The Beldonald Holbein | Page 7

fix us, and her
eyes had the challenge of those of the woman of consequence who has
missed something. A moment later I was close to her, apologising first
for not having been more on the spot at her arrival, but saying in the
next breath uncontrollably: "Why my dear lady, it's a Holbein!"
"A Holbein? What?"
"Why the wonderful sharp old face so extraordinarily, consummately
drawn-- in the frame of black velvet. That of Mrs. Brash, I mean--isn't
it her name?--your companion."
This was the beginning of a most odd matter--the essence of my
anecdote; and I think the very first note of the oddity must have
sounded for me in the tone in which her ladyship spoke after giving me
a silent look. It seemed to come to me out of a distance immeasurably
removed from Holbein. "Mrs. Brash isn't my 'companion' in the sense
you appear to mean. She's my rather near relation and a very dear old
friend. I love her--and you must know her."
"Know her? Rather! Why to see her is to want on the spot to 'go' for her.
She also must sit for me,"
"SHE? Louisa Brash?" If Lady Beldonald had the theory that her
beauty directly showed it when things weren't well with her, this
impression, which the fixed sweetness of her serenity had hitherto
struck me by no means as justifying, gave me now my first glimpse of
its grounds. It was as if I had never before seen her face invaded by
anything I should have called an expression. This expression moreover
was of the faintest--was like the effect produced on a surface by an
agitation both deep within and as yet much confused. "Have you told
her so?" she then quickly asked, as if to soften the sound of her
surprise.

"Dear no, I've but just noticed her--Outreau, a moment ago put me on
her. But we're both so taken, and he also wants--"
"To PAINT her?" Lady Beldonald uncontrollably murmured.
"Don't be afraid we shall fight for her," I returned with a laugh for this
tone. Mrs. Brash was still where I could see her without appearing to
stare, and she mightn't have seen I was looking at her, though her
protectress, I'm afraid, could scarce have failed of that certainty. "We
must each take our turn, and at any rate she's a wonderful thing, so that
if you'll let her go to Paris Outreau promises her there--"
"THERE?" my companion gasped.
"A career bigger still than among us, as he considers we haven't half
their eye. He guarantees her a succes fou."
She couldn't get over it. "Louisa Brash? In Paris?"
"They do see," I went on, "more than we and they live extraordinarily,
don't you know, in that. But she'll do something here too."
"And what will she do?"
If frankly now I couldn't help giving Mrs. Brash a longer look, so after
it I could as little resist sounding my converser. "You'll see. Only give
her time."
She said nothing during the moment in which she met my eyes; but
then: "Time, it seems to me, is exactly what you and your friend want.
If you haven't talked with her--"
"We haven't seen her? Oh we see bang off--with a click like a steel
spring. It's our trade, it's our life, and we should be donkeys if we made
mistakes. That's the way I saw you yourself, my lady, if I may say so;
that's the way, with a long pin straight through your body, I've got you.
And just so I've got HER!"
All this, for reasons, had brought my guest to her feet; but her eyes had
while we talked never once followed the direction of mine. "You call
her a Holbein?"
"Outreau did, and I of course immediately recognised it. Don't you?
She brings the old boy to life! It's just as I should call you a Titian. You
bring HIM to life."
She couldn't be said to relax, because she couldn't be said to have
hardened; but something at any rate on this took place in
her--something indeed quite disconnected from what I would have
called her. "Don't you understand that she has always been

supposed--?" It had the ring of impatience; nevertheless it stopped short
on a scruple.
I knew what it was, however, well enough to say it for her if she
preferred. "To be nothing whatever to look at? To be unfortunately
plain- -or even if you like repulsively ugly? Oh yes, I understand it
perfectly, just as I understand--I have to as a part of my trade--many
other forms of stupidity. It's nothing new to one that ninety-nine people
out of a hundred have no eyes, no sense, no taste. There are whole
communities impenetrably sealed. I don't