Fenwick's Career

enwick, stepping back, with a frown, and gazing h

ourelles gave

ernoon. She had been sitting for an hour and a half. Her hands and feet were frozen, and the fur cloak which she wor

at 'propriety'-also shivering-an elderly gov

' said Fenwick, after

it's c

hair he stood back again, staring firs

ver her feet. The classical head, with its small ear, the pale yet shining face, combined with the dress to suggest a study in ivory, wrought to a great delicacy and purity. Only the eyes, much darker than the hair, and the rich brown of the sable cloak where it touched the white, gave accent and force to the et

ay,' he said, hastily, after another minu

changed a

hat did

res-several portraits-

fine-the "

d his mouth in

said, perf

ightly, as thou

t you don't adm

anything to me,' said

o you d

flesh?' he said, abrup

on in his painting'-her tone was a little

rugged his

at Rubens-o

ration:

Leonardo-a

get back into their skins. Rubens and Vel

dern"?' she as

n which, as usual, he came off badly. As soon as he perceived it, he became rather heated and noisy, trying to talk her down. Whereupon she sprang up, came down from her pedestal to look at the

sked her presently, as he fetched a hand-gl

ut also i

t seemed, of Welby's studies. The experiences she described roused a kind of secret exasperation in Fenwick. And what was really resentment against the meagreness of his own lot showed itself, as usual, in jealousy. He said so

stay in Vienna-the types of Viennese society-the Emperor, the beautiful mad Empress, the Archdukes, the priests-and also of some hurried v

sently inquired whether Mr. Welby

enerally the life

ots of friends-and g

ourelles assen

f manners,' said Fenwick

aps'-and he straighten

manners very im

aid it, with

er get any,' his tone was surly-

h us generally-al

ok his

s that. Besides-one m

e said, with

As he talked on-disjointedly-painting hard all the time, she had a vision of the Kendal shop and its customers-of the shrewd old father, moulded by the busines

these pictures?' She

rther easel-and

't spoken to him or

ed her eyes. 'Is

you've once committed yoursel

egan that way-with a cruel father, and a rebellious son. But they came to magnificent ends, notwithstanding-with sacks of gold and a princess. Diffident, yet smiling, s

turned away and occupied himse

till you're a hundred and two!' she re

d Fenwick, returning to his

e should have thei

n't know at twenty what they'll want a

Pastourell

it doesn't matter what you eat-or how little-if you only

the ch

think so little of. Whether the food's

usband and wife?' h

iful brows for emphasis. 'Show me any

th sharp persistence, 'haven't got time for fussing a

r sprang into her face.

I don't meant court trains an

-aggressively-' We can't all of us have th

n this strange young man. Poor Arthur!-who had always shown himself so ready to make friends, whenever the two men met-as they often did-in the St. James's Square drawing-room. Fenwick's antagonism, indeed, had been p

at they had nothing to do with it. It was natu

inds of aristocrats,'

Pastourell

most detestable!' she declared. 'It ought to be banis

de our heads in the sand-you who posse

any privileges at all,'

added, suddenly putting down his palette and brushes, while his black eyes lightened-'And so does Mr. Welby. You can see from his picture

-please

of myself,' he said, tak

praise humbug?-an

t-'I wouldn't say anything

ace to sweetness. 'That's very nice of you. But if you knew Mr. W

also had come to the end of her tether, fell into a reverie, from which she

ink me an envious brute

"Polyxena" is a fine th

hing I like much better?' she said, with quick resource. And drawing towards her a small portfolio she had br

nwick looked at it in silence. These silver-point drawings of Welby's were already famous. In the preceding May there had been an exhibition of them at an art

had caught the inscription, she rather hastily wit

en. My father and I were there for the winter. Mr. Welby w

ssing all the time at the relation which lay behind the drawing. According to Cuningham's information, it was now three years since a separation had been arranged between Madame de Pastourelles and her husband, Comt

oth of a rare and fine quality; and the signs of an affection between them, equally rare and fine, had not been lost on those subtler perceptions in Fenwick which belonged perhaps to his heritage as an artist. If he gave the matter

*

d thereupon a sound of vo

elles, jumping up-in very evid

Lord Findon put in a

or we-c

Fenwick with a start perceived t

Findon, with a friendly nod to the artist.

at once, if I'm in the

ade me c

ceit had sometimes resented the fact. Yet now that Welby was there he was unwilling t

said Lord Findon. 'But, of course, do

said Madame de Pastourelles to

the best light, and fell back whil

génie,' said Lord Findo

hur see

on from Welby, and a murmured remark to Lord Findon

king a success of it! The whole scheme's

little checked-returned to the picture, studying it closely, and making a number of shrewd, or generous comments upon it, gradually

ys behaved himself with a certain jauntiness, as a man sh

as he helped her put on her furs, 'but I'm not alt

she asked

ear-too grave. I

stourelles s

you mean?

ity!' she said; first gaily-t

arling-for

ecovering herself instantly.

Fenwick as the others approached them, he

cour

to me too large-and

le ivory paper-cutter

the chin, with a moti

de Past

oked-and s

Lord Findon, putting on spectacles.

not big enough,' sa

p his hat. Lord Findon looked at the artist-half angr

as she stood in her sable cap and cloak, wait

u sit to

-I have some

xt

let yo

's colo

o do still-and I must w

now. I wi

er hand into her father's arm and led him away. Wel

*

t Welby's presence always had this effect upon him:-setting him on edge, and making a bear of him? No!-it was not allowed to be so handsome, so able,

s-how different from the stiffness she had just shown him-from the friendly, yet distant relations she always maintained between herself and her painter! A fierce and irritable ambition swept through him-rebellion against the hampering conditions of birth and poverty, which he felt as so many

w more years, and the world would know where to place him-with regard to the men now in the running-men with half his power-Welby and the like. A mad arrogance

ed from it by the servant bringing a lamp; and as she set it down, the light fell upon a mem

on the part of the Findon circle that both the portrait and the 'Genius Loci' were to become Findon possessions-and yet no sum named-no clear agreement even-nothing, as it seemed to Fenwick's suspicious temper, in either case, that really bound Lord Findon. 'Write to the old boy'-so Cuningham had advised again and again-'get

nds before Christmas, and was now begging piteously for his money. There was nothing to pay him with-nothing to send Phoebe, in spite of a constant labour at paying jobs in black-a

the judgement of the Academy and the public, his nerve seemed to be giving way. As he thought of all that success or failure might mean, he plunged into a melancholy no less e

ous impulse seemed to sweep him back into her arms. She was his own, his very own; one flesh with him; of the same clay, the same class, the same customs and ideals. Let him only recover her, and his child-and live his own life as he pleased. No more depende

ed up. The lamp-light

as though for the first time, what an image of melancholy grace it was which he had built up there. He had done it

trust. What if he called on her to help him-unveiled himself to this kind and charming woman-confessed to her his remorse about Phoe

endship for himself and Phoebe. The weakness of the man threw itself strangely, instinctively, on the moral strength of the woman; as though in this still young and winning creature he might recover something of what he had lost in childhood, when his mother died. He mocked at his own paradox, but it held him. That very night would he write to

d pen and paper, and began to write to Phoebe-still in the same softened and agitated state. He wrote in haste and at lengt

*

inning to sing, when the larches were reddening, and only in the topmost ho

After weeks of barrenness, of stray post-cards and perfunctory notes, these ample pages, with their rhetorical and sentimental effusion, brought new life to the fretting, lonely woman.

Carrie's bed-and borrowing much, unconsciously, from the phraseology of the novels she still got from Bowness. Alack! it is to

ad designed for her. Miss Anna came to see her, exclaimed at her frail looks, wanted to lend her money. Phoebe in a new exaltation, counting the weeks, and having still thre

*

hurried lines came, the strain and harass expressed in them left no room for affection. Something wrong with the 'Genius Loci'!-some bad paints-hours of work needed to get the beastly

edit-but Phoebe, brought up in frugal ways, to loathe the least stain of deb

local papers describing 'Show Sunday.' Had John been entertaining smart people to tea, and showing his pictures, with the re

passion would sweep over her. She would not be treated so-John should see! She would get her money for her work

-probably depending, if the truth were known, on some obscure physi

ern air, and reared in Kendal streets, deserting his peasant wife-enslaved by Emma Hamilton through many a passionate year-and coming back at last that the drudge of his youth might n

she said to herself in a mad recoil.

tone she had never yet employed to him. 'I have had one nice letter from you this winter, and only one. As you can't take the trouble to write any more, you'll hardly wonde

ng day, when she heard the gate open and shut. A woman in black came up the pathway, and, seeing Phoebe at the window, s

full of pity and emotion, s

d also embarrassment. The thought of the debt rushed into her mind. Had Miss Morrison come to press f

expression which stirred increasing alarm in the woman befor

er deep black she was more startling than ever, with spots of flame-colour on either cheek, the eyes fixed and staring, the lips wine-red. It might have been a face taken from one of those gro

smelled musty and damp for lack of fire, and was still littered with old canvases

ame in, but she

she said, sharply. 'You won't li

ed at her,

husband painted,' said the girl, putting do

e that for?' said

-and all my friends

cried Phoebe, stepping forward, her w

ng to live in Guernsey. We're selling this house. It's

hen drew hers

ck for taking it home, saying he'd improve it, and then sending it back as ba

portrait to spite anyb

ever heard s

let me destroy it, but she said I might give it back; so there it i

s eyes

band's work on some one who couldn't appreciate it.' She took the roll and s

ow where he is!' sai

do you

h of cruelty showed itself in those of the girl. 'I thought, perhaps

use-a moment's

last, drawing in her breath-and then, rest

hought you ought to know, and mother agreed with me. The men are al

m a stringbag on her

oe

t. She stood rigid, her fierce,

ter. If my husband had been behaving like this,

was reading it the baby Carrie, escaped from the little servant's tutelage, ra

he letter, Phoebe hande

wrote

at South Kensington. You can see

tempt. 'You tell her, Miss Morrison, from me, she might be better em

ung her arms round her mother's

to take it like that-' sa

'You'd better go, Miss Morrison. I am sure I can't imagine why you came. I should have tho

ther

ou don't want to know

e lau

t to know the truth about your father?' Her white face

my father,' cried

yes wavere

him-and for your mother. But you've got a hard, wicked heart-and I hope I'll

nwick. Perhaps you'll find out before long that my friend wasn't such a fool to w

girl passed her insolen

t she was going to sit up over her work, to which only a few last touches were wanting. It had been her intention to go with the

mp and her work, she swept its silken, many-coloured

ly as she could remember, the words o

And, besides that, there is some lord or other who's wild about him-and means to buy everything he can paint. But I thought you said your man was married?-do you remember I chaffed you about him when he began, and you said, "No fear-he is married to a school-teacher," or something of that sort? Well, I asked about the wife, and my friend says, "Nonsense! he isn't married-nothing of the sort-or, at any rate, if he is, he makes everybody believe he i

fastened the last thread. That she should do so was essential to the plan she had in her mind. For she had already determined what to do. Within forty-eight hours she would be in Lon

as she moved towards the door, on the portrait of himself that Fenwick had left with her at Christm