Tothill, ' but a man of the people,,
and a man of letters.'
' Then why do you wish to persecute
Lord Lillebonne ?'
' I have no wish to persecute him ; I
222 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
only want to make literary capital out of
him. And this is really what brings me
here to-day. If I get my papers on
" Family Skeletons " brought out in one
of the weeklies, I ought to have them
illustrated. I thought that as you know
this Lord Lillebonne you would make a
drawing, or a caricature of him, which
would illustrate the first paper of my
series.'
'Thank you,' said Felix ; 'I don't cari-
cature my friends.'
'Your friends! Oh, come now, are
you going to call old Lillebonne your
"friend"?'
' He is very friendly with me, and very
kind. And I will not allow you to annoy
him. Understand that.'
Felix was thinking that any annoyance
COMMISSIONS. 223
inflicted on Lord Lillebonne might also
annoy his daughter.
Tothill, being without settled income,
Avas naturally a democrat. He longed to
take from others what they possessed :
money, rank, position. If he had been
the owner of even a thousand pounds in
the Funds or any other stock, he would
not have been anxious to do away with
property.
' Why should old Lillebonne have all
the roses and I all the thorns ?' he cried.
' Why should he get up late and find the
dew of the morning still awaiting him,
Avhile I must get up early if I want to
snatch a cup of coffee at a breakfast-
stall ? Why has he all the good of life,
and I all the evil?'
' Has he all the good and you all the
224 THE IDEAL AETIST.
evil?' queried Vereker; 'has he half
your talent?'
' No !' cried Tothill, going off on another
tack ; ' he has no talent. He is a bore in
society, and a laughing-stock in the House
of Lords. And I am a man who only
wants the opportunity to make his mark.
And that opportunity I am now going to
make for myself out of his lordship's
family skeleton. I am sorry you won't
undertake the illustrations ; it might be
something in your pocket.'
' You are very kind,' returned Felix ;
' but I, too, can make my own opportu-
nity, and my own mark.'
' Yes, with your Lillebonnes as patrons,'
said Tothill, with a sneer. 'Well, I've
offered you a good thing, and you have
declined. So good-bye.'
COMMISSIONS. 225
The author had got as far as the door
when he turned back.
' I say, Vereker, do you know how
much the fare is into Worcestershire ?'
' Not exactly. You can calculate it at
a penny-a-mile.'
' Ah ! Now, I suppose your Lillebonne
never travels anything but first-class.
Well, say it is a hundred miles to Mont
Veraye, hundred pence, eight and four-
pence, say ten shillings. Then hotel-
bill, fees to housekeeper at the place,
etc., etc. Vereker, I'm rather hard
up.'
' Why, you said just now that you were
in funds.'
' So I am, for me. But this journey to
Worcester, with another possible further
journey to Perthshire, will take it out of
VOL. I. Q
226 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
me considerably. Would you mind lending
me a sovereign ?'
'To help you to worry Lord Lille-
bonne T
' To help me to earn my living. Nothing
pays now but personalities. Lend me the
sov.'
Felix did so, feeling angry with Tothill,
and sorry for him, and contemptuous of
him. But he did not much believe that
it would be in his power to annoy Lord
Lillebonne; there was probably no skeleton
at all; or, if a skeleton should be dis-
covered and articulated, in all probability
the editors and publishers would fight shy
of Tothill's coarse personalities, and de-
cline his article with, or without, thanks.
At all events, if Tothill was out of town
for a while, there would be no fear of his
COMMISSIONS. 227
disturbing Lady Flora's sittings ; and a
sovereign was a low price to pay for his
absence.
Augustus Totbill bursting into the
studio while Lady Flora was sitting !
could a more appalling catastrophe hap-
pen to any artist? Felix shuddered as
he pictured it. Certainly, Lady Flora, if
not her father, should have the flowers
without thorns, and the ' sweet wild scent,'
and the dew awaiting her whether she
rose early or late. All the best of the
garden — of the world — should be hers.
And even to think of the shabby, vulgar
Tothill, the democrat, the penny-a-liner, as
being in the same room with her, was
afflicting to Felix Vereker, who was not
in love with her, no, not one bit !
Then Coleman came in ; and Felix be-
q2
228 THE IDEAL ARTIST
gan to wonder how he could keep Cole-
man out of the room when Lady Flora
should be there. The studio was as much
Coleman's as Vereker's. And yet Harry,
though an excellent fellow in his way,
was no fitting companion for the beautiful
girl. Vereker's anxiety on this point was
soon removed.
' Congratulate me, old man ! The alder-
man has bought " Windsor." '
' I do congratulate you, warmly,' cried
Felix.
' And more than that ; he wants me to
go down to Devonshire, where he has
bought an old place near Lynmouth, and
there paint half-a-dozen of the finest bits
on his property. Ain't that something
like a commission ?'
' By Jove, it is !' said Vereker.
COMMISSIONS. 229
' I'm to go down at once, so as to get
the spring foliage ; and I'm to stay into the
summer, so as to get tlie summer foliage.
I should not wonder if I remain for the
autumn tints. Hooray !'
Felix hoorayed too. Coleman's good
fortune was also convenient for Vereker ;
Lady Flora would find the studio occupied
solely by her painter. Nothing could fit
in better.
' When do you go ?' asked Felix.
' On Monday, I think ; I want to have
Sunday in London. I have an engagement
for Sunday, if it be a fine day. And then
on Monday I start off with bag and bag-
gage for a glorious spell of work in the
loveliest county of England.'
Felix said nothing of Tothill's journey
^nd intentions ; neither did he say any-
230 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
thing about Lady Flora; Harry was toa
entirely happy in his own prospects to
have any spare thoughts for others. He
was not more selfish than most of us ; at
the same time he was not more unselfish.
The same may be said of Felix Vereker.
231
CHAPTER IX.
ON THE EIVER.
Nature, animaux,
Eaux, plantes, pierres,
Vos simples travaux
Sont d'humble prieres ;
Vous obeissez ;
Pour Dieu c'est assez.
Verlaine.
A Sun-day indeed. A day with a brilliant^
burning sun in the clear blue sky which
seems so deep that one can gaze into it
as into a blue lake, and yet never see
an end to its depths. A day when, across
this translucent sky, puffs of the flimsiest
232 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
vapour flit; not clouds, but breaths of
incense from spirits too fine for earth.
And, like spirits, there are ' viewless
voices ' singing incense-hymns in the air ;
careless of time and form, the larks fling
out melody and harmony on the soft
breeze. There is a tone of tender green
on the margin of the stream, and a gauzy
veil of green is flung over every tree.
In quiet fields, and round the roots of
reverend beeches, are primroses, pale and
sweet ; there are bluebells in the dells,
and daisies on the lawns ; there are buds
on the rose-trees, and dafi'odils in the
gardens ; there is a freshness and a rap-
ture in all Nature, and a gladness and a
hopefulness in every human heart which
is not black with ingratitude or with
selfishness. Even the sick and sorrowful
ON THE RIVER. 233
smile faintly, and the young and loving
cannot speak what they feel ; they obey
their good impulses, that is enough.
Such a day brought all London out-of-
doors. The rich people went down to
Hurlingham, to Richmond, to Brighton ;
the poor 23eo23le went to Kew, to Hamp-
stead Heath, to Hyde Park. Henry Cole-
man went to keep his engagement with
Edith Crane.
Apparently she had expected his visit.
For she was dressed in her best frock and
hat, and there was a little attempt at
extra-adornment which did not escape his
observant eye. Nellie, also, was looking
very neat. Mrs. Crane had on an elab-
orate cap of lace and roses ; and Joseph
Crane leaned on the door-post, clothed in
his best attire. As for Arthur, he was
234 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
goDG to the Suiiday-scliool, and the baby
was wrapped up in some red stuff. But
Harry took little interest in Arthur and
the baby.
' How do you do, Mr. Crane ?' he cried,
seizing the ex-postman's thin hand ; ' do
you remember my saying I would take
you all on the river the first fine Sunday ?
Here is the fine Sunday, and there is the
river.'
He pointed westward.
' I don't know as I am feeling well
enough to go,' said Crane ; 'you'd best go
in and talk to my missus.'
The faces of Mrs. Crane and of the girls
brightened as Coleman proposed his plan,
which was to walk a little way and then take
an omnibus, which would set them down
close to the river, where they would find
ON THE RIVER. 235-
boats awaiting them. Edith coloured
with pleasure; Nellie smiled. The mo-
ther's cap with roses was exchanged for a
bonnet with feathers and tulips, the baby-
was swathed in a purple, knitted shawl,
and the party descended to the hall-door.
' Are you going, then ?' asked Crane, of
his wife.
' Yes, we are all going, since Mr. Cole-
man is so kind. It will do you a world
of good, Joe. I've brought down your
scarf.'
' I don't know as I'm well enough,' he
said, again ; ' I find this warm weather
very trying ; I shall feel better when it's
a bit cooler.'
' Oh, it's a lovely day, father !' cried
Edith ; ' I'm sure it will do you good.'
So he was persuaded, and they set off.
236 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
They caught an omnibus ; the father,
mother, and baby went inside ; Harry and
the two girls climbed up on the roof.
They were set down close to Willow Green.
' That is my studio,' said Coleman,
pointing up to his airy lodgings.
Then they arrived at the Green, where
Howland was sauntering about, keeping
an eye on the ' chaps and gals,' and on the
' prams ' and the pipes, and all the various
persons and things which crowded the
green space within the Avhite rails.
' Let me sit down a bit,' said Joseph
Crane, as he edged himself on to a seat
already fully occupied ; ' how much further
is it to the river ?'
.' About ten minutes' walk,' replied Cole-
man.
' Then I can't do it.'
ON THE RIVER. 237
Consternation fell upon his family.
' We will have a cab,' said Harry.
' No, it ain't no good. I could not
stand the river or the motion of a boat.
Let's put it oif to next Sunday ; I shall be
stronger by that time.'
Edith and Nellie looked very sad.
' Oh, we will do both,' said Coleman;
' you can go home now, and come out
next Sunday, and I'll take the ladies to-
day.'
Mrs. Crane shook her head.
' I shall go home with him ; he is not
fit to go alone. Rest a bit here, Joe, and
we will go home quietly by-and-by. He'll
want my arm,' she added to Harry ; ' he's
as weak as a baby.'
' Shall we take baby?' Nellie asked of
her mother, to Harry's infinite horror.
238 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
'In the boat without me?' exclaimed
Mrs. Crane ; ' no indeed, the blessed pet
can't be taken without me ! And how I am
to get your father home with him wanting
my arm all the time, and how I am to carry
the baby too, is more than I can say. I
wish we had never started. Your father
is not strong enough for jaunts like
this.'
' ]^o,' said Crane, feebly, ' I ain't strong
enough. If I'd had another month to get
up my strength '
Coleman was looking at Edith. The
girl's countenance was full of complex
emotions ; she was anxious for her father,
sorry for her mother, disappointed for her-
self; she wanted to help her parents, and
yet she longed to spend this beautiful
afternoon in the pleasant way which had
ON THE RIVER. 239
been promised her. Tears were not far
from her eyes.
' Nellie must carry the baby,' said Mrs.
Crane.
Nellie said not a word but took the little
fellow in her arms. Her eyes were full of
tears.
' At [all events,' cried Harry, throwing
one arm across Edith's shoulders in very
owner-like fashion, ' you and I may go for
our trip.'
The parents consented. It was a
melancholy little procession, that of
Joseph Crane leaning on his wife's arm
and walking with languid, dragging steps,
followed by Nellie, looking very sad, and
overweighted by the sallow, sickly baby.
It was an altogether forlorn party, turning
away from the merry groups on the green,
240 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
and going back to dreary, indoor dulness.
Howland shook his head, and said to
Coleman,
' He's not long for this world, sir.'
Coleman feared that Edith had heard,
and hurried her on. She had heard ; she
had known for some time that her father
was not likely to recover, but with the
light-heartedness of young people she
had not dwelt much on the fact. She
knew in a general, vague way that her
father would not live much longer. But
she was young, life was before her, she
had a lover, she had occasional pleasures,
the sky was often blue, the birds sang,
the flowers bloomed ; death was a pale
shadow a long way off; at present this
shadow was not visible on her path. The
greatest gift of youth is its forgetfulness ;
ON THE RIVEE. 241
memory is tlie dearest gift of age, and
only comes with age.
The banks of the river that day were
but muddy fiats edged with green here
and there -, the river was but an opaque
liquid; yet never did Egyptian princess
in her state-barge on the Nile, or peeress
in her own right in her steam-launch
under Cliveden Woods, enjoy herself
more than did Edith Crane in an old
wherry hired at ' a shilling the first hour
and sixpence the second.' It was all
horribly vulgar and stupid and common-
place — ah, was it? Is beauty common-
place, or talent, or man's devotion, and
woman's love ?
' I wish I was a rich man,' said Harry
Coleman, resting on his sculls and letting
the boat drift.
VOL. I. li
242 THE IDEAL AETIST.
'Do you?' said Edith ; 'you ought not
to be discontented. What a lovely day it
is !' she said, a little uneasy under his
steady gaze.
' Yes, lovely.'
' Look at those boats, such a number,
and girls in them all. And everybody
looks pretty to-day.'
' In the matter of beauty, our boat is
perfect,' said Harry.
Edith dipped her fingers in the water ;
Harry had not trusted her with the rudder-
ropes.
'Oh, you flatter yourself!' she said,
with a toss of her head, pretending to
think that he included his own appearance
in the beauty of the boat.
'What, I?' he exclaimed; 'I am only
your boatman.'
ON THE RIVEE. 243
He looked still more fixedly at her ;
she tried to look at a lark singing high
above human ken.
Edith, if I were a rich man '
How pretty those bushes look !'
1 would ask you '
Oh, what a lovely blue parasol !'
To be my wife directly, straight
off. But being a poor man I can only
ask you to wait until things improve. You
are very young, Edith, you won't mind
waiting, will you, dear?'
And then the girl turned upon him
such a sweet face, wdth such a heavenly
smile upon it, that Harry thought she was
the loveliest creature on this summer
earth. And she, seeing his earnest eyes
and hearing his earnest voice, had not the
slightest doubt but that he was the bravest,
r2
244 THE IDEAL AETIST.
truest, grandest, noblest, wisest man tliat
ever had existed or ever could exist. Yet
she was but an ordinary pretty girl, and
he was but an ordinary young man (not
so very young either!) They were ful-
filling the right impulses which the Creator
had implanted in them as in flowers and
birds, even in Avaters and stones, the im-
pulses to be bright and happy, to gild
labour with love, and to strengthen love
with toil.
Edith was shy and coquettish, after the
manners of her caste.
' Oh, how can you ?' she giggled ; ' now,
don't talk like that.'
' I will talk like that,' Harry retorted,
growing bolder ; ' and I'll talk still more
so !' Which threat he put in execution by
ON THE RIVER. 245
telling her how long and how deeply he
had loved her.
There was more than a score of young
couples that day on the river, all saying
much the same things ; each of the girls
was the fairest in the whole world, and
each of the lads the noblest. There was
even more than one elderly couple saying
much the same things ; but in their case
the women were only charming and the
men agreeable ; for them superlatives were
over.
' And the time can't be very far off,' said
Harry Coleman, ' when the sweetest little
girl in the world shall have her own little
house, perhaps with a back garden, and
her own drawing-room, and her own
kitchen.'
246 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' I should like a back garden,' said Edith^
' it is so convenient for drying and washing.
And the parlour we could sit in when we
had company. And if I had my own
kitchen I could do such nice little bits of
cooking. Do you like orange fritters ?'
Harry adored them.
' And sardines on toast?'
' The most delicious thing in the world
for breakfast.'
And so they talked, as innocently as the
larks in the high air. Married life was to
be a sort of game, a sort of make-believe of
house-keeping, in which sovereigns and
shillings would not be needed, in which the
weather would be always May, and the
time always afternoon.
And yet even this time was not always
afternoon ; five o'clock came, and Harry
ON THE RIVER. 247
turned to go down-stream; and his slow
strokes brought them by six o'clock to the
landing-stage, w^here he disbursed two shil-
lings for the most prosperous voyage which
he had ever made in his life.
' Should you like tea now ?' he asked of
his companion.
' Oh yes !' What woman is not always
ready for tea ?
Coleman took his fiancee to the old-fash-
ioned bay-windowed inn, where he and
Vereker and Tothill so often took their
ease ; he placed her near the window from
which she could see the sun sinking be-
yond the glittering river ; before her was
laid a tray, with not only tea but bread and
butter, and eggs, and jam, and marmalade.
And now, for the first time, Edith learnt
whether her lover took sugar in his tea ; a
248 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
piece of knowledge most important and in-
timate, not to be revealed to the common
mind. Never was feast more delicious.
The sunset was rosy ; so was life. So were
Edith's cheeks. On either cheek burnt a
sort of fire, delicate pink fire, which might
have been a danger-signal to a man not in
love mth the daughter of the dying ex-
postman.
Harry showed Edith the place where Felix
had found Augustus Tothill contemplating
the possibility, not of suicide, but of catch-
ing fish for his dinner; and he told her
how that unappreciated author had taken a
violent prejudice against the unofi*ending
Earl of Lillebonne.
' Do you mean the nobleman where
mother lived as young ladies' maid ?'
' The same ; and I understand that the
ON THE RIVER. 249
bloodthirsty democrat is going to hunt up
some old story to the discredit of the de
Veres, and to serve it up hot to some low
weekly print.'
' How horrid !' said Edith ; ' and how is
he going to find out the story?'
' By investigations in Worcestershire
and Perthshire.'
'Mother could tell him a good deal
about the earl's family.'
' I daresay. But don't let her help him
in his dirty work.'
' No,' said Edith, ' because mother was
very fond of the young ladies. She says
that Lady Flora Vere de Vere was the
dearest child, and grew up a most amiable
young lady.'
' She is a very pretty girl,' remarked
Coleman, rather incautiously ; 'nearly as
250 THE IDEAL AETIST.
pretty as somebody else whom I know/
' Who can that be ?' said Edith.
They were now walking homewards.
The pressure of Harry's hand answered
Edith's question.
' Do you know that I am going out of
town to-morrow?' Coleman asked; ' I have
a commission from a very wealthy man,,
an alderman, to go down into Devonshire
and paint pictures on his property. I
shall be away a long time, my darling,
but now that we have settled matters I
don't mind going. And a couple of
months will not seem long, after all ; and
I shall be making heaps of money, and
when I come back I shall look out for
that house with the back-garden. You
don't mind my going, do you?'
ON THE RIVER. 251
' No-0,' said Edith ; her lips quivered^
and her heart sank.
Two months of nothing but her father's
complaints and the baby's teething ! Two
months in the dreary garrets, two months
of washing and cooking and posing as a
model, while Harry was in the country
with his easel and canvases, and enjoying
himself from morning to night. Edith
gulped down a sob. ' Men must work,
and women must weep,' and it is all right.
Women can no more be as happy as men
than they can be as strong as men.
' Will you write to me ?' said the poor
girl.
' Of course, every day. And now, good-
bye, my pet. When we meet again, I
hope to have a bag of sovereigns in my
252 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
pocket, big enough to buy the ring and all
else that we shall want.'
' God bless you, Harry !*
They kissed. Edith stumbled up the
dark stairs, her joy clouded by the sorrow
of this early parting ; Harry lit his pipe,
and strolled home to the studios, feeling
very brave and very happy.
253
CHAPTER X.
MONT VERAYE.
Nor sea, nor shade, nor shield, nor rock, nor cave,
Nor silent deserts, nor the sullen grave,
What flame-eyed Fury means to smite, can save.
Francis Quarles.
Had Augustus Tothill been an explorer
just landed on the shore of an un visited
continent, he could not have felt more
virtuously energetic than he did on the
morning after his arrival in Worcester.
A congenial task was before him : that of
working out everything to the discredit of
254 THE IDEAL AETIST.
an aristocrat. And beyond that task he
had another in view : that of making him-
self famous by a book of scandalous
memoirs. He had quite persuaded him-
self that to disclose the misdeeds of Lord
Lillebonne and his ancestors would be a
most praiseworthy enterprise, only less
praiseworthy than that of making Au-
gustus Tothill famous.
He came out from his hotel into the
sunlit street of the provincial town. The
head-waiter lounged at the door with a
napkin flung over his shoulder.
' You say that the things to see are
the cathedral, the china manufactory, and
Mont Veraye. I shall easily find the
cathedral and the china; where is Mont
Veraye ?'
The waiter advised Tothill to take the
MONT VERAYE. 255
train to the first station outside Worcester,
and then to enquire further. This the
author said he would do. He was in high
spirits this lovely morning. He had
money — an unusually large amount of it
— for not only had two or three magazines
paid him for the padding which he had
supplied to them, but Vereker and some
other acquaintances had lent him money.
The previous evening he had dined well ;
this morning he had breakfasted well. In
his hand was a reporter's note-book, in his
mouth was a cigar ; he started for Mont
Veraye.
After ten minutes in the train, Tothill
found himself at a very small station,
where one young man was performing the
duties of station-master, porter, ticket-
collector, and pointsman.
256 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' You go out by that gate,' said he, ' and
up that road, and over the stile on the
right, and along the footpath, and through
the wood, and across the farm, and down
the lane till you come to Mr. Smith's
house. Then you go past the village till
you come to Dr. Simpson's, and then
you'll see the entrance to Mont Veraye.'
Guided by these instructions, Tothill
went steadily on ; the way was longer than
he had expected ; and by the time he
reached the village, one o'clock had struck
from the tower of the little church. It
was time to get luncheon, which he pro-
ceeded to do at the village inn. Thus
refreshed, he pursued his way to Mont
Veraye.
A great iron gate flanked by two small
ones gave access to Lord Lillebonne's park.
MONT VERAYE. 257
The gate-posts were of old, weather-
beaten stone, and each bore the ef&gj
of a lion, which was the cognizance of
the house of Yere de Vere. Each lion
clasped to his bosom a shield bearing the
arms of the family : argent, on a fesse
gules, three bezants of the first. Tothill
made a grimace at these noble animals,
and gazed up the long avenue. On either
side of a broad road were beech-trees with
silvery trunks and sweeping boughs. Be-
yond them on either side w^ere stretches
of exquisitely green turf dotted over with
hawthorn bushes and horse-chestnut trees,
now all in bloom. Here and there clumps
of rhododendrons were purple with swell-
ing buds. Lilac shadows lay among the
thick foliage ; herds of deer fed peacefully
together; pheasants rose now and then
VOL. I. s
258 THE IDEAL AKTIST.
with a whirr and a shriek ; cloves cooed
unseen.
Tothill made some notes in his book,
and a rough sketch of the avenue. Next
he turned to the lodge. It was a low
cottage, built of grey stone, and had
creepers growing over it. Some poultry
scratched about at the side of it, and a
little mongrel white terrier ran out from
the open door, barked at the stranger, and
ran in again. A young girl came to the
door and looked at Tothill, and then re-
treated. Finally an old woman walked
out to the gate and stood staring at him
with the suspicious gaze of those who lead
lonely lives. Tothill thought he had bet-
ter speak.
' Good morning,' he said, in his most
refined manner ; * pray, will you be good
MONT VERAYE. 239
enough to tell me if this is Mont Veraye ?'
' Yes, it be,' said the old woman.
' A beautiful property. A famous
property. Happy is the man who pos-
sesses such an ancestral home !'
This ebullition brought no response.
Only the girl came out and joined her
grandmother in staring.
Tothill tried again.
' For such as me, poor dusty Londoner,
it would be enough just to wander beneath
these magnificent oaks.'
He was quite ignorant of everything
pertaining to the country.
The girl smiled. The old woman said,
'Eh?'
• Do you think his lordship would have
any objection to my taking a stroll in the
park ?'
s2
260 THE IDEAL AETIST
' My patience me !' exclaimed the woman,,
with her thick midland accent, ' if that's
what ye want, there's nought to prevent ye.
His lordship could not keep ye out if he
would ; there's a right of way.'
With those contemptuous words she
went indoors, and the girl stood smiling
stupidly, while Tothill passed through one
of the small gates and began to walk up
the avenue.
Everything was so beautiful that for a
while he forgot his malignant purpose, and
merely enjoyed the scene. But when he
came in sight of a red-brick, Elizabethan
house, much restored and added-to, his
spirit revived within him. There was the
abiding place of the skeleton ! all the ex-
plorer, all the democrat, all the historian
surged up in his bosom, and he was ready
MONT VERA YE. 261
to pick the lock of tlie de Yere cupboard,
and to drag out its nameless horrors into
he light of day.
Tothill's ardour cooled a little when he
saw a couple of gardeners at work in the
flower-garden which lay glowing like a
heap of gems in the afternoon sunshine.
They paused and looked at him. One of
them was the old woman's son, the other
w^as the girl's brother. Tothill put on his
best manners and approached them.
' Good-day, my men,' he said, supposing
that to be the best-bred manner of ad-
dressing servants ; ' fine weather for
gardens.'
There was no reply.
' And fine gardens these. And a fine
house. I have met his lordship in
London.'
262 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
' Be you a new vallet V asked the older
man.
Tothill smiled affably.
' I have met his lordship at entertain-
ments, galleries, and so forth. I have also
met the countess and her daughters. Fine
girls, both of them.'
' Be you the bootmaker from Malvern?"
asked the younger man.
This was beyond a smile.
' I have met them in society,' said Tot-
hill, with a very large S to the word ; ' and
I have a commission to visit this house
and inspect its contents.'
The gardener shook his head.
' It is not a show-place, mister.'
' Xo, but by giving my card, I can see
it.'
Tothill's commission was from himself;
MONT VERAYE. 263
Ms card was a written one, with his name
and no address.
' Well,' said the gardener, ' ye can go and
talk to the housekeeper, if ye like. Come
on, Thomas, what about that lobelia?'
To attack the housekeeper was Tothill's
next business. He walked up to the front
door, a great massive, oaken portal, and
rang a tremendous peal on the bell. This,
he fancied, would prove impressive. It did,
in fact, flurry the old woman who acted as
housekeeper, or caretaker, at Mont Veraye
in the absence of her master's family. She
came panting to the door, and, knowing
that the gardeners were on the lawn close
by, she did not fear to draw back the bolts
and face the enquirer. And now all Tot-
hill's diplomacy was brought forward.
' Good morning^' he said, with a purpose,
264 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
for it is always morning until you go to
dinner, and fashionable people like the
Earl of Lillebonne, and Mr. Tothill, never
dine until eight o'clock ; 'good morning. I
suppose his lordship is not at home ?'
' No/ said the housekeeper, who at the
first glance saw that Tothill was not what
she called a gentleman.
' I thought not,' said the visitor, ' be-
cause I met him at a party the other day
in London, and he did not say that he
should be here at the same time with me.
If he were here, he would show me all over
the house.'
' We do not show the house,' remarked
the old lady.
' Not to strangers, as I am well aware ;
but of course his lordship would show it to
a friend. It is an unlucky chance that he
MONT VERAYE. 265
is not here. A delightful man is Lord
Lillebonne, so refined and cultured; and
Lady Lillebonne is a charming woman.
As for the young ladies, they are quite the
belles of the London season. Lady Clara
is a regular beauty.'
' Yes, she is handsome enough.'
' Handsome enough to drive men out
of their minds. Sad case that of young
Laurence, very sad!' Tothill shook his
head gravely.
But the housekeeper's face clouded over,
and he saw that he was on dangerous
ground. Gliding gently off it, he said,
' But, to tell you the truth, I admire Lady
Flora more than her sister ; a girl with a
heart as lovely as her face.'
' She is a sweet young lady,' assented the
housekeeper, her own withered yet rosy
266 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
face growing bright with affection ; 'Lady-
Flora is one that everybody must love.'
' I have met her at parties,' pursued Tot-
hill, seeing that he had inserted the thin
end of his wedge, 'and no more beautiful
and charming girl have I met anywhere.
I am not a dancing man, I am not even a
marrying man, but for all that I can gaze
upon Lady Flora until I long to dance with
her. She will make a grand match one of
these days.'
' Yes, sir, I make no doubt of it,' said
the housekeeper, drawing back from the
door and allowing Tothill to enter the
large square hall ; ' when they were here
at Christmas, Mrs. Anderson said to me^
" A good many young gentlemen cast their
eyes on Lady Flora, I can tell you, Mrs.
Pettit," says she ; " but I can't make out that
MONT VERAYE. 267
her ladyship thinks of any of them," says
she. I should not wonder if Lady Flora
was to be an old maid ; she never troubles
herself whether people are high or low,
rich or poor ; so that she can help them
and do them good, and make them better
and happier, that is all she cares about.
And Mrs. Anderson sees it the same as I
do.'
' Well,' said Tothill, pleasantly, ' I am
neither high nor rich, but Lady Flora is
most a2:reeable to me. She is very an-
"b
rery
xious that I should see this house. You
see, Mrs. Pettit,' here he accidentally put
his hand into his pocket, and, also acci-
dentally, clinked his money, ' you see I
am an author. I write books. I am going
to bring out a book which will have to do-
with some old country-houses, and Lady
268 THE IDEAL AKTIST.
Flor?« would be much vexed if Mont
Veraye were omitted. I ought to have
brought a note from the earl, but I dare-
say my visiting-card will do well enough.'
He laid his card on a table in the hall,
and Mrs. Pettit closed the door.
' I shall be very glad to accommodate
any friend of Lady Flora's,' she said, ' and
if you wish to see the house, sir, I will
show you over it.'
Her earlier scruples were overcome by
Tothill's plausible manner, by the chink
of his money, and, above all, by the
delight of having a stranger to talk to.
She pointed out the figures in armour and
the stags' horns, and the coats of arms dis-
played in the hall. Then she opened the
door of a large, gloomy dining-room.
^ These are family portraits,' she explained,
MONT VEKAYE. 26^
going througli a list of names wliich had no
interest for her listener, though they began
with mythical Normans and down through
' the spacious times of great Elizabeth ' to
Cavaliers and Georgian heroes, even to the
small wigs and ruffles of the young nine-
teenth century, and the various costumes
of the Victorian age. In the drawing-
room, a bright apartment, were many
beautiful bits of china, many ivory carv-
ings, many miniatures. Tothill looked
closely into the miniatures, and listened to
Mrs. Pettit's long-winded stories about
their originals. Battles and marriages,
government employments and bishoprics,
these seemed to be the chief materials of
the de Vere family history. Not a hint
of a bigamy, a forgery, a murder, a ghost,
or a skeleton. Perhaps Mrs. Pettit pur-
270 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
posely suppressed everything to the dis-
credit of the family.
In going through the house, Tothill kept
a watch for cupboards ; he had a sort of
notion that a material skeleton was hidden
in a material cupboard. He saw several
mysterious closets ; and on enquiry found
that one was Lady Betty's electuary closet,
that another was the place where Colonel
Henry de Vere had hidden from his Puri-
tan pursuers ; that a third had been the
powdering closet of the Ladies de Yere
in the reign of George the Third ; but
when he came round again to the hall,
and had seen all the rooms which Mrs.
Pettit was at liberty to show, he knew
nothing to the discredit of the family.
He once more jingled his guineas, and
made his last effort.
MONT VERAYE. 271
' Thank you very much indeed, my dear
Mrs. Pettit, for all your kindness and
information. I now shall be able to write
an article speaking in glowing terms of
this lovely park and house, with the tow-
ers of Worcester on one side, and the
peaks of the Malvern Hills on the other.
I need not allude to the sad story which
attaches to the family.'
' I beg your pardon, sir,' said the old
lady, drawing herself up.
' Every old and great family has its
secrets,' remarked the author ; ' the de
Veres would not be a great family if they
had not their troubles.'
' I do not understand you, sir,' said the
housekeeper, stiffly.
' Of course, you are quite right not to
gossip about it to everyone ; but no doubt
272 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
you are aware that the world is not so
discreet as you are. 1 am discreet, my
dear lady ; you may trust to my dis-
cretion.'
He pressed her hand with such a confi-
dential and symj)athising clasp that she
was mollified.
' No family, high or low, but has its
trials, sir. I daresay the world knows a
deal more about his lordship than his own
people do. London has many tongues^
and the country has few. But they all
talk so loud in London that one can't hear
what the other says. In the country they
speak one at a time, and everywhere there
is an echo.'
' Yes, yes ; and it is a very sad story.'
' Very sad, sir ; and a great trial to
his lordship, and to her ladyship, which
MONT VERAYE. 273
is a very haughty lady. But we hope
that things are not so bad as they say,
and perhaps the young man will see his
folly, and do better as he gets older.'
Tothill had not an idea as to what she
was alluding to, but he said, solemnly,
' Indeed, I hope so.'
' He must get tired of them after a time ;
I've never been inside a music-hall, or one
of them low supper-rooms, and how a
young gentleman, the eldest son of an
earl, can take u]3 with vulgar dancers and
singers, quite passes me. If he was to
marry a music-hall girl, it would pretty
nigh kill his mother.'
' Let us hope for the best,' said Au-
gustus Tothill, with a pious sigh ; then,
as his last shot, he put Lord Senlac and
his naughty ways on one side, and added,
VOL. I. T
274 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
^ Oh, by-the-by, I have not seen the mys-
terious, closed-up room.'
He saw a change on Mrs. Pettit's
countenance.
' There is no closed-up room in the
house.'
' Not ? Why, that is one of the things
which all London talks about. It is well
known that Lord Lillebonne has a mys-
terious chamber, enclosing a great secret,
and the eldest son '
' Tut, tut !' cried Mrs. Pettit, growing
vexed, ' there is nothing of the kind at
Mont Veraye.'
Tothill caught the clue.
' Then London puts it in the wrong
place. It is at Strathtartan Castle.'
' I have never been at his lordship's seat
in Scotland.'
MONT VERA YE 275
' But you are in the confidence of the
family, my dear lady. (You do so remind
me of my beloved aunt, Lady Tothill.)
And you know of the mysterious room at
Strath tartan.'
' I have only heard of it,' said Mrs.
Pettit ; she now had the door open for
him to go out.
He saw that he should get no more in- .
formation from her ; so he again thanked
her Avarmly, and put two half-crowns into
her hand. She took them ungraciously,
and closed the door as he departed.
' Well,' she murmured to herself, ' I
was a stupid to take him for a gentleman.
I never thought he'd give less than gold.
And him wanting me to tell him about
the closed door at Strathtartan Castle ;
why, I would not tell him if I knew. I
T 2
276 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
am not in charge of Strathtartan ; let hint
go to Strathtartan and talk to Mrs. Mac-
Mnllens, and see what he will get out of
her. She is a Scotchwoman. Five shil-
lings indeed !'
Tothill went slowly down the avenue ;
the air was hot and oppressive, and when
he came to an inviting knot of old tree-
roots which offered a quiet seat, he sat
down and took stock of what information
he had accumulated.
'None whatever,' he muttered, with
his pipe between his lips, ' except that the
skeleton is at Strathtartan, and I don't
believe that old judy would have let that
much out if I had not j)ut her in a rage.
And five shillings gone for that ! dear at
the price. Well, now, how can I make
Mont Veraye pay ? Can I use it for pad-
MONT VERAYE. 277
ding the first part of my article ? A long
and minute descrij)tion of this fine old
place, grounds and house ; sketch of the
head-gardener, portrait of the housekeeper.
Armour, pictures, ivories, miniatures ;
winding up with " This is the Earl of
Lillebonne's English country-seat, which
does not contain the cupboard or the
skeleton. Now, turn we to his Scottish
property." That's your style.' As he had
soliloquised, he had made rapid notes.
At that moment he heard a low growl
of distant thunder. The sky was black in
the south, and red overhead. Tothill was
afraid of thunder. He jumped up and
began to hurry towards the park gates,
and then on to the station. Very quickly,
within a quarter-of-an-hour, the storm was
upon him. Dazzling flashes and rattling
278 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
peals were around him. Then down came
the rain, drenching rain. His thin gar-
ments were soon soaked through. He
reached the station in a dripping condition,
and found that he must wait forty minutes
for his train. At the end of that time the
sky had cleared, and his clothes had partly
dried on him.
In the evening he found that he had
taken cold, and next day he felt so ill that
he remained in bed, doctoring himself
with hot Avhisky and water. This delayed
his visit to Perthshire, and also did much
towards emptying his purse.
279
CHAPTER XI.
THE FIRST SITTING.
You smile ? why, there's my picture ready made,.
There's what we painters call our harmony !
Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for ? . . .
How could it end in any other way ?
You called me, and I came home to your heart.
Andrea del Sarto. Browning.
It never entered Lord Lillebonne's head
that the young man whom he employed
to paint his daughter's likeness could fall
in love with her. He was superbly con-
fident that this matter of the portrait was
280 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
as entirely without sentiment as tlie pur-
chase of a mantle at Howell and James's,
or as a morning ride in the park. The
shop-assistant at Howell and James's could
not lift his eyes to Lady Flora Vere de
Vere, nor could the ^room behind her in
the park dream of flirting with the young
lady ; even so nothing beyond business
relations could arise over the sittings at
Willow Green Studios.
The earl chose to forget that there have
been ladies of good family who have
eloped with shop-assistants and with
grooms, who have married bakers and
trainers, and even painters. But he
chose to ignore those facts, and to believe
that his daughter was perfectly safe in
the society of the young artist. Had
Lady Lillebonne been told of the sittings
THE FIKST SITTING. 281
her womanly instinct would have been
alarmed, and she would have done her
duty as chaperon to Flora. But the mat-
ter was kept a secret from her. She was
so much occupied in the pursuit of Sir
Ronald Stanley, whom she intended to
make her son-in-law, that she was quite
satisfied on hearing that Flora went out
two or three mornings a-week with her
maid.
' When Clara is married,' she said to
herself. ' I will look more after Flora.
Meanwhile, she is quite safe with An-
derson.'
For Anderson was a very discreet
person.
Lord Lillebonne came with his daughter
to the first sitting. He began to mount
the ninety-eight steps, and she came after
282 THE IDEAL AKTIST.
him. But before they had got twenty
steps, they met Felix Yereker on the look-
out for them. He expressed his sorrow at
ihe height of the ascent, his gladness at
their arrival, his hojDes for success, and his
fears of failure.
When he got them into his room, he
placed chairs for them until they had
recovered their breath ; as for himself, ten
steps or a hundred made no difference to
his vigorous heart and lungs. He had
arranged a screen, and behind it a dress-
ing-table and glass, a comb and brush,
and a powder-puff, all for the use of his
sitter. No such arrangement had been
made for Edith or Nellie Crane.
Next came the decision as to full-face ^
three-quarter-face, or profile. Flora's
nose Avas ' tip-tilted,' and FeHx did not
THE FIRST SITTING. 283
wish a profile ; her cheeks were rather too
plump for actual beauty, and Lillebonne
did not wish a full-face. So they settled
on three-quarters.
The question of costume came next.
Flora was wearing a warm but dark-green
gown of mixed woollen and satin stuff.
It was made open at the neck, and the
sleeves ended at the elbow. She had
brought with her a scarf of pink gauze
which she twisted round her throat and
left floating across one arm, in such a way
that all the hard edges of the gown were
obliterated. With this costume Vereker
was quite contented ; the green suited
well her brilliant complexion, and the
pale pink gauze seemed to blend the
green of the dress, with the pink of her
skin. When the girl was at length seated
284 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
and settled, her cheeks flushed with nat-
ural vanity, and her lips smiled with
innocent pleasure ; Felix felt that he could
work on this portrait with double the en-
thusiasm which had fired him for the
^ Apple Blossoms ' and the ' Buttercups.*
Nellie's picture was nearly finished, and
its completion was in a very near future.
Now began the first rough sketching
with charcoal. The earl stood beside the
easel and made remarks which were in no
wise helpful to the artist. By degrees the
conversation became easier, and the
National Gallery was spoken of, and the
Louvre, and the treasures in Venice, in
Florence, and in Rome. Then books were
discussed; and music. And Lord Lille-
bonne felt a sort of condescending surprise
when he found that not only did Felix
THE FIRST SITTING. 285
Yereker drop no h's, but that he was
actually well-read, and acquainted with
many things outside his profession. If
the young man had been English, and had
been in some profession — the Bar, for in-
stance — in which he was not likely to make
any money, he would have been quite pre-
sentable in society.
The iirst sitting was a preliminary one.
Flora was soon tired, and Felix was so
excited that he had hardly full command
of his eye and hand. Lillebonne was
greatly bored after the first half-hour, and
made up his mind that for the future he
would not act chaperon, but send Ander-
son instead. He and Felix had talked
about foreign travel and Irish politics, and
ecclesiastical discipline and many other
things. Flora had listened, surprised
286 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
to find that the artist was as much ac-
quainted with these matters as her re-
vered father, who had put on his ' House
of Lords ' manner. And then conversation
flap^ged, and Lord Lillebonne seemed
impatient, and Flora weary.
' I think that will do for to-day,' said
Felix, laying down his implements.
'Put on your bonnet, my dear,' said the
earl briskly, to his daughter ; ' I want to
get home and look up the Colonial Dog-tax
Act before I go down to the House.'
While Flora was putting on her bonnet,
Lord Lillebonne glanced about the studio
and enquired what work Mr. Vereker had
in hand.
Felix pointed out the ' Buttercups,' and
said, carelessly,
' I have only that in hand, and an en-
THE FIRST SITTING. 287
larged reproduction of a family-portrait.
Would you care to see it ?'
' I will not trouble you,' replied Lille-
bonne ; his idea of Vereker's ' family-por-
trait ' was of a stout woman in black
satin and a black cap studded with red
ribbons ; her huge hand displayed finger-
ing a thick gold chain ; her cheeks ver-
milion, her hair in ' sausage curls.'
Vereker's relatives were probably of the
shop-keeping class, grocers, bootmakers,
haberdashers ; highly respectable, but not
interesting, and none the more interesting
because they were American.
Again Vereker felt irritated by Lille-
bonne's manner ; it was not discourteous,
it was not rude, but it was calmly indiffer-
ent, as if from the height of his position
he could really not perceive so small an
288 THE IDEAL AKTIST.
object as a young painter's ' family/
Felix stiffened visibly ; but as Lady Flora
re-appeared from behind the screen,
smiling and lovely under a shady hat, he
unbent once more, and hastened to open
the door and escort her down the stairs.
On the stairs they met Nellie Crane,
who did not know anything about Lady
Flora de Vere.
'Please, Mr. Vereker,' said the child,
' I have come '
' I can't attend to you now,' replied
Vereker, hastily ; ' go up and wait for
me.'
Flora had seen that the young girl was
pretty.
' Is that one of your sitters ?' she
inquired.
' One of my models.'
THE FIRST SITTING. 289
Flora did not condescend to say any-
thing more, but it struck her that Felix
Vereker was but a young man, and that
he had some very attractive models.
' My daughter will come next Friday at
the same hour,' Lord Lillebonne was say-
ing ; ' I do not know that my engagements
will allow me to come with her, but in
that case her maid Avill accompany her.'
Vereker bowed. He was vexed to see
not only Quekett at the entrance, with his
brooms and his cloths, but also Mrs.
Quekett, half in hiding, jjeering round at
the beautiful young lady.
' Where shall we find a cab ?' asked his
lordship, in a helpless tone.
' I think there will be one on Willow
Green. Allow me to look out for Lady
Flora.'
VOL. I. U
290 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
Felix ran to the end of his street, and
at one of the houses on Willow Green he
saw a hansom which had just set down a
fare. He whistled — rather vulgarly, as
the earl thought — and so summoned the
cab. He assisted Lady Flora to climb
into it ; he spoke the address to the driver,
and stood with two fingers up to his fore-
head as if saluting. For, not having on
s hat, he could not take it off.
When they had been driven away, Felix
turned from the thought of his visitors to
be vexed with the Queketts ; brooms and
dusters in the hall just as a beautiful lady
was coming out ! A stout woman in a
dirty apron peeping round a corner when
Lady Flora Yere de Vere was passing
by!
' Now, look here, Quekett,' the young
THE FIRST SITTING. 291
man began, ' when my sitters are passing
through the hall '
' Yes, sir,' said the porter, ' if I'd a-
knowed, I'd a had it cleaned up earlier.
But you gents come in and out all day,
and never think of the scraper.'
' Well, don't bring your brooms again
into Lady — a lady's — way.'
' No, sir. I see she was very well
dressed, that young lady. She ain't a
model, I suppose, Mr. Vereker?'
' She is not,' answered Felix, almost
fiercely.
' If she had told me her name, or the
old gentleman's either, I might have an-
nounced her properly. They come in
without ringing for me, and they gave
me no card to take up, so what could I
do?'
u 2
292 THE IDEAL AKTIST.
' You did quite right ; all except the
brooms.'
'Next time she comes, what shall I say^
sir?'
' Her name's of no consequence,' said
Vereker, in his sternest manner.
Mrs. Quekett came forward.
' Leave the youno^ lady to me, Queketty
and get to your work. That gas-lamp up
there is disgraceful, simply disgraceful.
You get up them steps and clean it di-
rectly, or I'll call the attention of the
directors to it, and you'll hear what they
will say. And now, Mr. Vereker, I'm at
your service, and the next time Miss —
Miss Whatsername comes here, you let
me know, and I'll be ready to wait on her.
' There is no need of your services,' said
Felix, running up the stairs.
THE FIRST SITTING. 293
Mrs. Quekett harangued her husband
on the subject of 'unknown young women
coming to sit to young fellers like that
Vereker ; she did not know what the
world was coming to ; gals do things in
these days that would have made their
grandmothers die of horror.' Quekett
agreed with every word that his wife said.
Felix had forgotten that Nellie Crane
was in his studio. He found her standing
before the canvas on which only an outline
of a head and bust was visible.
' Oh !' said the child, ' you can never
mean that for the beautiful lady whom I
met on the stairs !'
' There is not much likeness at present/
said Felix ; ' what do you want, Nellie?'
' Please, Mr. Vereker, I came to ask if
you would like me to sit to you again.
294 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
We are very badly off just now, and I da
so want to earn some money. Father was
taken with a fainting-fit yesterday, and
when the doctor came he said we were to
get brandy and port wine and beef-tea and
everything to keep up his strength.'
' I am very sorry,' said Felix ; ' but yoa
know " Buttercups " is nearly finished, and
I don't think I can paint you again.'
' Nor Edith ? She has got an engage-
ment to sit to a lady at Notting Hill, and if
I could get one we should not do so badly.
And we don't think Baby can live.' This
she said in quite a hopeful tone.
' I am very sorry,' Felix said again. He
did not know what else to say.
' And Edith is keeping company with
Mr. Coleman, and he has gone into the
country, and has only written once to her^
THE FIRST SITTING. 295
and slie thinks that he is forgetting her
already.'
'Oh, he won't forget her, never fear.
Look here Nellie, I'll give you a note to a
man whom I know, and ask him to employ
you as a model. He keeps a sort of School
of Art, and may give you an engagement.
I don't know what else to do for you.
When is your sister to be married to Mr.
Coleman?'
Nellie shook her head.
' Oh, not for a long time. Mother could not
spare her at present. She does half mother s
sewing. If father was taken, there would
not be nearly so much to do or to spend,
and very likely Edith could get married
then. The doctor says he can't last much
longer.'
' Poor fellow !' said Felix.
296 THE IDEAL ARTIST.
He gave Nellie the introduction to Mr.
Oscar Burne Grafton, who did find an en-
gagement for her ; and thus absolute star-
vation was staved off from the Crane
family. When he was alone, Felix sat
down and thought about the ex-postman
and the hereditary disease which was kill-
ing him, and how probable it was that his
children would develop the same complaint
in some form. And he felt very sage as
he shook his head over Coleman's folly in
tying himself to such a hopeless family.
Then he reflected that hardly any family
is entirely free from some taint of body
or mind ; even the de Veres were said to
have a family secret ; the sweet, charming
Lady Flora might be the heritress of some
terrible malady or disgrace. And that
wretched, ill-conditioned Tothill had set
THE FIRST SITTING. 297
himself to the task of discovering that ma-
lady or disgrace. Might his intentions be
frustrated, Felix earnestly prayed.
And then the artist turned to his can-
vases ; began some background colouring
for Flora's fair head : put in some shadows
to his ' family portrait ' of the lady in blue
and gold-spotted gauze ; and afterwards
went out to try if he could -find a dealer
who would buy ' Buttercups,' or at least
allow it to stand in his gallery on sale, as
soon as it should be finished.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
Printed by Duncan Macdonald, Blenheim House, London, W.
H
H.llUlllJIg.H^