please; you'll ruin me."
St. John desisted then and put on coals instead, piling them up with anequally lavish hand; then he struck a match and set light to theerection which was soon blazing and cracking merrily.
"I told you so," he cried triumphantly looking up at her as she stood alittle behind him regarding with a somewhat rueful smile the veryunnecessary extravagance. "That will be as hot as blazes before long.Come a little nearer; you look cold."
He fetched her a chair and Jill sat down and held her hands to thewarmth. She was cold--cold, and tired, and shaken. Her head achedbadly too, and all the fight seemed taken out of her; she could only sitthere enjoying the rest, experiencing the pleasurable novelty of beingwaited upon, and of having someone to talk to again.
"And now," exclaimed St. John, taking his stand before her with hisgrimy hands held at awkward angles from his clothes, "tell me how youmanaged to hurt yourself. Is it a sprain?"
"I don't know what it is, a mere scratch, I think," she answered. "Ithappened when I was out this morning."
"Indeed! an accident then?" His tone was sympathetic and interested.Jill expanded further.
"Yes," she replied, sinking her chin in the palm of her right hand andresting her elbow on her knee. "A female horror on wheels rode overme."
"What, a cyclist?" Jill nodded.
"You don't approve of biking then?"
"Oh! I don't know," she answered. "I suppose I should if I had one ofmy own. It isn't the machine that I'm disparaging now but the rider.Some people seem to think that the metropolis belongs to them, and thatyou ought to apply to them for the privilege of residing in it. She wasone of that sort."
"But it was not purposely done?"
"No, I suppose not, as it occasioned her the great inconvenience ofstepping off into the mud, but it was sheer carelessness all the same.I was crossing the road, and it was a case of being run over by ahansom, or biked over; I preferred the latter."
"Did you find out who she was?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Jill, feeling in her pocket. "I have her card. She wasvery gracious, and wished me to apply to her if I wanted money, hintingdelicately at a doctor's fee, or something of the sort. I took her cardout of curiosity, and walked into the nearest chemists', having thesatisfaction of hearing her say to someone as I went, that she would seethat I had compensation, poor girl! so stupid to have run right in frontof her wheel."
"Prig!" muttered St. John.
"There's the card. You can throw it into the fire when you've done withit; I shall make no application."
He took it from her, glanced at it, and then gave vent to an involuntaryexclamation of surprise. Jill looked up.
"You know the name?" she questioned.
"Rather!"
"A friend of yours?"
"Well--yes, I suppose so; she's a sort of connection."
Jill compressed her mouth, and stared fixedly at the fire; the situationwas a little awkward.
"Being a relation of yours," she began in a slightly strained voice,"I'm sorry that I said what I did, but--well, you yourself, called her aprig, didn't you?"
"Yes," he admitted, and then he tore the card in two, angrily, and threwit into the flames.
"She couldn't, perhaps, have avoided the accident," Jill went on, "andshe meant to kind, but she doesn't possess much tact."
"No," he agreed, "she doesn't. You must allow me to apologise for her.After all there is some slight excuse for her gaucherie; she has beenspoilt with a superabundance of this world's goods--quarter of a millionof money is rather inclined to blunt the finer sensibilities."
"Quarter of a million!" gasped Jill. "Oh, dear me, I would like thechance of having my finer sensibilities blunted."
She laughed a little, but St. John was looking so gloomy that her mirthdied away almost as soon as it had risen.
"Come!" she said, jumping up. "I will get you some water to wash yourhands, and then we must go to work; it will never do to waste a wholemorning like this."
He allowed her to go without hindrance, and when quite alone stoodglaring at the charred embers of Miss Bolton's card.
"Just like Evie," he soliloquised. "That girl is always making ablithering idiot of herself, though I--H'm! I wonder what little MissErskine would say if she knew that I--"
He broke off abruptly and kicked savagely at an inoffensive lump of coallying near to his boot left there by his own carelessness when makingthe fire.
"Oh, hang it!" he mentally ejaculated, "what a confounded ass I am."
"The water and soap are on the table," said Jill's voice at his elbow,such a small friendly voice, so very different from her former tone--thetone that was always associated in his mind in connection with her--thathe turned and faced her involuntarily, looking down at her with a smile.
"It is awfully good of you to trouble," he said. "I am afraid that Iand my relations are putting you to a lot of bother."
"By no means," she answered, with a return to her former distance ofvoice and manner. "When a student of mine soils his hands in myservice, the least I can do is to provide him with the means ofcleansing them again."
St. John immediately retreated within himself, and taking the towelwhich she offered him, walked over to the table. When he had finishedhis ablutions, Miss Erskine removed the basin, while he took his formerseat and quietly resumed work. The rest of the time passed pretty wellin silence, Miss Erskine's manner continuing as distant as ever. In alllikelihood she would have bowed him out as before, had he not boldly puthesitation on one side, and marching straight up to her held out hishand. Jill, in unwilling acquiescence, placed hers in it.
"You mustn't treat me altogether as a stranger," he said. "Because weare teacher and pupil it doesn't follow that we need be enemies also.Good morning, Miss Erskine; believe me, I am sincerely sorry for theinjury that you have received."
Jill smiled and a gleam of mischief shone in her eyes.
"I seem to have received so many this morning that I hardly know whichyou mean," she said. "Do you allude to the hurt wrist or the veryungenerous manner in which you greeted me on my return?"
He coloured a little. Then he laughed.
"I was rather wild," he admitted. "Saint John with my face, twentiethcentury get-up, and a nimbus, was a bit too much."
"Indeed! I thought it rather clever," Jill modestly remarked.
"Clever, yes; so it was, no doubt. If it hadn't been so clever, itwouldn't have been so annoying."
"It has gone!" she cried, glancing at the table, though she knew alreadythat it was not there. "You are not taking it with you?"
"Yes," he answered coolly, "I am."
"But, Mr St. John," she remonstrated, "I think that I have some claimto my own work."
"But, Miss Erskine," he retorted, "I think that I have some claim to myown portrait."
"Well, never mind," said Jill. "I can sketch it again if I want to."
"Yes," he replied, "but I don't think you will."
"Perhaps not. I am not fond of wasting my time; it is too precious."
St. John laughed and took up his hat.
"Good-bye again," he said. "I hope by the next time I come that thehand will be quite well."
"Thank you," she answered. "I hope it will."
He had not been gone half an hour when a most unusual thing occurred--unusual, that is, for number 144. It was, indeed, an unprecedentedevent within the memory of the present owners of the establishment, andquite a shock to the slovenly Isobel who opened the door to the veryperemptory knock. It was, in short, a florist's messenger with a largeand magnificent basket of hot-house flowers for Miss Erskine. Not beingthe locality for such dainty gifts, it was not surprising that, to quoteIsobel verbatim, it struck her all of a heap. She carried the basket upto the studio, another unusual event; on the very rare occasions when aparcel arrived for Miss Erskine it was left on the dirty hall tableuntil she descended in quest of it. But Isobel's femininity detectedsentiment amid the fragrant
scent of the delicate blossoms, and thevulgar side of her nature was all on the alert. No doubt she expectedMiss Erskine to be equally excited and curious with herself, but MissErskine was not in the habit of gratifying other people at her ownexpense. She was standing in front of her easel roughly sketching witha piece of charcoal when Isobel bounced into the room, and only pausedin her occupation to give a very casual glance at the flowers, and toevince some surprise at sight of them,
The Triumph of Jill Page 6