The decorated sphinx at the top was uninfluenced by the announcement, but a less resplendent menial appeared, who held back the heavy curtains as Marsten mounted the stair, and, when he entered, his name was flung ahead of him upon the murmur of conversation within. The sight that met Marsten’s eye as he entered the studio was rather disconcerting to a diffident man, but he was relieved to notice, after a moment’s breathless pause beyond the threshold, that nobody paid the slightest attention to him.
The large room seemed bewilderingly full of people, and a row of men were standing with their backs against the wall, as if they were part of the mural decoration. Many of them held tea-cups in their hands, and all of them looked more or less bored. The divans and chairs had been arranged in rows, as if for the viewing of some spectacle, and every seat was taken, most of the occupants being ladies. Two men-servants were handing around tea and cake, while Barney himself flitted hither and thither like a gigantic butterfly in a rose garden, scattering geniality and good-humour wherever he went. The steady hum of conversation was brightened constantly by silvery laughter. It was evident that the gathering, with the possible exception of that part of it standing pensively around the walls, was enjoying itself.
As the throng slowly resolved into units before the gaze of young Marsten, his heart suddenly stopped, and then went on again at increased speed, as he recognized Edna Sartwell sitting on one of the front chairs, smiling at some humorous remark which Barney, leaning over her, was making. A moment before, Marsten had been conquering his impulse to retreat, by telling himself that all these idle persons were nothing to him; but now, when he had recognized one person who was everything to him, he had to quell his rising panic with a new formula. Although out of his depth and ill at ease, he knew that he would not quit the field in a fright before the task he had set himself was even begun. At the back of his nature there was a certain bull-dog obstinacy, the limitations of which had never yet been tested, although this unexpected meeting with a number of his fellow-creatures in an evidently higher social station than his own put a severe strain upon his moral courage. In vain he told himself that he was as good as any of them; for in his heart he did not believe that he was, so the assurance was of little value to him. Finally, he took his courage in his hand, and spoke to the servant who had held aside the curtains for him.
“Would you tell Mr. Hope that I wish to speak with him for a moment?”
Barney approached the new-comer with smiling face and extended hand.
“Oh, how-de-do, how-de-do? I am so glad you found time to come to my little affair. You are just in time—just in time, don’t you know.”
Barney’s artistic eye rapidly took in the appearance of his guest, and all at once he realized that his clothes had not quite the air of Bond Street about them, in spite of the fact that they were flagrantly the best suit his visitor had. The smile faded from the artist’s face.
“Oh, pardon me!” he added. “I thought I recognized you, but I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of——”
“No. We are not acquainted, Mr. Hope. I am one of the workmen in your father’s factory.”
“Really. You have some message for me, perhaps?”