The Lesson of the Master | Page 7

recognised the artist and the man of letters by his personal "type," the
mould of his face, the character of his head, the expression of his figure
and even the indications of his dress, so in England this identification
was as little as possible a matter of course, thanks to the greater
conformity, the habit of sinking the profession instead of advertising it,
the general diffusion of the air of the gentleman - the gentleman
committed to no particular set of ideas. More than once, on returning to
his own country, he had said to himself about people met in society:
"One sees them in this place and that, and one even talks with them; but
to find out what they DO one would really have to be a detective." In
respect to several individuals whose work he was the opposite of
"drawn to" - perhaps he was wrong - he found himself adding "No
wonder they conceal it - when it's so bad!" He noted that oftener than in
France and in Germany his artist looked like a gentleman - that is like
an English one - while, certainly outside a few exceptions, his
gentlemen didn't look like an artist. St. George was not one of the
exceptions; that circumstance he definitely apprehended before the
great man had turned his back to walk off with Miss Fancourt. He
certainly looked better behind than any foreign man of letters - showed
for beautifully correct in his tall black hat and his superior frock coat.
Somehow, all the same, these very garments - he wouldn't have minded
them so much on a weekday - were disconcerting to Paul Overt, who

forgot for the moment that the head of the profession was not a bit
better dressed than himself. He had caught a glimpse of a regular face,
a fresh colour, a brown moustache and a pair of eyes surely never
visited by a fine frenzy, and he promised himself to study these
denotements on the first occasion. His superficial sense was that their
owner might have passed for a lucky stockbroker - a gentleman driving
eastward every morning from a sanitary suburb in a smart dog-cart.
That carried out the impression already derived from his wife. Paul's
glance, after a moment, travelled back to this lady, and he saw how her
own had followed her husband as he moved off with Miss Fancourt.
Overt permitted himself to wonder a little if she were jealous when
another woman took him away. Then he made out that Mrs. St. George
wasn't glaring at the indifferent maiden. Her eyes rested but on her
husband, and with unmistakeable serenity. That was the way she
wanted him to be - she liked his conventional uniform. Overt longed to
hear more about the book she had induced him to destroy.

CHAPTER II

As they all came out from luncheon General Fancourt took hold of him
with an "I say, I want you to know my girl!" as if the idea had just
occurred to him and he hadn't spoken of it before. With the other hand
he possessed himself all paternally of the young lady. "You know all
about him. I've seen you with his books. She reads everything -
everything!" he went on to Paul. The girl smiled at him and then
laughed at her father. The General turned away and his daughter spoke
- "Isn't papa delightful?"
"He is indeed, Miss Fancourt."
"As if I read you because I read 'everything'!"
"Oh I don't mean for saying that," said Paul Overt. "I liked him from
the moment he began to be kind to me. Then he promised me this
privilege."
"It isn't for you he means it - it's for me. If you flatter yourself that he
thinks of anything in life but me you'll find you're mistaken. He
introduces every one. He thinks me insatiable."

"You speak just like him," laughed our youth.
"Ah but sometimes I want to" - and the girl coloured. "I don't read
everything - I read very little. But I HAVE read you."
"Suppose we go into the gallery," said Paul Overt. She pleased him
greatly, not so much because of this last remark - though that of course
was not too disconcerting - as because, seated opposite to him at
luncheon, she had given him for half an hour the impression of her
beautiful face. Something else had come with it - a sense of generosity,
of an enthusiasm which, unlike many enthusiasms, was not all manner.
That was not spoiled for him by his seeing that the repast had placed
her again in familiar contact with Henry St. George. Sitting next her
this celebrity was also opposite our young man, who had been able to
note that