Woman and Artist Part 28

Lorimer would have loved to cry _Bravo_! "She does love him, then, still--we shall save her," he said to himself.

"You see, my dear Sir Benjamin," said he, "the offer is useless. I suppose you still have the spare thirty-six by fifty to fill up, eh?"

"Ah, ah," laughed the alderman; "yes, that is to say, no; it is a new vacancy on my walls. Everyone has his fads here on earth, has he not?

The Queen gives shawls to her friends when they marry, I give pictures to mine. It gives me occasion to purchase new pictures. Well, madam," he added, turning to Dora, "I admire you--I will beg you to excuse me. I thought that, perhaps, you might have been very glad to ... I wanted very much," he went on, retiring, nervous and awkward, towards the door, "to have that picture, but I wished also to do you a good turn--to render you a friendly service which could not hurt your susceptibilities.... After all, artists try to sell their pictures, don't they?... And I should have thought that such an offer at such a time" ...

The unfortunate man floundered more and more.

"Well, excuse me," said he; "I will wish you good-morning."

His back was now against the door. The next second he was in the street again. The poor fellow mopped the perspiration from his brow.

"The woman is mad--she is a prig!" he said to himself, as he hailed a pa.s.sing hansom and set out for the City, where he was more in his element.

Dora was choking with anger. Lorimer rubbed his hands with joy.

"Not even a front door of my own to protect me against the importunities of such a fool as that! Oh, the sympathy of such a man! The drop that overbrims the vase! The kick of the jacka.s.s! And you can stand there and laugh."

"Ah, my dear Dora, what good you have done me!" exclaimed Lorimer, who could not contain his delight. "You were quite right--not for five hundred, nor for five thousand, nor for a million. That picture is a treasure no gold could pay for--never let it go--Philip will finish it.

Oh, how happy you have made me! You love him still! you know you do," he cried.

"You know nothing about it," said Dora, and, taking the little packet that Lorimer had brought her from her husband, she went towards her bedroom.

"I am tiring you," said Lorimer. "I ought not to have stayed so long, but it seemed to me I had so many things to say to you--and I have not got through half of them. Look here, I have a little business in the neighbourhood, my time is my own; may I come at four o'clock to ask you for a cup of tea?"

"Why, of course," said Dora. "How nice of you! Oh, it is good to see a friend who is always the same."

Lorimer took her outstretched hand and respectfully lifted her fingers to his lips. Then he went out. He could have danced for very joy.

The scene he had just witnessed confirmed him in his belief that there was yet hope for Philip.

He had a plan evolved out of his dramatic author's brain, a little _coup de theatre_, which he thought had every chance of turning out a success.

He had already talked of it to Philip and Dr. Templeton, and both of them had p.r.o.nounced it an excellent idea. Hobbs also was in the secret.

Lorimer judged the time ripe for the execution of this plan. On leaving Dora he jumped into a cab, and went to warn the other conspirators to hold themselves in readiness. The doctor was to make his appearance at Dora's about five o'clock, to see how she was doing. Philip was to wait in the street in readiness for a signal, which should bid him to the scene of action in due time. When everything was decided, and the details well arranged, Lorimer took Philip to his club, where they pa.s.sed an hour or two in talk before returning to St. John's Wood to proceed to action.

XVIII

LORIMER'S PLOT

When Dora was alone, she took Philip's letter and put it by without opening; then she softly began to untie the small packet. She could not repress her emotion at the sight of these little flowers, that brought back the memory of the happiest days of her life. It was like a breath of Elm Avenue, stealing into her attic.

"Our little family," she said. "Poor little flowers, you were happy when Philip plucked you, happy even as I in those days was happy! And to-day you are faded, limp, and lifeless, even as my poor heart. Oh, cursed be life, I cannot weep even at sight of you.... You at least have no memory to torture you. What would I not give to obliterate my own!"

When Hobbs came in to set the table, she found Dora lying drowsily back in her armchair, holding in her hands the flowers whose history the good woman knew well. She did not like to disturb her mistress, and retired discreetly into the bedroom to wait patiently until Dora should wake. But Dora did not stir, and the beefsteak would certainly be spoilt. Hobbs returned, and softly and deftly set about her preparations.

Dora opened her eyes, and was annoyed to see Hobbs smiling at sight of the flowers she still held in her hands. It seemed as if the servant had surprised a dear secret, and was reading in her mistress's heart something that she herself could scarcely decipher yet.

"The pansies come back!... Then it must be master who has sent them,"

said Hobbs.

"Yes," replied Dora, "yes, it is he; they no longer mean anything to him, so he sent them to me. He gets rid of them."

"And shall I tell you what I think? I think that these flowers mean a great deal to him still, and, if he has sent them here, it is that they may say to you, 'In the name of the happy past that these flowers will remind you of, come back to me. I love you and I wait for you.' That's what I think."

Dora did not encourage Hobbs to continue. She rose and went to the table; but she had no appet.i.te, and scarcely touched the succulent food that Hobbs had prepared for her.

"I expect Mr. Lorimer at four o'clock," said Dora; "he is coming to have tea with me. Meanwhile, I am going to read. I want to be alone here, for a while, Hobbs."

When the lunch had been taken away, Dora remained in the studio and installed herself in an armchair with a book in her hand, but she did not read. The thoughts chased one another through her brain. Doubt and incert.i.tude pursued her and disturbed her inmost soul, but although she could not exactly explain to herself what was pa.s.sing within her, she felt that this doubt and incert.i.tude were no longer of Philip's innocence, but of his culpability. The fact is, she was waiting eagerly for Lorimer's return, not only because his breezy company acted as a tonic to her nerves, and seemed to bring forth fresh strength, but because she was dying to learn more details about Philip's doings.

She did not say it to herself in so many words but something within her cried out: "You are unjust, your obstinacy blinds you; lend an ear to all that can throw light on this matter; do not refuse any longer to learn the facts."

Lorimer was punctual to the minute. As the clock struck four, he walked into the studio. He found Dora in the same dress which she had worn in the morning, but he noticed that her hair was differently arranged, and that her very simple mourning robes yet possessed an air of elegance. In her whole appearance there was something which revealed a woman who had retained a consciousness of her beauty.

Lorimer seemed in gayer mood than ever. Dora noticed it at once, and the good spirits of her old friend insensibly roused a response in her.

Hobbs brought in the tea, and Dora poured out two cups.

Lorimer took a piece of cake, drank his cup of tea, and asked for a second. He helped himself to another slice of cake, and drank his second cup of tea with evident relish.

"Another cup?" said Dora.

"With pleasure; your tea is delicious, and tea to me is a life-saving liquid, a sovereign remedy for numberless ills. No washerwoman sips her bohea with greater gusto. It is tea that revives me after fatigue, tea that stimulates me when I am at work, tea that cheers me in desponding moments. Long live tea!"

"You must not overdo your devotion," said Dora.

"Oh, my dear friend," rejoined Lorimer, "you must not overdo anything, if it comes to that--you allow a cigarette?"

"I allow two; have you a light?"

"Yes, thank you."

Lorimer lit a cigarette, inhaled the fragrant smoke, and sent it soaring in blue spirals to the ceiling.

"We were speaking of abusing things just now ... well, as a matter of fact, it is our most salient national trait. I pa.s.s most of my time in preaching upon this text. The word _moderation_ scarcely exists for us.

The apostles of temperance, for instance, exhort to total abstinence, instead of moderation. The word _temperance_ cannot by any stretch of its meaning imply total abstinence, the essence of its significance is moderation. When one speaks of a country as enjoying a temperate climate, that does not mean that the country has no climate at all, it means that it has a moderate climate, and is not very hot or very cold."

Dora began to wonder whether Lorimer was going to philosophise long, or whether the conversation would soon turn upon Philip again.

"It is in the Anglo-Saxon blood," continued Lorimer. "We fling ourselves heart and soul into our enterprises, even to the danger of our well-being and our happiness; we do not know how to steer the middle course. For instance, now, take Philip's case. It is just that. There you have a striking example of my theory. A Frenchman who had invented his sh.e.l.l, would probably have gone on painting pictures. The Frenchman who has made a fortune, eases off steam, and takes things easily. The Anglo-Saxon who has made a fortune, wants to straightway make another.

Philip is English, he can't help it.... I call that the complete absorption of the individual; and, after all, this very defect in our national character has been a source of glory, for it has helped us to do great deeds and conquer half the earth."

"Granted," said Dora; "but it is not your theory upon what you are pleased to call the complete absorption of a man, which will explain how that man can forget all his obligations to his wife."