Queen Lucia Page 14

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  Georgie was very busily engaged during the first weeks of December ona water-colour sketch of Olga sitting at her piano and singing. Thedifficulty of it was such that at times he almost despaired ofaccomplishing it, for the problem of how to draw her face and her mouthwide open and yet retain the likeness seemed almost insoluble. Often hesat in front of his own looking-glass with his mouth open, anddiligently drew his own face, in order to arrive at the principles ofthe changes of line which took place. Certainly the shape of a person'sface, when his mouth was wide open altered so completely that you wouldhave thought him quite unrecognisable, however skilfully the artistreproduced his elongated countenance, and yet Georgie could easilyrecognise that face in the glass as his. Forehead, eyes and cheek-bonesalone retained their wonted aspect; even the nose seemed to lengthen ifyou opened your mouth very wide.... Then how again was he to indicatethat she was singing and not yawning, or preparing for a sneeze? Hismost successful sketch at present looked precisely as if she wasyawning, and made Georgie's jaws long to yawn too. Perhaps the shape ofthe mouth in the two positions was really the same, and it was only thesound that led you to suppose that an open-mouthed person was singing.But perhaps the piano would supply the necessary suggestion; Olga wouldnot sit down at the piano merely to yawn or sneeze, for she could dothat anywhere.

  Then a brilliant idea struck him: he would introduce a shaded lampstanding on the piano, and then her face would be in red shadow.Naturally this entailed fresh problems with regard to light, but lightseemed to present less difficulty than likeness. Besides he could makeher dress, and the keys of the piano very like indeed. But when he cameto painting again he despaired. There must be red shadow on her faceand yellow light on her hands, and on her green dress, and presentlythe whole thing looked not so much like Olga singing by lamp-light, asa lobster-salad spread out in the sunlight. The more he painted, themore vividly did the lettuce leaves and the dressing and the lobsteremerge from the paper. So he took away the lamp, and shut Olga's mouth,and there she would be at her piano just going to sing.

  These artistic agonies had rewards which more than compensated forthem, for regularly now he took his drawing-board and his paint-boxacross to her house, and sat with her while she practised. There werenone of love's lilies low or yawning York now, for she was very busylearning her part in Lucretia, spending a solid two hours at it everymorning, and Georgie began to perceive what sort of work it implied toproduce the spontaneous ease with which Brunnhilde hailed the sun. Moreastounding even was the fact that this mere learning of notes was butthe preliminary to what she called "real work." And when she had gotthrough the mere mechanical part of it, she would have to study. Thenwhen her practice was over, she would indulgently sit with her head inprofile against a dark background, and Georgie would suck one end ofhis brush and bite the other, and wonder whether he would ever produceanything which he could dare to offer her. By daily poring on her face,he grew not to admire only but to adore its youth and beauty, by dailycontact with her he began to see how fresh and how lovely was the mindthat illuminated it.

  "Georgie, I'm going to scold you," she said one day, as she took up herplace against the black panel. "You're a selfish little brute. Youthink of nothing but your own amusement. Did that ever strike you?"

  Georgie gasped with surprise. Here was he spending the whole of everymorning trying to do something which would be a worthy Christmaspresent for her (to say nothing of the hours he had spent with hismouth open in front of his glass, and the cost of the beautiful framewhich he had ordered) and yet he was supposed to be only thinking abouthimself. Of course Olga did not know that the picture was to behers....

  "How tarsome you are!" he said. "You're always finding fault with me.Explain."

  "Well, you're neglecting your old friends for your new one," she said."My dear, you should never drop an old friend. For instance, when didyou last play duets with Mrs Lucas?"

  "Oh, not so very long ago," said Georgie.

  "Quite long enough, I am sure. But I don't actually mean sitting downand thumping the piano with her. When did you last think about her andmake plans for her and talk baby-language?"

  "Who told you I ever did?" asked Georgie.

  "Gracious! How can I possibly remember that sort of thing? I should sayat a guess that everybody told me. Now poor Mrs Lucas is feeling out ofit, and neglected and dethroned. It's all on my mind rather, and I'mtalking to you about it, because it's largely your fault. Now we'retalking quite frankly, so don't fence, and say it's mine. I knowexactly what you mean, but you are perfectly wrong. Primarily, it's MrsLucas's fault, because she's quite the stupidest woman I ever saw, butit's partly your fault too."

  She turned round.

  "Come, Georgie, let's have it out," she said. "I'm perfectly powerlessto do anything, because she detests me, and you've got to help her andhelp me, and drop your selfishness. Before I came here, she used to runyou all, and give you treats like going to her tableaux and listeningto her stupid old Moonlight Sonata, and talking seven words of Italian.And then I came along with no earthly intention except to enjoy myholidays, and she got it into her head that I was trying to run theplace instead of her. Isn't that so? Just say 'yes.'"

  "Yes," said Georgie.

  "Well, that puts me in an odious position and a helpless position. Idid my best to be nice to her; I went to her house until she ceased toask me, and asked her here for everything that I thought would amuseher, until she ceased to come. I took no notice of her rudeness whichwas remarkable, or of her absurd patronising airs, which didn't hurt mein the smallest degree. But Georgie, she would continue to make such adreadful ass of herself, and think it was my fault. Was it my faultthat she didn't know the Spanish quartette when she heard it, or thatshe didn't know a word of Italian, when she pretended she did, or thatthe other day (it was the last time I saw her, when you played yourDebussy to us at Aunt Jane's) she talked to me about inverted fifths?"

  Olga suddenly burst out laughing, and Georgie assumed the Riseholmeface of intense curiosity.

  "You must tell me all about that," he said, "and I'll tell you the restwhich you don't know."

  Olga succumbed too, and began to talk in Aunt Jane's voice, for she hadadopted her as an aunt.

  "Well, it was last Monday week" she said "or was it Sunday? No itcouldn't have been Sunday because I don't have anybody to tea that day,as Elizabeth goes over to Jacob's and spends the afternoon withAtkinson, or the other way about, which doesn't signify, as the pointis that Elizabeth should be free. So it was Monday, and Aunt Jane--it'sme talking again--had the tea-party at which you played Poisson d'Or.And when it was finished, Mrs Lucas gave a great sigh, and said 'PoorGeorgino! Wasting his time over that rubbish,' though she knew quitewell that I had given it to you. And so I said, 'Would you call itrubbish, do you think?' and she said 'Quite. Every rule of music isviolated. Don't those inverted fifths make you wince, Miss Bracely?'"

  Olga laughed again, and spoke in her own voice.

  "Oh, Georgie, she is an ass," she said. "What she meant I suppose wasconsecutive fifths; you can't invert a fifth. So I said (I really meantit as a joke), 'Of course there is that, but you must forgive Debussythat for the sake of that wonderful passage of submerged tenths!' Andshe took it quite gravely and shook her head, and said she was afraidshe was a purist. What happened next? That's all I know."

  "Directly afterwards," said Georgie, "she brought the music to me, andasked me to show her where the passage of tenths came. I didn't know,but I found some tenths, and she brightened up and said 'Yes, it istrue; those submerged tenths are very impressive.' Then I suggestedthat the submerged tenth was not a musical expression, but referred toa section of the population. On which she said no more, but when shewent away she asked me to send her some book on 'Harmony.' I daresayshe is looking for the submerged tenth still."

  Olga lit a cigarette and became grave again.

  "Well, it can't go on," she said. "We can't have the poor thing feelingangr
y and out of it. Then there was Mrs Quantock absolutely refusing tolet her see the Princess."

  "That was her own fault," said Georgie. "It was because she was sogreedy about the Guru."

  "That makes it all the bitterer. And I can't do anything, because sheblames me for it all. I would ask her and her Peppino here every night,and listen to her dreary tunes every evening, and let her have it allher own way, if it would do any good. But things have gone too far; shewouldn't come. It has all happened without my noticing it. I neveradded it all up as it went along, and I hate it."

  Georgie thought of the spiritualistic truths.

  "If you're an incarnation," he said in a sudden glow of admiration,"you're the incarnation of an angel. How you can forgive her odiousmanners to you----"

  "My dear, shut up," said Olga. "We've got to do something. Now howwould it be if you gave a nice party on Christmas night, and asked herat once? Ask her to help you in getting it up; make it clear she'sgoing to run it."

  "All right. You'll come, won't you?"

  "Certainly I will not. Perhaps I will come in after dinner with Goosieor some one of that sort. Don't you see it would spoil it all if I wereat dinner? You must rather pointedly leave me out. Give her a niceexpensive refined Christmas present too. You might give her thatpicture you're doing of me--No, I suppose she wouldn't like that. Butjust comfort her and make her feel you can't get on without her. You'vebeen her right hand all these years. Make her give her tableaux again.And then I think you must ask me in afterwards. I long to see her andPeppino as Brunnhilde and Siegfried. Just attend to her, Georgie, andbuck her up. Promise me you will. And do it as if your heart was in it,otherwise it's no good."

  Georgie began packing up his paint-box. This was not the plan he hadhoped for on Christmas Day, but if Olga wished this, it had got to bedone.

  "Well, I'll do my best," he said.

  "Thanks ever so much. You're a darling. And how is your planchettegetting on? I've been lazy about my crystal, but I get so tired of myown nose."

  "Planchette would write nothing but a few names," said Georgie,omitting the fact that Olga's was the most frequent. "I think I shalldrop it."

  This was but reasonable, for since Riseholme had some new and absorbingexcitement every few weeks, to say nothing of the current excitement ofdaily life, it followed that even the most thrilling pursuits could nothold the stage for very long. Still, the interest in spiritualism haddied down with the rapidity of the seed on stony ground.

  "Even Mrs Quantock seems to have cooled," said Olga. "She and herhusband were here last night, and they looked rather bored when Isuggested table-turning. I wonder if anything has happened to put heroff it?"

  "What do you think could have?" asked Georgie with Riseholme alacrity.

  "Georgie, do you really believe in the Princess and Pocky?" she asked.

  Georgie looked round to see that there was no one within hearing.

  "I did at the time," he said, "at least I think I did. But it seemsless likely now. Who was the Princess anyway? Why didn't we ever hearof her before? I believe Mrs Quantock met her in the train orsomething."

  "So do I," said Olga. "But not a word. It makes Aunt Jane and UncleJacob completely happy to believe in it all. Their lines of life areenormous, and they won't die till they're over a hundred. Now go andsee Mrs Lucas, and if she doesn't ask you to lunch you can come backhere."

  Georgie put down his picture and painting-apparatus at his house, andwent on to Lucia's, definitely conscious that though he did not want tohave her to dinner on Christmas Day, or go back to his duets and his A.D. C. duties, there was a spice and savour in so doing that cameentirely from the fact that Olga wished him to, that by this service hewas pleasing her. In itself it was distasteful, in itself it tended tocut him off from her, if he had to devote his time to Lucia, but hestill delighted in doing it.

  "I believe I am falling in love with her this time," said Georgie tohimself.... "She's wonderful; she's big; she's---"

  At that moment his thoughts were violently diverted, for RobertQuantock came out of his house in a tremendous hurry, merely scowlingat Georgie, and positively trotted across the Green in the direction ofthe news-agent's. Instantly Georgie recollected that he had seen himthere already this morning before his visit to Olga, buying a newtwopenny paper in a yellow cover called "Todd's News." They had had afew words of genial conversation, and what could have happened in thelast two hours that made Robert merely gnash his teeth at Georgie now,and make a second visit to the paper-shop?

  It was impossible not to linger a moment and see what Robert did whenhe got to the paper-shop, and with the aid of his spectacles Georgieperceived that he presently loaded himself with a whole packet ofpapers in yellow covers, presumably "Todd's News." Flesh and bloodcould not resist the cravings of curiosity, and making a detour, so asto avoid being gnashed at again by Robert, who was coming rapidly backin his direction, he strolled round to the paper-shop and asked for acopy of "Todd's News." Instantly the bright December morning grew darkwith mystery, for the proprietor told him that Mr Quantock has boughtevery copy he possessed of it. No further information could beobtained, except that he had bought a copy of every other daily paperas well.

  Georgie could make nothing of it whatever, and having observed Roberthurry into his house again, went on his errand to Lucia. Had he seenwhat Robert did when he got home, it is doubtful if he could haveavoided breaking into the house and snatching a copy of "Todd's News"from him....

  Robert went to his study, and locked the door. He drew out from underhis blotting-pad the first copy of "Todd's News" that he bought earlierin the morning, and put it with the rest. Then with a furrowed brow heturned to the police-reports in the "Times" and after looking at themlaid the paper down. He did the same to the "Daily Telegraph," the"Daily Mail," the "Morning Post," the "Daily Chronicle." Finally (thiswas the last of the daily papers) he perused "The Daily Mirror," toreit in shreds, and said "Damn."

  He sat for a while in thought, trying to recollect if anybody inRiseholme except Colonel Boucher took in the "Daily Mirror." But hefelt morally certain that no one did, and letting himself out of hisstudy, and again locking the door after him, he went into the street,and saw at a glance that the Colonel was employed in whirling MrsWeston round the Green. Instead of joining them he hurried to theColonel's house and, for there was no time for half-measures, fixedAtkinson with his eye, and said he would like to write a note toColonel Boucher. He was shown into his sitting-room, and saw the "DailyMirror" lying open on the table. As soon as he was left alone, hestuffed it into his pocket, told Atkinson he would speak to the Colonelinstead, and intercepted the path of the bath-chair. He was nearly runover, but stood his ground, and in a perfectly firm voice asked theColonel if there was any news in the morning papers. With the Colonel'sdecided negative ringing joyfully in his ears, he went home again, andlocked himself for the second time into his study.

  There is a luxury, when some fell danger has been averted by promptnessand presence of mind, in living through the moments of that dangeragain, and Robert opened "Todd's News," for that gave the fulleraccount, and read over the paragraph in the police news headed "BogusRussian Princess." But now he gloated over the lines which had made himshudder before when he read how Marie Lowenstein, of 15, Gerald Street,Charing Cross Road, calling herself Princess Popoffski, had beenbrought up at the Bow Street Police Court for fraudulently professingto tell fortunes and produce materialised spirits at a seance in herflat. Sordid details followed: a detective who had been there seized anapparition by the throat, and turned on the electric light. It was thewoman Popoffski's throat that he held, and her secretary, HezekiahSchwarz, was discovered under the table detaching an electric hammer. Afine was inflicted....

  A moment's mental debate was sufficient to determine Robert not to tellhis wife. It was true that she had produced Popoffski, but then he hadpraised and applauded her for that; he, no less than she, had beenconvinced of Popoffski's integrity, high rank and marvellous psychicp
owers, and together they had soared to a pinnacle of unexampledgreatness in the Riseholme world. Besides poor Daisy would be simplyflattened out if she knew that Popoffski was no better than the Guru.He glanced at the pile of papers, and at the fire place....

  It had been a cold morning, clear and frosty, and a good blazeprospered in the grate. Out of each copy, of "Todd's News" he tore thepage on which were printed the police reports, and fed the fire withthem. Page after page he put upon it; never had so much paper beendevoted to one grate. Up the chimney they flew in sheets of flame;sometimes he was afraid he had set it on fire, and he had to pause,shielding his scorched face, until the hollow rumbling had died down.With the page from two copies of the "Daily Mirror" the holocaust wasover, and he unlocked the door again. No one in Riseholme knew but he,and no one should ever know. Riseholme had been electrified byspiritualism, and even now the seances had been cheap at the price.

  The debris of all these papers he caused to be removed by thehousemaid, and this was hardly done when his wife came in from theGreen.

  "I thought there was a chimney on fire, Robert," she said. "You wouldhave liked it to be the kitchen-chimney as you said the other day."

  "Stuff and nonsense, my dear," said he. "Lunch-time, isn't it?"

  "Yes. Ah, there's the post. None for me, and two for you."

  She looked at him narrowly as he took his letters. Perhaps theirsubconscious minds (according to her dear friend's theory) heldcommunication, but only the faintest unintelligible ripple of thatappeared on the surface.

  "I haven't heard from my Princess since she went away," she remarked.

  Robert gave a slight start; he was a little off his guard from thereaction after his anxiety.

  "Indeed!" he said. "Have you written to her?"

  She appeared to try to remember.

  "Well, I really don't believe I have," she said. "That is remiss of me.I must send her a long budget one of these days."

  This time he looked narrowly at her. Had she a secret, he wondered, aswell as he? What could it be?...

  Georgie found his mission none too easy, and it was only the thoughtthat it was a labour of love, or something very like it, that enabledhim to persevere. Even then for the first few minutes he thought itmight prove love's labour's lost, so bright and unreal was Lucia.

  He had half crossed Shakespeare's garden, and had clearly seen herstanding at the window of the music-room, when she stole away, and nextmoment the strains of some slow movement, played very loud, drowned thebell on the mermaid's tail so completely that he wondered whether ithad rung at all. As a matter of fact, Lucia and Peppino were in themidst of a most serious conversation when Georgie came through thegate, which was concerned with deciding what was to be done. A party atThe Hurst sometime during Christmas week was as regular as the festivalitself, but this year everything was so unusual. Who were to be askedin the first place? Certainly not Mrs Weston, for she had talkedItalian to Lucia in a manner impossible to misinterpret, and probably,so said Lucia with great acidity, she would be playing children's gameswith her _promesso_. It was equally impossible to ask Miss Bracelyand her husband, for relations were already severed on account of theSpanish quartette and Signer Cortese, and as for the Quantocks, didPeppino expect Lucia to ask Mrs Quantock again ever? Then there wasGeorgie, who had become so different and strange, and ... Well here wasGeorgie. Hastily she sat down at the piano, and Peppino closed his eyesfor the slow movement.

  The opening of the door was lost on Lucia, and Peppino's eyes wereclosed. Consequently Georgie sat down on the nearest chair, and waited.At the end Peppino sighed, and he sighed too.

  "Who is that?" said Lucia sharply. "Why is it you, Georgie? What astranger. Aren't you? Any news?"

  This was all delivered in the coldest of tones, and Lucia snatched amorsel of wax off Eb.

  "I've heard none," said Georgie in great discomfort. "I just droppedin."

  Lucia fixed Peppino with a glance. If she had shouted at the top of hervoice she could not have conveyed more unmistakably that she was goingto manage this situation.

  "Ah, that is very pleasant," she said. "Peppino and I have been so busylately that we have seen nobody. We are quite country-cousins, and sothe town-mouse must spare us a little cheese. How is dear Miss Bracelynow?"

  "Very well," said Georgie. "I saw her this morning."

  Lucia gave a sigh of relief.

  "That is good," she said. "Peppino, do you hear? Miss Bracely is quitewell. Not overtired with practising that new opera? Lucy Grecian, wasit? Oh, how silly I am! Lucretia; that was it, by that extraordinaryNeapolitan. Yes. And what next? Our good Mrs Weston, now! Stillthinking about her nice young man? Making orange-flower wreaths, andchoosing bridesmaids? How naughty I am! Yes. And then dear Daisy? Howis she? Still entertaining princesses? I look in the Court Circularevery morning to see if Princess Pop--Pop--Popoff isn't it? if PrincessPopoff has popped off to see her cousin the Czar again. Dear me!"

  The amount of malice, envy and all uncharitableness which Lucia managedto put into this quite unrehearsed speech was positively amazing. Shehad not thought it over beforehand for a moment; it came out with theaugust spontaneity of lightning leaping from a cloud. Not till thatmoment had Georgie guessed at a tithe of all that Olga had felt socertain about, and a double emotion took hold of him. He was immenselysorry for Lucia, never having conjectured how she must have sufferedbefore she attained to so superb a sourness, and he adored theintuition that had guessed it and wanted to sweeten it.

  The outburst was not quite over yet, though Lucia felt distinctlybetter.

  "And you, Georgie," she said, "though I'm sure we are such strangersthat I ought to call you Mr Pillson, what have you been doing? PlayingMiss Bracely's accompaniments, and sewing wedding-dresses all day, andraising spooks all night? Yes."

  Lucia had caught this "Yes" from Lady Ambermere, having found itpeculiarly obnoxious. You laid down a proposition, or asked a question,and then confirmed it yourself.

  "And Mr Cortese," she said, "is he still roaring out his marvellousEnglish and Italian? Yes. What a full life you lead, Georgie. I supposeyou have no time for your painting now."

  This was not a bow drawn at a venture, for she had seen Georgie comeout of Old Place with his paint-box and drawing-board, but this directattack on him did not lessen the power of the "sweet charity" which hadsent him here. He blew the bugle to rally all the good-nature for whichhe was capable.

  "No, I have been painting lately," he said, "at least I have beentrying to. I'm doing a little sketch of Miss Bracely at her piano,which I want to give her on Christmas Day. But it's so difficult. Iwish I had brought it round to ask your advice, but you would only havescreamed with laughter at it. It's a dreadful failure: much worse thanthose I gave you for your birthdays. Fancy your keeping them still inyour lovely music-room. Send them to the pantry, and I'll do somethingbetter for you next."

  Lucia, try as she might, could not help being rather touched by that.There they all were: "Golden Autumn Woodland," "Bleak December,""Yellow Daffodils," and "Roses of Summer."...

  "Or have them blacked over by the boot-boy," she said. "Take them down,Georgie, and let me send them to be blacked."

  This was much better: there was playfulness behind the sarcasm now,which peeped out from it. He made the most of that.

  "We'll do that presently," he said. "Just now I want to engage you andPeppino to dine with me on Christmas Day. Now don't be tarsome and sayyou're engaged. But one can never tell with you."

  "A party?" asked Lucia suspiciously.

  "Well, I thought we would have just one of our old evenings togetheragain," said Georgie, feeling himself remarkably clever. "We'll havethe Quantocks, shan't we, and Colonel and Mrs Colonel, and you andPeppino, and me, and Mrs Rumbold? That'll make eight, which is morethan Foljambe likes, but she must lump it. Mr Rumbold is always singingcarols all Christmas evening with the choir, and she will be alone."

  "Ah, those carols" said Lucia, wincing.

  "I know:
I will provide you with little wads of cotton-wool. Do comeand we'll have just a party of eight. I've asked no one yet and perhapsnobody will come. I want you and Peppino, and the rest may come or stopaway. Do say you approve."

  Lucia could not yield at once. She had to press her fingers to herforehead.

  "So kind of you, Georgie," she said, "but I must think. Are we doinganything on Christmas night, carrissimo? Where's your engagement-book?Go and consult it."

  This was a grand manoeuvre, for hardly had Peppino left the room whenshe started up with a little scream and ran after him.

  "Me so stupid," she cried. "Me put it in smoking-room, and poor carowill look for it ever so long. Back in minute, Georgino."

  Naturally this was perfectly clear to Georgie. She wanted to have ashort private consultation with Peppino, and he waited rather hopefullyfor their return, for Peppino, he felt sure, was bored with thisAchilles-attitude of sitting sulking in the tent. They came backwreathed in smiles, and instantly embarked on the question of what todo after dinner. No romps: certainly not, but why not the tableauxagain? The question was still under debate when they went in to lunch.It was settled affirmatively during the macaroni, and Lucia said thatthey all wanted to work her to death, and so get rid of her. They hadthought--she and Peppino--of having a little holiday on the Riviera,but anyhow they would put if off till after Christmas. Georgie's mouthwas full of crashing toast at the moment, and he could only shake hishead. But as soon as the toast could be swallowed, he made the usualreply with great fervour.

  Georgie was hardly at all complacent when he walked home afterwards,and thought how extremely good-natured he had been, for he could notbut feel that this marvellous forbearance was a sort of mistletoegrowth on him, quite foreign really to his nature. Never before hadLucia showed so shrewish and venomous a temper; he had not thought hercapable of it. For the gracious queen, there was substituted asnarling fish-wife, but then as Georgie calmly pursued the pacificmission of comfort to which Olga had ordained him, how the fish-wife'swrinkles had been smoothed out, and the asps withered from her tongue.Had his imagination ever pictured Lucia saying such things to him, itwould have supplied him with no sequel but a complete severance ofrelations between them. Instead of that he had consulted her andtruckled to her: truckled: yes, he had truckled, and he was astonishedat himself. Why had he truckled? And the beautiful mouth and kindlyeyes of Olga supplied the answer. Certainly he must drop in at once,and tell her the result of the mission. Perhaps she would reward him bycalling him a darling again. Really he deserved that she should saysomething nice to him.

  It was a day of surprises for Georgie. He found Olga at home, andrecounted, without loving any of the substance, the sarcasms of Lucia,and his own amazing tact and forbearance. He did not comment, he justnarrated the facts in the vivid Riseholme manner, and waited for hisreward.

  Olga looked at him a moment in silence: then she deliberately wiped hereyes.

  "Oh, poor Mrs Lucas" she said. "She must have been miserable to havebehaved like that! I am so sorry. Now what else can you do, Georgie, tomake her feel better?"

  "I think I've done everything that could have been required of_me_," said Georgie. "It was all I could do to keep my temper atall. I will give my party at Christmas, because I promised you Iwould."

  "Oh, but it's ten days to Christmas yet," said Olga. "Can't you painther portrait, and give it her for a present. Oh, I think you could,playing the Moonlight-Sonata."

  Georgie felt terribly inclined to be offended and tell Olga that shewas tired of him: or to be dignified and say he was unusually busy.Never had he shown such forbearance towards downright rudeness as hehad shown to Lucia, and though he had shown that for Olga's sake, sheseemed to be without a single spark of gratitude, but continued to urgeher request.

  "Do paint a little picture of her," she repeated. "She would love it,and make it young and interesting. Think over it, anyhow: perhapsyou'll think of something better than that. And now won't you go andsecure all your guests for Christmas at once?"

  Georgie turned to leave the room, but just as he got to the door shespoke again:

  "I think you're a brick," she said.

  Somehow this undemonstrative expression of approval began to glow inGeorgie's heart as he walked home. Apparently she took it for grantedthat he was going to behave with all the perfect tact and good-temperthat he had shown. It did not surprise her in the least, she had almostforgotten to indicate that she had noticed it at all. And that, as hethought about it, seemed a far deeper compliment than if she had toldhim how wonderful he was. She took it for granted, no more nor less,that he would be kind and pleasant, whatever Lucia said. He had notfallen short of her standard....