Woman Of Yesterday

<h3 class='c001'>CHAPTER XIX</h3></div> <div class='lg-container-b c009'> <div class='linegroup'> <div class='group'> <div class='line'>I am holy while I stand</div> <div class='line'>Circumcrossed by thy pure hand;</div> <div class='line'>But when that is gone again,</div> <div class='line'>I, as others, am profane.</div> <div class='line in28'>—<span class='sc'>Robert Herrick.</span></div> </div></div> </div> <p class='c010'>John Gregory stood in the studio with his friend, the first greetings over.</p> <p class='c011'>“May I look at your work?” he asked, approaching Everett’s easel. The younger man stood behind him with sensitive, changing colour, and something almost like trepidation in the expression of his face.</p> <p class='c011'>There was a certain quality of command in John Gregory, of which he was himself, perhaps, usually unconscious, which produced in many minds a disproportionate anxiety to win his approval. As he stood now before Everett’s easel, however, he was not the awe-inspiring figure of Anna’s dream, or even of its sudden fulfilment, but simply an English gentleman in his rough travelling tweeds, a man of fifty or thereabout, noticeable for his height and splendid proportion, for a kind of rugged harmony of feature, and for the peculiarly piercing quality of his glance. His manner was characterized by repose which might have appeared stolidity had not the fire in his eyes denied the suggestion; his voice was deep and full, and he spoke with the roll and rhythm of accent common to educated Englishmen. The aspect of the man produced, altogether, an effect of almost careless freedom from form, the sense <span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>that here was one who had to do with what was actual and imperative, not with the adventitious and artificial; in fine, an essentially masculine and virile individuality,—a man born to lead, not to follow.</p> <p class='c011'>Beside him, Pierce Everett, with his delicate mobility of face and the slender grace of his frame, looked boyish and even effeminate, but there was nothing of superiority or patronage in Gregory’s bearing toward the young artist, but rather a kind of affectionate comradery peculiarly winning, and he entered into the study of the young man’s work with cordial and sympathetic interest.</p> <p class='c011'>The canvas before them was not a large one; the composition extremely simple; the single figure it presented was set in against a background of cold, low tones of yellow. A crumbling tomb of hewn stone, with tufts of dry grass growing in the crevices, hoary with age, stained with decay, was set against a steep hillside of sterile limestone. Leaning upon a broken pillar of this tomb stood the figure of a young girl, her hands dropped carelessly upon the rough stone before her, her head lifted and encircled by a faint nimbus, the eyes fixed in absorbed contemplation, and yet with a child’s passionless calm. The outlines of the figure, in white Oriental dress, were those of extreme youth, undeveloped and severe, the attitude had an unconscious childlike grace, the expression of the face was that of awe and wonder, with a curious mingling of joy and dread. The subject, easily guessed, was the Virgin in Contemplation in early girlhood.</p> <p class='c011'>The picture was nearly finished, only the detail of the foreground remained incomplete.</p> <p class='c011'>John Gregory stood for some time in silence. The face and figure before him possessed the expression of <span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>high, spiritual quality common to the early Florentines; there was little of fleshly or earthly beauty, but an aura of celestial purity, of virginal innocence and devout aspiration, was the more perceived.</p> <p class='c011'>“You have painted, like Fra Angelico, Everett, with heaven in your heart.”</p> <p class='c011'>Gregory spoke at last. The artist drew a long breath and turned away, satisfied. They both found chairs then, and settled down for an hour of talk.</p> <p class='c011'>“Where could you find a model for such a conception? It would be most difficult, I should think, in our self-conscious, sophisticated, modern life.”</p> <p class='c011'>“It was my model who created my picture,” replied Everett. “Mrs. Keith Burgess is the lady’s name. Seeing her at church, when she came here a bride, gave me my first thought of the thing.”</p> <p class='c011'>Gregory looked at him meditatively.</p> <p class='c011'>“It is most remarkable that a woman who was married could have suggested your little Mary there, with that child’s unconsciousness in her eyes, that obviously virginal soul. When a woman has loved a man, she has another look.”</p> <p class='c011'>Everett was surprised at this comment from Gregory, who had never married, and who was peculiarly silent and indifferent commonly when the subject of love or marriage was touched in conversation. He answered presently:</p> <p class='c011'>“When Mrs. Burgess was married and came here, she was in a sense a child. She was thoughtful and serious beyond her years in religious concerns, but quite undeveloped on all other lines, and as inexperienced in the motives and energies of the modern world as a child—I think one might have described her then as a very religious child.”</p> <p class='c011'>“Has she changed greatly?”</p> <p class='c011'><span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>“Not so much, and yet somewhat. She has begun to read, you see, which she never had done except on certain scholastic and religious lines; she has begun to think for herself somewhat, and in a sense, one could say, she has begun to live.”</p> <p class='c011'>John Gregory did not reply, but he said to himself that if she had begun to love she could not have furnished his friend with the inspiration and the model for just that picture.</p> <p class='c011'>He had come to Fulham only for the evening, being on his way to take a steamer from Montreal back to England. The two men had dinner together, and then, returning to the studio, conversed long and earnestly. Gregory spoke freely but not fully of plans which absorbed him, but which were not yet matured. Some theory of social coöperation was in full possession of his mind, and he had small consideration for things outside. Everett listened with serious attention to all that he said, and when he rose to make ready for departure he remarked:—</p> <p class='c011'>“Mr. Gregory, when the time comes that you are ready to carry into execution any plan embodying this principle of brotherhood, count on me, if you think me worthy. I am ready to follow you—anywhere.”</p> <p class='c011'>Gregory looked down upon the young man with his grave and winning smile.</p> <p class='c011'>“Thank you, Everett; I shall remember. But do you know, my dear fellow, I want to ask a tremendous favour of you now, this very night?”</p> <p class='c011'>“Say on,” returned the other.</p> <p class='c011'>Gregory had crossed the room to the easel, and now stood with a look intent on the picture of the young Virgin.</p> <p class='c011'><span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>“It is a bold request, but I want to buy this picture of you now—before you have a chance to touch it again. Who knows but you may spoil it? It interests me unusually, and I want to take it with me to England,—to do that it must go with me to-night. I will pay you any price you have in mind. I want it for a purpose, Everett.”</p> <p class='c011'>“What! you mean that I should let it go to-night, before I have finished it, or shown it to Mrs. Burgess herself even?” and Everett looked almost aghast. “She has never seen it, even once, you know.”</p> <p class='c011'>“Yes,” said the other, looking fully into the artist’s excited face with undisturbed quietness; “that is exactly what I ask of you. I will promise to return the painting to you at some future date if that should be your wish. I shall be over here again in a year.”</p> <p class='c011'>Everett stood for a moment, reflecting.</p> <p class='c011'>“I am very fond of the picture,” he said slowly.</p> <p class='c011'>“So am I,” said the other, smiling.</p> <p class='c011'>Everett glanced up, and caught the smile, and felt a strange control in it.</p> <p class='c011'>“You will have to take it,” he said, with a nervous laugh. “There is no other way.”</p> <p class='c011'>“Then, put a good price on it, my boy,” said Gregory, with matter-of-fact brevity.</p> <p class='c011'>“You will agree not to exhibit it anywhere, publicly?”</p> <p class='c011'>“Certainly. I could not do that without Mrs. Burgess’s consent.”</p> <p class='c011'>“How I shall make my peace with her, I am sure I cannot imagine,” murmured Everett, as he took the painting from its place, and laid it on the table preparatory to packing it.</p> <p class='c011'>“Will you tell her, please,” said Gregory, quite <span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>unmoved, “that I wanted the picture, and will agree to make good use of it?”</p> <p class='c011'>A sudden clearing passed over Everett’s clouded face.</p> <p class='c011'>“Oh, to be sure, to be sure!” he cried; “Mrs. Burgess has read your recent articles in the <cite>Economist</cite>, and she is quite enthusiastic over them. It will be all right.”</p> <p class='c011'>“I am sure it will,” said John Gregory. He was thinking of Anna’s face as she had passed him in the hall below, but he did not mention the fact that they had met to Everett.</p> <div> <span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />