She had said: “There are spots which you see for the first time, and yet they impress you like old friends. Would it not be delightful to have a little cottage here, and take care of one’s own flowers. But no! one must have autos and horses—Longchamps and Epsom and Haymarket—ah! what fools these mortals be!”
The snorting forty-horse-power machine bore them afar while she was still building her little cottage.
“If I were a painter,” she added, “that is what I would paint. With the simplest subject you can make a masterpiece. This nook has pleased me, and I shall come back to it, be sure!”
Phil said nothing at the time; but he determined to paint the nook which had pleased Ethel so much, and to give the picture to her as a surprise before they left for Morgania.
Phil passed through the parts of the town which were between the open country and the fair. They were like the outskirts of other towns, with little boxes of houses and grimy wine-shops, and with great bare spaces where goats, the cows of the poor man, bleated despairingly. Just beyond was the full, open country. He approached the spot chosen by Miss Ethel. The noise of the town was no longer heard; before him were the gently rising hills crossed by flowering hedges and great leafy groves, in which the birds were playing.
Phil set up his easel in a shady spot, where Ethel had lingered. It was by a hedge above a slope leading down to a footpath. He opened his box, prepared his colors, and set to work. At times he leaned back to judge better the effect of the whole picture. At times he bent over to put in a touch; and as he painted, he let his mind wander as it would.
He could not help thinking of the morrow—of the chasse à courre, the mounted deer-hunt with dogs, with which the Comtesse de Donjeon was honoring the camping-party. It seemed to him that he was already there, taking in all its details. Even his costume occupied his mind—the Chantilly boots, the full white breeches, the double-breasted coat, the high felt hat—the things which constitute the true huntsman’s costume. It would become him well; and how charming she would be, with her blond hair under the three-cornered marquise hat!
Phil already fancied himself hearing the joyful notes of the hunting-horn, and watching the unrestrained galloping beneath the great trees,—a vision of the Middle Ages, with plumed knights and gentle ladies on their palfreys. Oh! there was one gentle lady who would follow the hunt with him,—and, lover as he was, Phil thought there would be monstrous daring in his wish to offer Miss Rowrer a nosegay of wild flowers,—for certainly she would see his trouble of soul, and he would betray himself as he offered it. Miss Rowrer could not be offended, of course! she had been too much courted in society not to allow a little of it in the country. It was the business of bores in society life; but supposing she saw what he meant, would she deign to encourage him?
