So the next day, when Eugenia and her aunt were together, the latter, a skilled domestic diplomatist, commenced operations by regretting that Mr. Herbert, although so fond of statuary, had never employed a sculptor to make his own bust. Mrs. Cathcart spoke so naturally that Eugenia fell into the trap, and informed her that Mr. Herbert’s likeness had been taken in clay two years ago by a young sculptor then staying at Acton Hall. It had been done for pleasure, not profit, but her father had always intended to order a copy in marble. Mrs. Cathcart was delighted. Did Eugenia know where the young man could be found?
Eugenia did know. She told her with a tinge of color on her cheeks, and took advantage of the opportunity, and perhaps soothed her spirit somewhat by expatiating on what a great man her lover was to become. Mrs. Cathcart, in return, spoke of geniuses as struggling, poverty stricken persons, to befriend whom was the one great wish of her life. It was indeed pleasant for Miss Herbert to hear her aunt speak of her lover as she might of a hard-working seamstress or deserving laundress. She had not yet written to Gerald. She must find strength to throw off her brother’s scorn and the busts and tombstones before she again met her lover.
Sir Ralph Norgate called that morning. He was a man of about forty. Not ill-looking, but with the unmistakable appearance of one who had led a hard life. He was rich, and of fine old family. It was clear to Mrs. Cathcart that he meant business. Eugenia had met him several times last year, and it was no news to her that he was her ardent admirer. She was very cold towards him to-day, but Mrs. Cathcart did not chide her. She, clever woman, knew that men like Norgate value a prize at what it costs them to win it. So the baronet came, stayed his appointed time, then went away, presumably in fair train to a declaration by and by.
CHAPTER III.
The next day, whilst driving with her niece, Mrs. Cathcart was seized by a sudden thought. “My dear,” she said, “let us go and see about that bust. Where did you say the sculptor man was to be found? Nelson Studios, King’s Road. What number?”
“No. 10,” said Eugenia, wondering if her aunt’s sudden resolve would be productive of good or evil.
The carriage went to Nelson Studios; the ladies dismounted, and Mrs. Cathcart tapped at the door of No. 10, a studio which, being a sculptor’s, was of course on the ground-floor.
The door was opened by a handsome young man whose outside garb was a ragged old blouse, and whose hands were white with half-dried clay—one of those hands, moreover, held a short pipe. Indeed, Gerald Leigh was in as unpresentable trim as when years ago he first met Miss Herbert.
He did not at once see the girl. She was behind Mrs. Cathcart, and that lady’s majestic presence absorbed all his attention. Mrs. Cathcart put up her eye-glass.