Regina worked on this picture slowly, lovingly, with tender care, different entirely from the fierce rush of inspiration, the fury of energy in which she had accomplished the other. She painted chiefly while Everest was out, and this was often, for he had a good deal to do and attend to before leaving England for an indefinite time.
As no marriage had been given out, he could not introduce Regina to any of his friends. He disliked equally the idea of lying directly about her position, and of running the risk of her being annoyed or insulted by them. So he saw little of his friends, and refused all the invitations he could. Where he was obliged to accept, he went alone, and Regina was quite happy, for she wanted nothing but Everest himself; friends, amusement, gaiety, display—all these were nothing to her. Her love and her art filled to overcrowding her daily life.
But sheltered though she lived in this happy seclusion, certain rumours of the enormity of Everest's conduct reached the attentive ears of his family, and to her surprise, one afternoon, she received a visit from Everest's sister. She was sitting alone in the large drawing-room of the flat, half buried in one of the luxurious arm-chairs, contemplating with dreamy satisfaction the finished picture, to which she had been adding a few final touches, softening here and there some over-dark lines. With the brush still in her hand, she sat far back in her chair, gazing on her work, while the light outside diminished and the great room grew dim, lighted only by the wavering glow from the fire. She would not ring for the tea to be brought up till Everest came back, nor turn on the light; she would wait for him, and from gazing on the picture she gradually fell to musing in the shadow-filled room and meditating on her life. How supremely happy she was in it! She could not imagine at that moment one other gift that she would demand from the gods, if she had had the privilege of doing so. How perfect the union between herself and her lover was! She wondered if it were usual, this harmony of wish and desire, of thought and expression, of outlook and view between two people, if it were usual for women to feel that adoration for the lover or husband they chose that she felt for Everest, so that his mere entering the room gave her joy, his smile upon her a passionate delight, the sound of his voice an excited pleasure, while his desire for herself carried her away to a paradise of which afterwards her brain could hardly realise or reconstruct in memory the ecstasy. As she was dreaming in these soft reveries the door suddenly opened, and, thinking it was Everest himself, she sprang up to welcome him.
It was the footman, however, who handed her a salver, from which she took and read the little white slip:
"Miss Lanark."
"Say I am at home," she said, and turned on the light, filling the room with soft rose colour from its many-shaded lamps. After a moment Miss Lanark entered. The luxury of the beautifully furnished room struck upon her senses disagreeably, the warmth, the light, the extreme comfort of it, the beauty of its velvet hangings and carpet, its silken curtains, the fragrance of the exotic flowers on the tables impressed her just as she expected to be impressed, coming to her brother's rooms from the severe simplicity of her own Scottish home. Here was comfort, luxury, beauty; all the accompaniments of vice. She glanced towards her hostess, standing to receive her. Here too, just as she expected: the girl was richly dressed; a gown of pastel-blue velvet fitted close—so closely and smoothly Miss Lanark had never seen, except on the stage, in her rare visits to the theatre—the beautiful, supple figure of the wearer, and fell in gracious folds round her. There seemed old lace and some pearls about her throat, and above rose her face, so soft and warm and vivid in its fair colouring that it suggested being painted. Yes, it was all there just as she had imagined. The picture was complete. Beauty, ease, luxury, happiness, these must and did mean—sin.
She took the chair the girl drew forward for her. She was very calm and self-possessed, and Regina thrilled through all her being, recognising in her just that same wonderful grace of bearing, that air of perfect breeding, that charmed her so in Everest. She was about ten years older than he was, and her hair was grey, while his was quite black, but she had the same beautiful features, only whereas in Everest's case the face was all light and fire, life and animation, the sister's was dead and grey and cold, unsmiling and severe.
"I have come to talk to you about my brother," she said, without any preface, and Regina heard the gentle, refined tones of Everest's voice, only with the music left out.
"I am so glad," she rejoined simply. "There is no subject so dear to me. I worship him."
This last phrase offended Miss Lanark; men and women, in her estimation, should like and esteem each other. They should not use the word "worship" about each other, but keep that for their Maker. She passed this over in silence on this occasion, and pursued coldly: