“Temper is feminine too, my son,” said Jim’s mother, profoundly. “She invariably plays Old Harry when she gets hold of the reins.”
Perhaps it ought to be stated that Jim’s mother had recently tried to eke out her slender purse by writing a novel. At least, that is the only explanation there is to offer of how she came to be so wise. The writing of novels is very good for the mind, as all the world knows.
Jim was woefully gloomy for many days. He felt that by his unlucky outburst he had irretrievably ruined his prospects. And they were getting bright so suddenly that they had almost seemed to dazzle him. Not only had he forfeited the hundred pounds which Lord Cheriton had promised him for a faithful copy of the Gainsborough, but doubtless, after his unhappy exhibition of temper, Lord Kendal’s daughter Priscilla would choose to be painted by somebody else.
This, however, was not the worst. The Goose Girl had passed clean out of his ken. Henceforward he would be debarred the sight of the Gainsborough hat, the lilac frock, and the full-fledged cream-bun appearance. She had driven the unfortunate young fellow so nearly to distraction that while he found it impossible to expel her from his thoughts, he could not summon the resolution to unlock the door of the studio he had caused to be set up in the small Balham back garden. It was nothing less than an affliction to gaze upon the half-finished canvas, which now could never be completed.
By nature Jim Lascelles was a bright and cheery soul. But the fact that he had destroyed his prospects “just as things were coming his way” by a single unbridled act, made him extremely unhappy. It needed all Mrs. Lascelles’ gay courage and invincible optimism to keep Jim steady during these days of trial.
“Finish her out of your head, laddie,” said she, “then try to forget that she ever existed.”
“Nay,” said Jim. “I must either put all I know into that little work, or stick a knife through the canvas.”
Jim brooded dreadfully upon the subject. Black rings came under his eyes; he smoked too much and ate too little.
“I must and I will see her,” said Jim.
“That is the true spirit, my son,” said his mother, cheerfully.