CHAPTER XIII.
FRESH COMPLICATIONS.
"It is best to be cautious and avoid extremes."--_Plutarch_.
Greta Williams's pathetic little speech, "Come soon, very soon,please," rather haunted Olivia, and she very speedily found an excusefor repeating her visit. This time she was welcomed so warmly, andMiss Williams seemed so unfeignedly pleased to see her, that she feltshe had done the right thing, and after that she went frequently toBrunswick Place.
Circumstances certainly favoured the rapid growth of their intimacy.Greta, who had caught a severe cold, was obliged to remain closelyconfined to the house, and Dr. Luttrell, who was sincerely sorry forthe lonely girl, encouraged his wife to go as often as possible.
"She has not a soul belonging to her, at least in England," he saidonce, "though she has relations in New Zealand, uncles and aunts andcousins. There is a colony of Williamses in Christ-church. The worstof it is people seemed to have left off calling, her father madehimself so disagreeable; it is hard lines for her, poor girl. Ibelieve Mrs. Tolman looks her up occasionally." Then Olivia, at themention of the vicar's wife, made a naughty little face.
"Miss Williams rather dreads her visits," she replied. "She calls heran east-windy sort of person, and I know what she means. Mrs. Tolmanis an excellent woman, but she rubs one up the wrong way. I alwaysfeel bristly all over after one of her parochial visits, and I knowAunt Madge feels the same. When the vicar is with her he seems to toneher down somehow, but the very swing of her gown as she enters theroom, and the way she sits down, as though she were taking possessionof one's chair, irritates my nerves," but though Marcus laughed he didnot contradict this.
The new friendship gave Olivia a great deal of pleasure. Since herschool-days she had never enjoyed the society of anyone of her own age.The hard-working young governess had had scant leisure for cementingintimacies.
It had always been a wonder to her how Marcus had managed his courting,and she often told him so. She had met him at the house of one of herpupils, and, it being a wet day, he had offered his umbrella, andwalked back with her to her lodgings.
She had a vague idea that he had detained her for such a long timetalking on the doorstep that her mother had come down and invited himto wait until the rain was over, but Marcus always repudiated this, anddeclared that she had talked so fast that he found it impossible to getaway; but after this he and her mother had seemed to play into eachother's hands.
Perhaps under other circumstances Olivia would hardly have found MissWilliams so attractive and interesting, for, though amiable andaffectionate, she was by no means clever. Her accomplishmentsconsisted in a tolerable knowledge of French and Italian picked upabroad, but she had no decided tastes. She read little, knew nothingof music, and her chief pleasure seemed the care of her flowers and herbeautiful needlework, for some French nuns had taught her embroideryand lace-making. Olivia, who was intellectual and well read, and whothought deeply on most subjects, had soon reached the limits of Greta'sknowledge, but happily there is culture of the heart as well as of thehead.
Greta had plenty of sweet, womanly virtues. She was patient by natureand capable of much long-suffering and endurance. Her affections werewarm and deep, but she had hitherto found no fitting scope for them.The sad grey eyes told their own story: her youthful bloom had beenwasted amid sterile surroundings. Greta Williams had one of thosestrong womanly characters that are meant to be the prop of weakernatures, that are veritable towers of strength in hours of adversity.It was for this that Olivia grew to love her when she knew her better.
"She is so patient," she said once when she was discussing her withMrs. Broderick. "She has so much staying power, and then she neverquite loses her faith in anyone, however hopeless they seem. EvenMarcus has said more than once that her pluck is wonderful, but ofcourse it wears her out."
"You must bring her to see me, Livy," returned Aunt Madge. "We willhave a little tea party, and Deb shall distinguish herself," but Gretaonly smiled faintly when Olivia repeated this.
"Some day, perhaps," she said, quietly, and then her eyes had suddenlyfilled with tears. "Oh, Mrs. Luttrell, we have had such a dreadfultime. Nurse only left him a minute, and he managed to get to thebrandy. It must have been Roberts's fault that the cellarette wasunlocked, but ever since he has seemed quite mad; we were obliged tosend for Dr. Luttrell." And then at the thought of the grim shadowsbrooding over that unhappy home, Olivia's little plans seemed out ofplace.
Mr. Gaythorne kept his promise, and before Robert Barton left them, thepicture was sent to the corner house.
Mr. Barton, who had just finished his sketch of Dot and the kitten, hadthat moment invited Olivia to look at it.
"I may touch it up a bit more, but I suppose it will do now," he said,in a tone of complacency.
"Do! it is beautiful--it is perfectly charming. Oh, if we were onlyrich enough to buy it for ourselves, but," looking at him severely,"you know what my husband said this morning, Mr. Barton, that he wouldnot allow me to accept it as a gift. You are to take it round to thatpicture dealer's in Harbut Street, and see if they will not give you afair price for it, and then you must set about something bigger for theRoyal Academy." And though Robert Barton shook his head in amelancholy dissenting fashion, he knew that Dr. Luttrell had been right.
"It is beautiful--it is perfectly charming."]
"I should have liked you to have it," he said, with a sigh, "but Isuppose beggars ought not to be generous. If I only get on, I willpaint Dot again;" and then Martha had come in with the picture.
"There is no light now. I shall have to wait till to-morrow, but ofcourse your old gentleman knows that."
Robert Barton always spoke of him as the old gentleman, but when Oliviahad first mentioned his name, he had seemed a little startled, and hadquestioned her about him.
"He lives alone," he said presently; "it is rather an uncommon name.There were some Gaythornes in London--a firm of solicitors--perhaps itis one of those. They make plenty of money sometimes." And then thesubject had dropped.
Olivia, who had promised to spend an hour or two with Mr. Gaythornethat evening, looked at the clock, and then folded up her work; but asshe put it away, a sudden quick exclamation from Robert Barton made herlook at him.
He was staring at the picture. "Why, it is my own work," he said, witha flush of pleasure. "The picture I painted at Beyrout, and that Isold for a mere song. Of course the fellow cheated me, he was a meansort of chap; but it is not so bad after all. And what'sthis?--'Goddard.' Well, of all the cads! He has put his own name toit, but I swear I painted it. Abdul and his son Hassan were my models.Oh, I see by your face that you like it, Mrs. Luttrell. I don't thinkmyself that I ever did anything better. Isn't it Carlyle that says'Genius is the capacity for taking infinite pains.' Well, I took lotsof pains with that picture. I meant to get it into the Royal Academy,but ill-luck obliged me to sell it."
"You painted that picture of the Prodigal Son!" exclaimed Olivia,excitedly.
"Oh, yes, I painted it all right. It was a nasty trick of Goddard'sputting his name to it. Look, that was Abdul's wife, the one with thedistaff; the other two were two women I saw sitting under a palm-treeone evening. Well, your old gentleman has sent it to the right personto touch it up. It shall be done to-morrow before I go."
Olivia was so full of this wonderful piece of intelligence that shecould hardly wait until Phoebe had closed the library door. "Oh, Mr.Gaythorne," she exclaimed, "what do you think! Your beautiful pictureof the Prodigal Son is Mr. Barton's work. Goddard is only the name ofthe man who bought it. Yes," as Mr. Gaythorne looked very muchastonished at this. "You will not call him the gentlemanly tramp anylonger, now that he is a real artist."
"Look here, Mrs. Luttrell," he said, abruptly, "I don't believe allthis. You are being gulled. Goddard painted that picture, not Barton;I hate imposition. I daresay the fellow can paint in a prettyamateurish sort of way, and he will be able to do my job, but I am n
otgoing to swallow this without proof. Tell him to bring the pictureback himself, and you can come too if you like. If he has beenimposing on your credulity I shall very soon detect him." But Oliviawas indignant at this.
"Of course he shall bring back the picture if you wish it," she said, alittle stiffly. "And I shall ask him to bring the sketch of Dot, too,and then you will see for yourself how well he paints, but he is noimpostor, I am certain of that;" but as usual Mr. Gaythorne only heldobstinately to his opinion.
"My dear young lady," he said, irritably, "you have hardly enoughexperience to judge in a case like this. If Mr. Barton really paintedthat picture, which I deny, for Goddard painted it, he is a worse scampthan I thought him. What business had he to be starving on a doorstepor supping off dry bread and thin cocoa in a casual ward? My dear, weold fellows know the world better than that. Robert Barton is a blacksheep, and not all your charity can wash him white."
Mr. Gaythorne was evidently in one of his obstinate moods, and Oliviathought it prudent to say no more on this subject. Robert Barton wouldbe able to vindicate himself without difficulty. When Mr. Gaythornesaw the sketch of Dot and the kitten he would be more lenient in hisjudgment of the young artist.
During the remainder of her visit she chatted to him cheerfully about abook he had lent her; but just before she took her leave sheunfortunately broached the subject of her new friend. At the mentionof her name Mr. Gaythorne started and changed color.
"Greta Williams," he observed, with a sharp, almost displeasedintonation in his voice. "That is not a common name. And she lives inBrunswick Place?"
"Yes; they have been living there for some years, but before that theywere in the country." But to her surprise Mr. Gaythorne interruptedher impatiently.
"Yes, yes, you said that before; go on with what you were telling meabout her father. He is a dipsomaniac, you say." And then Oliviaproceeded with her story.
"Is it not sad for the poor girl?" she observed when she had finished,but Mr. Gaythorne made no reply. He was sitting in a stooping attitudeover the fire and seemed lost in thought.
His first remark took Olivia by surprise. "Have you ever mentioned myname to Miss Williams?" he asked, with one of his keen searching looks."You are very frank, Mrs. Luttrell. I daresay you have dropped a wordor two about me."
But Olivia shook her head.
"I am quite sure that I have not done so. I have only seen MissWilliams four or five times, and we have only talked about her owntroubles and--oh yes, a little about Mr. Barton. No, I am certain thatyour name has never been mentioned."
"That is well," he returned, slowly. "Perhaps you will be good enoughfor the future to leave me out of your conversations when you go toBrunswick Place.
"The fact is, Mrs. Luttrell," he went on, slowly, "the Williamses wereold neighbours of ours. And Greta and my Olive were dear friends, butthey left the neighbourhood long before we did. I never liked Mr.Williams; he had a knack of quarrelling with all his friends, and wesoon came to loggerheads. He made himself obnoxious in many ways, andI declared I would never enter his house again. I am sorry to hear weare such close neighbours."
"What a pity!" observed Olivia, regretfully. "And poor Miss Williamsis so nice."
"Oh, I have no fault to find with her," he returned, in a softer voice."She was a good creature, and my Olive was very fond of her. At onetime she was always in our house, and she and Alwyn--let me see, whatwas I saying?" interrupting himself with a frown of vexation. "No,there is no harm in the girl, and I shall always wish her well, for mylittle Olive's sake. But it would be painful for us both to meet." Hestopped, sighed heavily, and then, shading his eyes, sat for someminutes without speaking.
Olivia rose at last. Her visit had not been a pleasant one; thesubjects of conversation had been unlucky. She was vexed with herself,and yet it was no fault of hers. For once Mr. Gaythorne did not try todetain her, but there was no want of cordiality in his manner as he bidher good-bye.
"I shall see you to-morrow," he said; "you had better come early, asthe afternoons are so short," but before she had closed the door heseemed again lost in thought.
That evening Robert Barton was in high spirits, and talked in a mostsanguine manner of his future. He would set about a picture for theRoyal Academy at once. He had his subject ready. A group in thecasual ward that had greatly impressed him. He had sketched it roughlywith an old, battered lead-pencil he had picked up. He discussed itwith animation all tea-time.
"It is just the sort of thing to take the fancy of the public," hesaid. "I shall take pains with it and work it up, patches and all. Itwill be sure to sell." And Marcus applauded this resolution.
During the rest of the evening Robert Barton was excellent company. Hetold stories--pathetic stories and comical ones, until Olivia put downher work to listen. And Marcus's laugh had more than once broughtMartha out of the kitchen.
But towards the end of the evening, when Olivia brought him a cup ofhot cocoa, his gaiety suddenly vanished, and he looked at her a littlesadly.
"To-morrow evening I shall be missing my kind nurse and hostess," hesaid, gently, "and shall be wishing myself back in this cosy parlour,"and then he added, abruptly, "Look here, Mrs. Luttrell, I am not muchof a hand at making pretty speeches, but if ever I can do a good turnfor you and the doctor I shall be proud and happy to do it."
"He is very grateful, Marcus," observed Olivia, as she lingered amoment by her husband's side. "There were tears in his eyes as he saidthat. Poor fellow, I cannot help liking him. There is something_debonnaire_ and boyish about him, in spite of all he has been through,and certainly he has been very amusing this evening, but," with alittle caressing touch, "how nice it will be when we are alone again!"And Marcus smiled assent.
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