A Face Illumined Part 60

"Please don't go just yet," said Van Berg eagerly. "The concert is but half over, and there are some pretty things still to come."

Ida hesitated and looked doubtfully at her father.

"I shall be very glad to stay," he said with a smile, "if you feel able to. My daughter is not very well, I fear," he added in explanation to the artist.

"Perhaps it has been a little close here in the lobby," suggested Van Berg, "and a walk in the open air will be agreeable. If you will trust your daughter to me, sir, I promise to bring her back before she is tired. I have much to tell her about her old friend, Mr. Eltinge, whom I visited yesterday, and the pictures. Perhaps you will go with us, for I know what I have to say will interest you also."

"I think I'll light another cigar and wait for you here," Mr. Mayhew answered quietly. "Old people like to sit still after their day's work, and if Ida feels strong enough I would enjoy hearing the rest of the concert."

"It would be hard to resist the temptation to hear anything about dear old Mr. Eltinge," said Ida, taking the artist's arm, and feeling as if she were being swept away on a s.h.i.+ning tide.

"You WERE glad to see me, Miss Mayhew, and you can't deny it," Van Berg began exultantly.

"You almost crushed my hand, and it aches still," was her demure reply.

"Well, that was surely the wound of a friend."

"You are very good to speak to me at all, after all that's happened,"

she said in a low tone and with downcast face.

"What a strange coincidence! That is exactly what I was thinking of you. I almost feared you would treat me as you did Sibley. How much good it did me to see him slinking away like a whipped cur! I never realized before how perfectly helpless even brazen villainy is in the presence of womanly dignity."

"Why, were you present then?" she asked, with a quick blush.

"Not exactly present, but I saw your face and his, and a stronger contrast I scarcely expect to see again."

"You artists look at everything and everybody as pictures."

"Now, Miss Mayhew, you are growing severe again. I don't carry the shop quite as far as that, and I have not been looking at you as a picture at all this evening. I shall make known the whole enormity of my offence, and the if I must follow Sibley, I must, but I shall carry with me a little shred of your respect for telling the truth. I had a faint hope that you and your father would come to-night, and I was looking for you, and when you came I watched you. I could not resist the temptation of comparing the Miss Mayhew I now so highly esteem and respect, with the lady I first met at this place."

"Oh, Mr. Van Berg," said Ida, in a low, hurt tone, "I don't think that was fair to me, or right."

"I am confessing and not excusing myself, Miss Mayhew. I once very justly appeared to you like a prig, and now I fear I shall seem a spy; but after our visit to that old garden together, and your frankness to me, I feel under bonds to tell the whole truth. You said we were fated to misunderstand each other. I think not, for if you ever permit me to be your friend I shall be the frankest one you ever had;" at these words he felt her hand trembling on his arm, and she would not look up nor make any reply.

"Well," said he, desperately, "I expect Sibley's fate will soon be mine. I suppose it was a mean thing to watch you, but it would seem a meaner thing to me not to tell you. I was about to speak to you, Miss Mayhew, when by another odd coincidence the orchestra commenced playing music that I knew would remind you of me. I was gaining the impression before you left the country that as you came to think the past all over, you had found that there was more against me than you could forgive, or else that I was so inseparably a.s.sociated with that which was painful that you would be glad to forget the one with the other. I must admit that this impression was greatly strengthened by the expression of your face, and I almost decided to leave the place without speaking to you. But I found I could not, and--well, you know I did not. You see I'm at your mercy again."

Ida was greatly relieved, for she now learned that he had discovered nothing in his favor, and that she was still mistress of the situation.

"I do not think you are very penitent; I fear you would do the same thing over again," she said.

"Indeed, Miss Mayhew, when I first met you here I thought I would always do the right and proper thing, and I fear I thought some things right because I did them. I've lived a hundred years since that time, and am beginning to find myself out. Didn't you think me the veriest prig that ever smiled in a superior way at the world?"

"I don't think I shall give you my opinion," she replied, averting her face to hide a blush and a laugh.

"No need. I saw your opinion in your face when you looked down at your programme half an hour since."

"You are mistaken; I was thinking of myself at that moment, for I could not help remembering what a fool I must have appeared to you on that occasion."

He looked at her in surprise. "Miss Burton was right," he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "I never shall understand you."

"Was she talking about me?" asked Ida, in a low tone.

"Yes, and she spoke of you in the most complimentary way, as you did of her. Why the mischief you two ladies do not become the warmest friends is beyond me. Sit down here a little while, Miss Mayhew, for you are growing tired;" and she was very glad to comply.

As she made no effort to continue the conversation he resumed, "You haven't told me what my punishment is to be."

"Are you so anxious to be punished?" she asked, looking up shyly at him.

"Well, my conscience troubles me greatly, and I feel I ought to do something for you in the way of expiation."

"And so I gather that anything done for me would be such severe penance that your conscience would be appeased."

"Now, Miss Mayhew," he replied, looking earnestly into her face, "tell me truly, do you gather any such impression from my words and manner?"

But she kept her eyes resolutely on the ground, and said demurely, "Such was the obvious meaning of your words."

"Do you know why I am in the city?" he asked after a moment.

"I have not presumed to think why."

"Perhaps I can make a little inroad in your indifference when I tell you that I have spent several hours in my studio working on your picture, and that I intend to work the remainder of the week so as to have it ready for you Sat.u.r.day evening."

She looked up now with a face radiant with surprise and pleasure, "O Mr. Van Berg, I did not dream of your taking so much trouble for me."

"That's a small payment on an old debt. What can I do for you while I am in the city, to atone for my rudeness?"

She looked at him hesitatingly and wistfully a moment.

"I know you wish something, but fear to ask it," he said, gently, "and I'm sorry to remember I've done so little to inspire your confidence."

"Mr. Van Berg," she said in a low tone, looking earnestly at him while she spoke, so as to learn from his expression how he received her request. "Your kindness does tempt me to ask a favor. Please remember I'm acting from an impulse caused by this unexpected talk we are having, and pardon me if I overstep the bounds of reserve or suggest a task that you might very naturally shrink from as disagreeable."

"I pledge you my word at once to do what you wish."

"No, don't do that. Wait till you hear all. If when it comes easily and naturally in your way you will do a little towards helping me keep father the man he can be, my grat.i.tude will be deeper than you can understand. I am studying him very carefully and I find that any encouraging recognition from those who have known his past, has great weight with him. At the same time it must be very un.o.btrusive and come as a matter of course as it were. You gave him your society one Sunday morning last June in a way that did him a great deal of good, and if I had only seconded your efforts then, everything might have been different. I can never remember that day without a blush of shame. I can't help the past, but my whole soul is now bent on making amends to father. I fear, however, my deep solicitude has led me to ask more than good taste can sanction."

"Miss Mayhew," said the artist, eagerly, "this is one of the best moments of my life. You could not have made such a request unless you trusted me, unless you had fully forgiven me all the wrong I have done you. I doubted if I could ever win your friends.h.i.+p, but I think I can claim a friend's place already in your esteem, since you are willing to let me share in so sacred a duty. I renew my pledge with double emphasis."

He never forgot the smile with which she rewarded him, as she said, in a low tone, "That's better than I thought. You are very kind to me. But I'm staying too long from father."

"We'll understand each other eventually," he said gently. "Now I know why tears were in your eyes before the symphony was over."

"No you don't," she whispered to herself.

As they took their seats by Mr. Mayhew he remarked with a smile, "Mr. Van Berg must have had a long budget of news frm your good old friend."

Ida looked at the artist in dismay, and was still more embarra.s.sed as she saw a sudden flash of mirth and exultation in his eyes. But he turned to Mr. Mayhew and replied, promptly, "Two pictures are growing out of my visits to Mr. Eltinge and his garden. The one that is for Mr. Eltinge contains a portrait of Miss Mayhew as I saw her reading to him. I wish you and your daughter would visit my studio to-morrow and see the sketches, and if Miss Mayhew would give me one or two sittings, I could make a much better picture for Mr. Eltinge than now is possible, and I'm anxious to do the very best I can for him."

"I would be very glad to come," said Mr. Mayhew, and his pleased expression confirmed his words. "Will a visit before I go down town be too early?"