“I’ll do my best,” said Everitt.
“Oh, no limitations, please. If you can’t get him, you will have to find another. I have no doubt they run about quite tamely in this long corridor of yours. Don’t come any farther. I’m immensely obliged to you, and so Miss Lascelles will be when she hears of the ruffian—won’t she, Bell?”
In spite of her request, Everitt walked with them to the carriage, which waited in the street. When it had driven off, he turned back, lit his cigarette, and paced up and down under the quaint little avenue. It had never seemed more peaceful, or offered a tenderer contrast to the hot exhausted-looking street outside. May had just begun; the delicate green had burst out, and was clothing the dark boughs with delicious and dainty lightness. A late sun was shining down on the little court, and the feeling of spring was abroad. Everitt stopped and looked round impatiently upon the houses.
“I can’t stand this much longer, if the weather keeps fine,” he said. “It’s waste—sheer waste. And those shoals of old women on Saturday afternoons are becoming intolerable. I must break it off somehow. The best I could do would be to shut up and be off to Pont-aven, or somewhere where one hasn’t a hundred and fifty interruptions. It would be a good thing for Jack, who might find fewer excuses to be idle, and it would stop having to provide models for young women who set up studios when they ought to be drawing straight strokes. I know the sort of thing—exactly. And unless I look out, Mary Marchmont will be making elaborate arrangements that I should go and correct her drawings. May the fates avert that! I’ll provide this one model, and there my engagements begin and end.”
Chapter Two.
Studio Number Two.
That was a rash boast, with which Everitt concluded his meditations under the trees, but no misgivings disturbed him as he went back to the studio, set a few things in order, gave some directions to the porter, and departed. He dined out and went to the play, and passed the next day without a thought of Miss Kitty Lascelles, until towards evening he met Mr and Mrs Marchmont near Albert Gate. As they parted, Mrs Marchmont reminded him of his promise.
“If you are faithless,” she said, “I will never forgive you. I saw Kitty this morning, and she told me that a ruffian was exactly what she wanted.”