Under the Skylights | Page 4

Warren Block; but the artists and the rest simply called it
the Warren--sometimes the Burrow or the Rabbit-Hutch--and referred
to themselves collectively as the Bunnies.
Abner found it hard to countenance such facetiousness in a world so
full of pain; yet after all these dear people did much to cushion his
discomfort, and before long hardly a Saturday afternoon came round
without his dropping into one studio or another for a chat and a cup of
tea. To tell the truth, Abner could hardly "chat" as yet, but he was
beginning to learn, and he was becoming more reconciled as well to all
the paraphernalia involved in the brewing of the draught. He was
boarding rather roughly with a landlady who, like himself, was from
"down state" and who had never cultivated fastidiousness in table-linen
or in tableware, and he sniffed at the fanciful cups and spoons and pink
candle-shades that helped to insure the attendance of the "desirable
people," as the Burrow phrased it, and at the manifold methods of
tea-making that were designed to turn the desirable people into
profitable patrons. That is, he sniffed at the samovar and the lemons
and so on; but when the rum came along he looked away sternly and in
silence.
Well, the desirable people came in numbers--studios were the fad that
year--and as soon as Mrs. Palmer Pence understood that Abner was to
be met with somewhere in the Burrow she hastened to enroll herself
among them.
Eudoxia Pence was a robust and vigorous woman in her prime--and by
"prime" I mean about thirty-six. She was handsome and rich and

intelligent and ambitious, and she was hesitating between a career as a
Society Queen and a self-devotion to the Better Things: perhaps she
was hoping to combine both. With her she brought her niece, Miss
Clytie Summers, who had been in society but a month, yet who was
enterprising enough to have joined already a class in sociological
science, composed of girls that were quite the ones to know, and to
have undertaken two or three little excursions into the slums. Clytie
hardly felt sure just yet whether what she most wanted was to gain a
Social Triumph or to lend a Helping Hand. It was Abner's lot to help
influence her decision.

IV
The Bunnies could hardly believe their eyes when, one day, Mrs.
Palmer Pence came rolling into the Burrow. She was well enough
known indeed at the "rival shop"--by which the Bunnies meant a
neighbouring edifice loftily denominated the Temple of Art, a vast
structure full of theatres and recital-halls and studios and
assembly-rooms and dramatic schools; but this was the first time she
had favoured the humbler building, at least on the formal, official
Saturday afternoon. Long had they looked for her coming, and now at
last the most desirable of all the desirable people was here.
"Ah-h-h!" breathed Little O'Grady, who made reliefs in plastina.
It was for Mrs. Palmer Pence that the samovar steamed to-day in the
dimly lighted studio of Stephen Giles, for her that the candles fluttered
within their pink shades, for her that the white peppermints lay in
orderly little rows upon the silver tray, for her that young Medora Giles,
lately back to her brother from Paris, wore her freshest gown and drew
tea with her prettiest smile. Mrs. Pence was building a new house and
there was more than an even chance that Stephen Giles might decorate
it. He held a middle ground between the "artist-architects" on the one
hand and the painters on the other, and with this advantageous footing
he was gradually drawing a strong cordon round "society" and was
looking forward to a day not very distant when he might leave the

Burrow for the Temple of Art itself.
Mrs. Pence sat liberally cushioned in her old carved pew and amiably
sipped her tea beneath a jewelled censer and admired the dark beauty of
the slender and graceful Medora. Presently she became so taken by the
girl that (despite her own superabundant bulk) she must needs cross
over and sit beside her and pat her hand at intervals. In certain extreme
cases Eudoxia was willing to waive the matter of comparison with
other women; but to find herself seated beside a man of lesser bulk than
herself seriously inconvenienced her, while to realize herself standing
beside a man of lesser stature embarrassed her most cruelly. As she was
fond of mixed society, her liberal figure was on the move most of the
time.
She was too enchanted with Medora Giles to be able to keep away from
her, but the approach of Adrian Bond--he was a great studio
dawdler--presently put her to rout. For Adrian was much too small. He
was spare, he was meagre; he was sapless,