Two Studios
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expressing himself like an English gentleman. Moreover, shenow recalled a momentary drawing back when she offered the money.
"I am glad I paid him; I am glad he had that to go through!" criedKitty, with burning cheeks, and a longing to heap some humiliation onhis head. "He must have hated it. I wonder what he did with themoney?"
If Kitty had known, her cheeks would certainly have burnt more fiercelystill; for Everitt had, with painful efforts, himself _sewn_ up themoney in a little case, and painted outside it the initials "K.L." and adate.
This little case he will carry with him always--till his death.
CHAPTER FIVE.
CONSEQUENCES.
Everitt made his way home in happy unconsciousness of the discovery thatfollowed his departure. To tell the truth, he troubled himself lessthan he might have done--for he was not without suspicions that MissAitcheson had penetrated his disguise further than he liked--because histhoughts were running persistently on one subject: how to see MissLascelles again, and quickly.
The most direct way was to get hold of Mrs Marchmont, and induce her totake him; but he had the grace to determine that, in telling her hiswishes, he would tell her all, and be guided by her advice. If she werein favour of a frank confession, he was quite ready to undertake it. Itmust be owned that he did not imagine that in personating thedisreputable Italian he had committed a very unpardonable fault; he didnot, at any rate, so imagine it now, when it appeared to hint he hadbeen far more inexcusable in suggesting that such a model as Giuseppeshould sit for Kitty Lascelles.
He would go to Mrs Marchmont that afternoon.
So full was he of these thoughts that he neglected precautions, and verynearly blundered into the arms of the irrepressible Jack, who wasdiverting himself by strolling up and down the passage, and imparting amore truculent expression to the countenance of a grimy marble lionwhich stood on guard. He came into Everitt's studio by-and-by with hiscuriosity very much alive.
"Hill swears no one has been here, but I can swear--harder--that twiceto-day I've seen Giuseppe, or his double, and I believe he ran to earthin here."
"I've not seen the fellow," said Everitt, coolly.
"Well, you may take my word for it he's been here. Do you mean to tellme I don't know that old sun-burnt cloak of yours?"
"I mean to tell you nothing, except that I've not seen Giuseppe."
"Where's the cloak?"
"Where it always is, I presume. Look for yourself."
Jack investigated the cupboard. There was the cloak certainly, also thered waistcoat, also the brown hat with the crossed ribbons, also thesandals, with--and this was strange--a stain or two of fresh mud. Hebrought them to Everitt triumphantly.
"They've been worn this morning; how do you account for that?"
The other man looked black.
"For pity's sake, Jack, leave the thing alone! You want to know ifGiuseppe's been here, and I tell you no. That's enough. You're soabominably inquisitive!"
Jack stared at him meditatively for a few moments; then he flung himselfinto an armchair, stretched out his legs, and burst into a vociferouspeal of laughter. It lasted long enough for Everitt to get red, try tolook stern, and finally to break into an accompanying laugh himself.
"What a fool you are!" he said presently, by way of compensation.
"Oh, I say!" cried Jack, when he could speak; "if this doesn't beateverything! I knew there was something up, but I never thought ofanything so rich as this. My very reverend, grave, and sober Mentor!"
"Shut up!"
"I'd have given all I have in the world to have been there," Jackcontinued, springing up in the ecstasy of his feelings. "A precious badbargain she must have had! _You_ stand for a model! You couldn't, mydear fellow, to save your life. I say, aren't you stiff? Everitt?"
"Well?"
"I believe it was the duke's daughter put it into your head?"
"It's true enough I get my folly from you," said the elder man, notill-humouredly.
"Oh, no more speeches of that sort! I've the whip-hand of you for agood while," said Jack, triumphantly. "You can't say I ever dressed upas a model to get into a house."
"To get into a house!" Everitt frowned. "Certainly that was not mymotive."
"What then?" demanded the imperturbable Jack.
"Merely that that brute came drunk, and I had promised to send someone."
"Oh!"
"What do you mean by your `oh'? it was, I tell you--hotly. I dare say.But it won't look like it to them when they find it out."
"What do you mean?"
"Only what I say. You'll be run in, somehow, of course; you're not thesort of fellow to do it under the rose. Well, when it comes out theywon't believe but that you had some object in view."
"Go on, Jack; you're a marvel of precocious wisdom! I tell you, I'dnever seen or heard of them before."
"Not Miss Aitcheson?"
"Oh, Miss Aitcheson! I'm sure I never want to see Miss Aitchesonagain."
"Was she there?"
"Yes."
"And don't you suppose she recognised you?"
"Shouldn't wonder."
"Well, you have put your foot in it."
"What's the harm? I promised a model; he failed, and I went myself."
"Oh, no particular harm," said Jack, coolly; "no harm at all, I daresay; only if I had happened to do such a thing--"
"You!" repeated Everitt, looking at Jack. Put in this manner, the ideacertainly appeared intolerable. "You! Oh, you're different."
"I should say I was. I shall never pull up to your heights of audacity,that's certain. What's your next move? Are you going again?"
"No," curtly. "To-morrow I shall send Jackson."
Jack had a good many more jests to cut, which the other endured withwhat meekness he could muster. It was annoying that the young fellowshould have made the discovery, for it would inevitably serve as a meansfor plaguing Everitt whenever the artist tried to get Master Jack intosteady work. Moreover, the way in which he looked at it made Everitt alittle uneasy; it had not before struck him that others might regard itin that attitude, which had, indeed, been far enough from his own pointof view.
In the afternoon he went to his cousin's in Hans Place. She welcomedhim with excessive cordiality and some surprise.
"For a wonder I find you alone," he said.
"That sounds," she said, "as if you were in the habit of trying to findme. Shall we go into dates, or would you rather throw yourself on mymercy?"
"Much rather. Indeed, I am afraid this is going to be an afternoon ofconfessions."
She glanced at him and then at a letter which the servant had given herwhen Everitt came in.
"Will you excuse me," she said, "if I read my letter?"
It contained no more than a few lines, but Mrs Marchmont took anunusual time in reading them. When she had finished, she refolded thenote and laid it by her side.
"Confessions!" she said. "They will have a great air of novelty fromyou. What have you been about, Charlie? Forgetting your engagements?"
"No. Only carrying them out too faithfully. You remember that Iundertook to supply a model for your friend, Miss Lascelles?"
Mrs Marchmont took the letter she had laid down again into her hand.
"Yes," she answered. "And you carried out your undertaking. Hasanything happened?"
"Why?" he asked quickly.
"Because you told me you had a confession to make, and because this notemay have something to do with it. It is from Mrs Lascelles."
"What does she say?" Everitt demanded, with interest.
"Well, she begs me to let you know that they do not want the modelagain. There is something odd in that, because Kitty was so very keenfor him. What is the mystery? Has the man turned out too much of aruffian, or too little?"
"Judge for yourself," he said. "I was the ruffian."
"You!" she exclaimed. "You!"
"The man failed me, and I couldn't think of any way of
escaping yourdispleasure but by taking the character myself."
"You went to the Lascelles' as a model!"
"I did. I begin to believe now that it was a blunder."
"It was a blunder," she said, gravely. "It certainly was a blunder."
He looked at her.
"At least," he said, eagerly, "you will understand that my motives werevery simple."
"Yes, I can understand; I am afraid other people may not credit themwith such