Nigel’s friend left his arm and went away. Nigel strolled on with Miss Chivvey.
“And are you here quite alone with no chaperon,” asked Nigel, with that momentary sort of brotherly feeling of being shocked that an Englishman nearly always feels when he sees a compatriot behaving unconventionally in a foreign land.
“Chaperon! Oh! come off the roof,” replied the young lady in her boisterous manner, which he saw had not at all toned down. “Of course I’m being chaperoned by Miss Sutton. I’m staying with Mimsie. Mother couldn’t come, and didn’t want me to come, but there’s no hope of learning art in London; it’s simply hopeless. You see we’re serious, Mr. Hillier, we’re studying really hard. We’re going to do big things. Mimsie’s a genius. I’m not; but I’m industrious. I’m a tremendous worker. Oh, I shall do something yet!”
She was full of fire and enthusiasm, and continued to give him an immense quantity of information. He listened with interest and thought it rather touching. Of course she was genuine and believed in herself; equally, of course, she had no sort of talent. She was in a position in which no girl in her own class could be placed who was not English, except an American, and then it wouldn’t be the same thing. No doubt she knew thoroughly well how to take care of herself, and most likely there was no need, even, that she should. Still, he thought it was rather pathetic that she should leave her parents and a thoroughly comfortable home in Camden Hill, in order to live in a wretchedly uncomfortable studio—he was sure it was wretchedly uncomfortable—and have a dull life with other depressing girls—all for the cultivation of a gift that was purely imaginary.
“You must come and dine with me to-night, won’t you, Miss Chivvey?”
She was rather pretty, rather amusing, and she was English. He liked talking English again.
“Well, I should like to very much, Mr. Hillier. Is your wife here?”
“No; she’s going to Felixtowe in a week or two with the children, and I’m going to join her there. I’m quite alone, so you must take pity on me. Must we have your friend Miss Sutton too?” he asked.
“Oh no—I don’t think it’s necessary; it will be a change to go out without her. You see, here I am a worker and a Bohemian,” she explained. “I don’t go in for chaperons. I’m not social here!”
“Besides, I’m English. You’re all right with me,” he returned in his most charming way. “Have you many English friends here?”