He is now a man—a singularly handsome man. If not so tall as his youth promised, he is well built and graceful. Artist is stamped all over him. Brow, eyes, even the slender, well-shaped hands, proclaim it. The general expression of his face is one of calm and repose; yet an acute observer might assert that, when the moment came, that face might depict passions stronger than those which sway most men.
His dark hair and eyes, and something in the style of his dress, gave him a look not quite that of an Englishman—a look that terribly vexed poor Abraham Leigh on those rare occasions when his erratic boy paid him a visit; but, nevertheless, it is a look not out of place on a young artist.
This is the kind of man Gerald Leigh has grown into; and, whilst his transformation has been in progress, Miss Eugenia Herbert has become a woman.
Although remembering every feature of the child, who seemed in some way associated with the day of his liberation, Gerald had not again seen her until his father’s death called him back to England. Each time he had visited Coombe-Acton he had, of course, reported progress to Mr. Herbert; but, shortly after the change in his life, Mr. Herbert by a great effort of self-denial, had sent his darling away to school, and at school she had always been when Gerald called at the Hall; but now, when he accepted Mr. Herbert’s hospitality, he found the fairy-like child grown, it seemed to him, into his ideal woman, and found, moreover, that there was a passion so intense that even the love of art must pale before it.
He made no attempt to resist it. He let it master him; overwhelm him; sweep him along. Ere a week had gone by, not only by looks, but also in burning words, he had told Eugenia he loved her. And how did he fare?
His very audacity and disregard of everything, save that he loved the girl, succeeded to a marvel. Eugenia had already met with many admirers, but not one like this. Such passionate pleading, such fiery love, such vivid eloquence were strange and new to her. There was an originality, a freshness, a thoroughness in the love he offered her. His very unreasonableness affected her reason. All the wealth of his imagination, all the crystallizations of his poetical dreams, he threw into his passion. His ecstasy whirled the girl from her mental feet; his warmth created an answering warmth; his reckless pleading conquered. She forgot obstacles as his eloquence overleaped them; she forgot social distinction as his great dark eyes looked into hers, and at last she confessed she loved him.
Then Gerald Leigh came down from the clouds and realized what he had done, and as soon as he touched the earth and became reasonable Eugenia fancied she did not care for him quite so much.
His conscience smote him. Not only must Mr. Herbert be reckoned with, but a terrible interval must elapse before he had fame and fortune to lay before Eugenia. He could scarcely expect her to leave her luxurious home in order to live au quatrieme or au cinquieme in Paris whilst he completed his studies. He grew sad and downcast as he thought of these things, and Eugenia, who liked pleasant, bright, well-to-do people, felt less kindly disposed toward him and showed she did so.
This made him reckless again. He threw the future to the winds, recommenced his passionate wooing, recovered his lost ground and gained, perhaps, a little more.
But Abraham Leigh’s affairs were settled up, and Gerald knew he must tear himself from Acton Hall and go back to work. He had lingered a few days to finish a bust of Mr. Herbert. This done he had no excuse for staying longer.