by Oliver Optic
VI
IN THE STUDIO
As autumn sped on Brenda was not very ardent in following up the Mansionwork. But what a perfect autumn it was! How bracing the air! How muchmore delightful to spend the daylight hours in long rides out over thebridle-path, along the broad boulevard, or in the narrower byways of thesuburbs. Sometimes, instead of riding, Arthur and Brenda would walk evenas far as the reservoir and back. One afternoon in late November theyhad circled the lovely sheet of water that lies embosomed among thehills of Brookline, and, waiting for a car, had sat down on a waysideseat.
"Except for the bare trees it's hard to believe that this is November,"Brenda had said.
"Yes," responded Arthur. "Days like this almost redeem the bad characterof the New England climate."
"Oh, Arthur, there isn't a better all-round climate anywhere."
"After a winter in California, I should think that you'd know betterthan that."
Waiting for a car they had sat down on a wayside seat]
The argument went a little further, and Brenda made out her case verywell, quoting the surprise of Californians and Southerners, who hadcome to Boston expecting an Arctic winter, to find only an occasionalfrigid day.
"Those must have been exceptional winters;" and Arthur shrugged hisshoulders in a way that always provoked Brenda as he concluded, "Saywhat you will, it is always a vile winter climate."
"Then I'm sure," retorted Brenda, "I don't see why you plan to spend thewinter here."
"Oh, indeed! I fancied that you knew the reason."
Taking no notice of this pacific remark, Brenda continued:
"Yes, if I were you I wouldn't stay in so dreadful a place; youcertainly have no important business to keep you. Why, papa said--"
She did not finish the sentence. Arthur frowned ominously, and heabruptly signalled a car just coming in sight.
Brenda hardly understood why Arthur was so silent on the way home. Shedid not realize that her allusion to her father had annoyed him. Arthurknew that Mr. Barlow did not altogether approve of his lack of aprofession. After completing his studies he had not wished to practiselaw. A slight impediment in his speech was likely to prevent his being agood pleader, and the opportunity that he desired for office practicehad not yet offered. His personal income was just enough to permit himto drift without a settled profession. There was danger that he mightlearn to prefer a life of idleness to one in which work had the largerpart.
Yet Arthur's intentions were the best in the world. He really was onlywaiting for the right thing to present itself, and although Brenda hadnot quoted her father's words, his imagination had flown ahead of whatshe had said, and he was angry at the implied criticism.
"No, I can't come in," he said, as he left Brenda at her door. "I havean engagement."
"Oh, what--"
Then Brenda checked herself. If he did not care to tell her, she couldafford to hide her curiosity. After he left her she wondered what theengagement was.
"I'll see you at the studio to-morrow." This was Arthur's parting word,in a pleasanter tone than that of a moment before.
"Yes, perhaps so; I'm really not sure."
The next day, toward four o'clock, Brenda and her little niece, Lettice,mounted the stairs to the studio. The stairs were long and narrow, forRalph Weston, on his return from Europe, had chosen a studio in the topof one of the old houses opposite the Garden, in preference to a newerbuilding.
When his wife and her sister had protested that he would see them veryseldom if he persisted in having this inaccessible studio, "It may seemungallant to say so," he had said, "but that is one of my reasons forchoosing to perch myself in this eyrie. I am all the less likely to beinterrupted when seeking inspiration for a masterpiece. If I wereconnected with the earth by an elevator I should never be safe frominterruption. In fact, I should probably urge you and your friends tospend your spare time here. But now, knowing that it would be animposition to expect you to climb those stairs more than once a week, Ifeel quite secure until Thursday rolls around."
"Oh, you needn't worry. That glimpse across the Garden from your windowshowing the State House as the very pinnacle of the city is beautiful,but we can live without it, if _you_ can exist without us;" and Brendadrew herself up with dignity.
On this particular afternoon as she reached the studio door with Letticeclinging to her hand she was flushed and almost out of breath.
Within the studio her sister Agnes, giving a few last touches to thetable, exclaimed in surprise at sight of the little girl.
"Why, Lettice, what in the world are you doing here?"
"Oh, auntie found me in the park, and she sent nurse off."
Then Brenda explained that Lettice looked so sweet that she justcouldn't bear to leave her behind, "and nurse," she added, "fortunatelyhad a very important errand down town, and was so glad that I could takeLettice off her hands, and so--"
"'The lady protests too much, methinks,'" interposed Ralph. "But youreally need not apologize. I am always glad to have Lettice here, eventhough her mother does think her too young to receive at afternoonteas."
"At four years old--I should think so. There, dear, you mustn't touchanything on the table," for the little girl, on tiptoe, was trying toreach a plate of biscuit.
Lettice withdrew her hand quickly, and, when her wraps were removed,allowed herself to be perched on a tabaret, where her mother said shewas safe from harming or being harmed.
The studio was filled with trophies that Mr. and Mrs. Weston hadcollected abroad. The high carved mantle-piece was the work of somemedieval Hollander, the curtain shutting off one end of the room was oldNorman tapestry--the most valuable of all their possessions. Each chairhad, as Brenda sometimes said, a different nationality. Her ownpreference was for the Venetian seat, with its curving back andelaborate carving. As it grew darker outside the studio was brightenedby the light from a pair of Roman candlesticks.
Only one or two of the paintings on the wall were Mr. Weston's work.When asked, he always said that he had very little to show, and that hedid not believe in boring his guests by driving them, against theirjudgment, perhaps, to praise what they saw.
"Mock modesty!" Brenda had exclaimed at this expression of opinion.
"If I were sure that that was a genuine Tintoretto, I should believethat you were afraid of coming in direct competition with an old master;though, to tell you the truth, I'm glad that your work is a littlebrighter and livelier," she concluded.
One or two callers had now come in, and Brenda took her place at thetea-table, that Agnes might be free to move about the large studio. Soonthe nurse appeared, and Lettice, protesting that she was a big girl andought to stay, was ignominiously carried home.
"Where's Arthur?" asked Ralph, as he stood near Brenda, waiting for herto pour a cup of tea for a guest.
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Oh, I beg your pardon," responded Ralph ceremoniously. "I fancied thatyou might have heard him say what he intended to do."
Ralph went off with the tea, and Brenda continued to pour for otherguests. But her mind was wandering. She served lemon when the guest hadasked for cream, and generously dropped two lumps into the cup of onewho had expressly requested no sugar. In spite of herself her eyetravelled often to the door, and an observer would have seen that hermind was far away. When at last she saw Arthur entering the room someone was with him, and the two were laughing and chatting gayly.
"Oh, we had such a time getting here," cried the shrill voice of Belle."Mr. Weston's been making calls with me in Jamaica Plain, and the carswere blocked coming back, so that it seemed as if we should never gethere."
"But we're glad to arrive at last;" and Arthur moved toward the table,while Belle lingered for a word or two with Agnes and her husband.
"Poor thing!" exclaimed Belle, when at last she joined Arthur beside thetable. "Poor thing! have you been shut up here pouring tea all theafternoon? You ought to have been with us; we've had a perfectly lovelytime."
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p; "You don't care for sweet things, so I won't give you any sugar," saidBrenda, without replying directly to Belle.
"Come, Belle, you must see this sketch of Lettice. It is the one youwere asking about." Agnes had come to the rescue.
As Belle turned away, Arthur tried to make his peace, for he saw that insome way he had displeased Brenda. He explained that he had merelyhappened to meet Belle, who was out on a calling expedition. He hadaccompanied her to one or two houses, because when she had paid thesevisits she intended to go to the studio. "I really meant to call foryou, although you were so uncertain yesterday about coming," heconcluded apologetically.
"Of course you knew I would come. I always do on Thursdays," repliedBrenda; "but you were not obliged to call for me if you had somethingpleasanter to do."
"Ah, Belle is never out of temper." Arthur spoke significantly, annoyedby Brenda's unusual dignity of manner. Then, as she turned to speak tosome one at the other side of the table, he crossed the room and joinedBelle.
Since the death of her grandmother two years before, Belle and hermother had been away from Boston. They expected to spend the comingseason in Washington, as they had the preceding. Belle now pronouncedBoston altogether too old-fashioned a place for a person of cosmopolitantastes, and she dazzled the younger girls and the undergraduates of heracquaintance by talking of diplomatic and state dignitaries with thegreatest freedom. According to her own estimate of herself, she was oneof the brightest stars in Washington society.
Although she and Brenda were less intimate than formerly, when Belle wasin town she was with Brenda more than with any other girl of heracquaintance. Despite her insincerity and her various other failings,now much clearer to Brenda than in her school days, Belle had certainqualities that made her very companionable, and Brenda was inclined tooverlook her less amiable traits. Indeed, she had clung to Belle inspite of the protests of various other girls. But to-day she feltimpatient with Belle. Her high, sharp voice grated on her ear. Herwitticisms seemed particularly shallow, and almost for the first timeBrenda realized that the words with which Belle raised a laugh fromthose present carried a sting for some one absent.
Again Belle approached her. "I suppose your cousin never indulges infrivolities like this. I hear that she has withdrawn altogether from theworld into some kind of a home or institution."
"There, Belle, how silly you are! If you'd spend more time in Boston,you'd at least hear things straight. Julia is just as fond of frivolityas any of us, only it's the right kind of frivolity."
"Oh, excuse me," exclaimed Belle with mock sorrow. "I had entirelyforgotten your new point of view. You used to feel so differently aboutyour cousin."
"Well, it is irritating to hear you talk about her being in aninstitution. Surely you've heard about Miss South and the old Du LaunyMansion; and if you go up there and call, you'll see that they are notshut out from the world."
"Dear! dear! why need you take everything so seriously. There! why, it'shalf-past five! I'm really afraid to go home alone."
This was said as Arthur came within earshot, and, of course, he couldonly offer to go home with her, as she professed to be in too great ahurry to wait for Brenda and the rest of the party.
"But I will come back for you," murmured Arthur, as he turned away.
"No, thank you; you needn't," responded Brenda stiffly; "I have Ralphand Agnes, and really I don't care for any one else."
"Very well, then, we'll say good evening;" and the two young people wentoff after Belle had said her farewells very effusively to all in thestudio.
As Brenda sat alone in a corner of the studio after the other guests hadgone, she had an opportunity to think over the events of the past fewyears which some of Belle's sharp remarks had brought up. Ralph andAgnes were busy discussing designs for some picture-frames that he wasto have made, and, sitting apart, Brenda in a rather unusual fit ofreverie recalled some of the happenings of the six years since hercousin Julia had first come into her life. When first she learned thather orphan cousin, who was a year and a half her senior, was to become amember of her family, she had been far from pleased. Without feelingjealousy in its meanest form, she was annoyed lest the presence of Juliashould interfere with her enjoyment of her little circle of intimatefriends. Edith Blair, Nora Gostar, Belle Gregg and she had formed apleasant circle, "The Four," into which she did not care to have a fifthenter. Consequently she was far from kind to her cousin, and would notinvite her to the weekly meetings of the group, when they gathered ather house to work for a bazaar. Belle prompted and upheld Brenda in herattitude toward her cousin, while Nora and Edith were Julia's champions.Later Julia had an opportunity to behave very generously toward Brenda,and from that time the cousins were good friends. Belle's departure forboarding-school and her later absence in Washington had naturallylessened her intimacy with Brenda. Julia, after two years at MissCrawdon's school with Brenda, had entered Radcliffe College, where inher four years' course she had made many friends, and had been graduatedwith honor. Belle, as well as Julia and Brenda, had been one of MissSouth's pupils at Miss Crawdon's school, but she was one of the few withno interest whatever in the work begun at the Mansion--a work which themajority had been only too glad to help.
Belle had never shown herself to Brenda in so unlovely a light as onthis particular afternoon at the studio. Yet she had often been far moredisagreeable in her general way of expressing herself. The differencewas that now Brenda herself had begun to look at life in a verydifferent way. She had a higher standard; she understood and admired hercousin, even though in many ways they were very unlike, and Belle incontrast seemed particularly shallow.
Then, too, to be perfectly honest with herself, she had to admit thatshe was surprised and not pleased that Arthur Weston should show so muchinterest in the society of Belle.
"Come, Brenda, are you dreaming? We are ready to go home."
At the sound of her sister's voice Brenda rose quickly, and was readywith a laughing reply to one of her brother-in-law's witticisms.
Brenda was not inclined to be melancholy, and the half-hour ofretrospect had been good for her.