Miss Bretherton | Page 3

these men--success and the amount of money there is going. The man who painted this didn't get any pleasure out of it. But it's the same all round. It is money and luxury and the struggle to live which are driving us all on and killing the artist's natural joy in his work. And presently, as that odd little Frenchman said to me last year, we shall have dropped irretrievably into the "lowest depth of mediocrity."'
'Kendal!' said an eager voice close to his ear, while a hand was laid on his arm, 'do you know that girl?'
Kendal turned in astonishment and saw a short oldish man, in whom he recognised a famous artist, standing by, his keen mobile face wearing an expression of strong interest and inquiry.
'What girl?' he asked, with a smile, shaking his questioner by the hand.
'That girl in black, standing by Orchardson's picture. Why, you must know her by sight! It's Miss Bretherton, the actress. Did you ever see such beauty? I must get somebody to introduce me to her. There's nothing worth looking at since she came in. But, by ill luck, nobody here seems to know her.'
Eustace Kendal, to whom the warm artist's temperament of his friend was well known, turned with some amusement towards the picture named, and noticed that flutter in the room which shows that something or some one of interest is present. People trying to look unconcerned, and catalogue in hand, were edging towards the spot where the lady in black stood, glancing alternately at her and at the pictures, in the manner of those equally determined to satisfy their curiosity and their sense of politeness. The lady in question, meanwhile, conscious that she was being looked at, but not apparently disturbed by it, was talking to another lady, the only person with her, a tall, gaunt woman, also dressed in black and gifted abundantly with the forbidding aspect which beauty requires in its duenna.
Kendal could see nothing more at first than a tall, slender figure, a beautiful head, and a delicate white profile, in flashing contrast with its black surroundings, and with lines of golden brown hair. But in profile and figure there was an extraordinary distinction and grace which reconciled him to his friend's eagerness and made him wish for the beauty's next movement. Presently she turned and caught the gaze of the two men full upon her. Her eyes dropped a little, but there was nothing ill-bred or excessive in her self-consciousness. She took her companion's arm with a quiet movement, and drew her towards one of the striking pictures of the year, some little way off. The two men also turned and walked away.
'I never saw such beauty as that before,' said the artist, with emphasis. 'I must find some one who knows her, and get the chance of seeing that face light up, else I shall go home--one may as well. These daubs are not worth the trouble of considering now!'
'See what it is to be an "ideal painter,"' said Kendal, laughing. 'At home one paints river goddesses, and tree-nymphs, and such like remote creatures, and abroad one falls a victim to the first well-dressed, healthy-looking girl--chaperone, bonnet, and all.'
'Show me another like her,' said his friend warmly. 'I tell you they're not to be met with like that every day. Je me connais en beauté, my dear fellow, and I never saw such perfection, both of line and colour, as that. It is extraordinary; it excites one as an artist. Look, is that Wallace now going up to her?'
Kendal turned and saw a short fair man, with a dry keen American face, walk up to the beauty and speak to her. She greeted him cordially, with a beaming smile and bright emphatic movements of the head, and the three strolled on.
'Yes, that is Edward Wallace,--very much in it, apparently. That is the way Americans have. They always know everybody it's desirable to know. But now's your chance, Forbes. Stroll carelessly past them, catch Wallace's eye, and the thing is done.'
Mr. Forbes had already dropped Kendal's arm, and was sauntering across the room towards the chatting trio. Kendal watched the scene from a distance with some amusement; saw his friend brush carelessly past the American, look back, smile, stop, and hold out his hand; evidently a whisper passed between them, for the next moment Mr. Forbes was making a low bow to the beauty, and immediately afterwards Kendal saw his fine gray head and stooping shoulders disappear into the next room, side by side with Miss Bretherton's erect and graceful figure.
Kendal betook himself once more to the pictures, and, presently finding some acquaintances, made a rapid tour of the rooms with them, parting with them at the entrance that he might himself go back and look