Chapter Sixteen.
Dolly’s Indiscretion.
In London, evening was gradually creeping on. The mellow light that had penetrated into the studio in Fitzroy Square was fast fading, still Jack Egerton worked on in silence, glancing constantly across at the woman who sat motionless before him, straining her eyes over a novel she held in her hand.
Frequently he paused, and, stepping back a few paces, examined the effect of his work with a critical eye, comparing it with the original. Then he returned and retouched the picture again and again, until at last, after much perseverance, he apparently obtained the exact effect he desired. The picture was certainly attractive, and, although incomplete, yet fully sustained the artist’s reputation for faithful delineation of the female form. It was a representation of Dolly Vivian reclining on a silken divan, attired in the flimsy gauzes, with rows of sequins across her forehead, heavy bangles upon her wrists and ankles, and her light brown hair, unbound, falling negligently about her shoulders. One tiny crimson slipper had fallen off, revealing a well-shaped naked foot, the other being bent under her as she lay with one bare arm flung over her head.
Her attitude of languor and repose among her cushions added to the Oriental character of the picture, and the richness of the silk with which the couch was covered, enhanced her beauty.
He had christened the picture, “The Sultan’s Favourite.”
While he worked she always preserved perfect silence. It was their rule. For hours she would sit scarcely moving a muscle, her attention engaged by a newspaper, a novel, or some fancy needlework, unless, perhaps, he addressed her, asking an opinion or advice. Then she would usually reply briefly and to the point, and resume her reading without disturbing her pose in the smallest degree.
Beside her, on a little inlaid pearl table, stood the cup of tea Mrs O’Shea had brought her an hour before, but which had been left almost untasted, so absorbed was she in her book. She did not notice that the artist had laid aside his palette, and was cleaning his brushes, until he exclaimed,—
“That will do for to-day, Dolly. You must be awfully tired and cramped, for we’ve had an unusually long spell.”