take back two of thesachets which she had finished, but had brought them back to make somealterations that the oily individual had pointed out to her in aplayfully amorous fashion; a circumstance that had put her into as bad atemper as her grief stricken soul would allow. She sat on the red stoolbefore her easel working, not at the sachets--she was too disgusted totouch them--but at her last canvas, with a lay figure posed in lieu ofthe model she could no longer employ. When the sound of someonemounting the stairs caused her heart to quicken its beating, and thetell-tale colour to come and go in her cheeks. It was St. John, sheknew at once; very few men ascended those stairs, and only one with thatquick decision born of familiarity. He knocked before entering, aceremony that he had dispensed with altogether on class days when he hadbeen a student; he did not, however, wait for permission to enter, butopened the door for himself. Jill's mouth hardened obstinately as sheglanced casually over her shoulder, and then, feigning not to see thebunch of flowers that he brought and laid humbly on the table as apeace-offering, went unmoved on with her work. She did not rise, didnot even offer a word of greeting. St. John spoke first, awkwardly,deprecatingly, uncertain, what to make of her mood.
"Good morning," he said hesitatingly, "I--I was passing and thought Iwould call."
"Passing here?" interposed Jill incredulously, "what a circuitous routeyou must have taken to accomplish that."
"Not at all," he answered, "you aren't so very out of the way. BesidesI wanted to come."
"So I supposed," she retorted disagreeably. "But you might have savedyourself the trouble; you were quite safe paying by cheque, you know."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Mean! Why haven't you called for your receipt? I own to having beenremiss in not sending it, but I had my reasons; and after all it wasonly three days since, and a cheque is always pretty safe."
"You know that I haven't called for that," he said angrily. "If Ithought you really believed me capable of such an act I would--"
"Well, what?" she asked derisively.
"I don't know," he answered lamely, "clear perhaps. I had forgotteneven that a receipt was customary, and certainly never looked for onefrom you."
"Nothing so business like, I suppose?" snapped Jill. "I should havesent one though if I had not intended returning the cheque instead. Ihave no right to that money; I turned you away at a moment's notice, youdid not leave of your own accord."
"That's true enough," he ruefully agreed. "Nevertheless the money isdue to you; I received the tuition."
"It is not due," replied Jill firmly. "You are making me a present ofit, Mr St. John, and I will not accept such a gift. There is yourcheque, take it back if you please."
He took it from her, tore it savagely into pieces, and threw them on thefloor.
"So be it," he answered wrathfully. "You must indeed be succeeding asyou deserve, to reject what you have lawfully earned."
Jill went white as she generally did when in a rage, and favoured himwith a glance that he was not likely to forget in a hurry.
"I have not earned it," she responded, "neither am I succeeding; twofacts which you are thoroughly well acquainted with. Does _that_ looklike success?" And she drew from the cardboard box the sachets she hadbrought home again from the shop that morning, and threw them on thetable in front of him. "That's the kind of work that I have come to do,and I daresay I shall sink lower yet;--Xmas cards no doubt. Oh! yes, Ihave sunk pretty low. The man who gave me that order superintends thework, and corrects errors of detail. He does not like female figures inatmospheric drapery like those. He said the public wouldn't buy themthat way; a nude figure on a nightdress bag--he didn't use the wordnude, by the way, but plain vulgar English--was too suggestive, andrequested me to take them home and paint in a garment--`Just a smallone'--as though he were alluding to a vest. Ugh! it makes me sick--itmakes me _blush_. He wears his hair oiled, too," she continuedretrospectively, forgetting for the minute her resentment against St.John in disgust at her latest patron, "and--further degradation--makeslove to me which for the sake of the miserable commission I dare notresent."
What followed was unpardonable on St. John's part but for the life ofhim he could not resist retaliating for the thrusts that she had givenhim.
"Perhaps the last is a hallucination," he suggested ungenerously; "Youhave a tendency to imagine that sort of thing you know."
She eyed him for a moment in stony displeasure, then pointed imperiouslyto the door.
"You may consider that remark worthy of a gentleman, Mr St. John," shesaid, "I don't. You will oblige me by leaving the studio at once; I--Ishall be rude to you if you don't."
Her voice broke, and she turned to her work again abruptly, paintingwith feverish haste as thought she had not a moment to lose. In twostrides St. John was behind her, and stooping he put his arms about herwith a swift movement for which she was entirely unprepared, and whichimprisoned her so firmly that she could not escape.
"Rude to me if you like," he cried; "but not unkind, Jill--never anymore."
Jill had dropped her utensils, and the palette lay paint side downwardson the floor. She put her small hands on St. John's wrists and tried tofree herself from his embrace, but the attempt was ineffectual, his armsOnly tightened round her, and his face bent lower until it was on alevel with her own. She looked into his eyes and read in them alaughing mastery that defied her efforts to escape, and, even while itangered her, set her pulses leaping in a wild excitement that was halffear, half gladness. She breathed quickly, and pulled at his wristsagain.
"Let me go," she whispered. "How dare you touch me?"
But he only laughed in answer and held her closer to him, and for thefirst time Jill felt his warm kisses on her lips.
"It's not a bit of good," he said; "you can't get away. I feel asthough I could hold you to my heart for ever. You expelled me for afault that I was not guilty of; I am now going to justify youraccusation. Jill, Jill, you foolish child, what are you thinking?Don't shrink away like that, dear. I love you, my darling, my littleindependent, high-spirited girl. I love every tone of your voice, everyfresh mood, wound and vex me though they may at the time. Jill will youmarry me?"
"No," Jill answered with curt abruptness. He shook his head at herreprovingly, but looked not the least whit disconcerted.
"Oh! yes, you will," he returned with confidence; "you must if I have tocarry you all the way to the Church in my arms like this. I can't letyou go again; these last four days have been unbearable. Answer metruly, haven't you found them so too, dear?--just a little sad andlonely, eh Jill?"
"Stand back," she cried still struggling futilely to shake him off."You are mad to talk to me the way you are doing, and I should be worsethan mad to listen."
"Oh! no, you wouldn't," he replied with gay audacity. "You can't helplistening, sweetheart, any more than you can prevent my kissing you.Come, Jill, end this farce and be candid. Is it pique, dear, or what?Why won't you own that you care for me? I know you do."
"Yes. Oh, my God, yes!" she answered, and she broke into violent sobs."I wish from my heart that I could answer truthfully that I do not."
He was startled at her outburst, and drew back in consternation lettinghis hands fall to his sides. She was free enough now, but she hardlyseemed to realise the fact and made no attempt to rise.
"Jill," he exclaimed, "what is it? What has happened, dear? Won't youtell me?"
But Jill only buried her face in her hands and sobbed on. She wouldhave given anything to have preserved her composure throughout thisinterview; but once having broken down there was no stemming thetorrent; the flood must have its way, and a regular deluge it proved.St. John watched her uneasily for a while, then unable to stand itlonger he went up to her again, and putting his arm around her neck,tried to draw her hands away. In a moment she was on her feet facinghim, grief changed to indignation, scorn and anger in her eyes, whilethe tear drops glistened still upon her flushed cheeks, and trembled wetand spark
ling on her lashes.
"Don't come near me," she panted; "your touch is hateful to me--keepaway, do you hear?"
"Don't worry yourself, my dear girl," he retorted a trifle impatientlyit must be confessed. "I have no wish to approach any nearer; indeedI'd rather remain where I am. If you would only tell me what it is allabout, instead of flying off at a tangent we might arrive at a betterunderstanding. Have I done anything to forfeit your regard?"
"Yes," she answered petulantly, "you know you
The Triumph of Jill Page 13