Part 20 (1/2)
”Don't!” implored Loveday, almost hysterically. ”Oh, suppose your face were to stick like that! You'd look the most abominable little Pharisee.
I'd hate you!”
”You like your pixie-girl best? Then, that settles it! Now, if you ever scold me again about anything, I'll put on the Pharisee face; so I warn you. You've got to choose between them. Yes, I know I'm a handful--I always have been--but, perhaps, it's good for you, Loveday mine: develops your character, and makes you more patient and persevering, and--and----”
”You're the cheekiest little imp on the face of the earth!” interrupted Loveday. ”Get up, this minute, and come and finish your own work. I've something else to do besides unpack for you. If Miss Hampson comes and finds my box still half full----”
”She'll say how slow you've been, and what a nice, tidy child Diana is!
Don't try to look 'proper', Loveday! It doesn't suit your style of beauty. Yes, put my collars away, too, or I shall only crush them.
There! Very well done! First prize for order! I think you're absolutely topping, if you ask me!”
All that evening, and all the next morning, Diana's spirits continued to fizz. She might possibly have worked them off out-of-doors, but the British climate was against her; once more the fells were swathed in their familiar garments of mist, and the rain came pitter-pattering down on the roof of Pendlemere Abbey, and falling from the eaves in a monotonous drip, drip, drip. It was drawing afternoon, and promptly at half-past two intermediates and juniors would be due in the studio to go on with the various copies and models on which they were engaged. It was now shortly after two o'clock, and the school was amusing itself for the half-hour between meal-time and lessons. During that brief interval Diana, so to speak, ”popped her cork”.
”Hallo, America! You're looking rather weedy, standing on one leg like a marabou stork!” quizzed Sadie. ”What's the matter with you?”
”Your beastly, abominable British climate!” retorted Diana. ”It goes on rain, rain, raining till I'm fed up. I want to get away somewhere, and see something different from just school. I wasn't born for a convent!”
”I should think not!” chuckled Vi.
”But I'm in one, and I'm tired of it! I'm tired of you all! Yes, I mean what I say!”
”Draw it mild, Stars and Stripes!” warned Sadie.
”I don't care! School's dull, and I'm bored stiff. I'll wake things up somehow; see if I don't!”
”What'll you do, old sport?”
”Ah! _Just wait and see!_” nodded Diana, putting down the foot that had been twisted round her leg, and stamping to get rid of the pins and needles that followed her cramped position. ”It's just possible I may turn philanthropist, and give you all a d.i.n.ky little surprise,” she added casually, as she strolled towards the door.
The studio was a large room on the upper story, with the orthodox north windows and top-light, in the shape of a skylight. It was fitted with desks and easels, and round its walls was a row of casts on pedestals.
The girls liked drawing afternoon well enough, but they were not in any particular hurry to go upstairs and take out boards and pencils. It was not until twenty-five minutes past two that Wendy, Vi, Sadie, and Peggy came leisurely along the top landing. They opened the door of the studio in quite an every-day manner, and walked in. Then they all four stared and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed:
”O-o-o-oh!”
”Jehosh-a-phat!”
”I say!”
”Good night!”
They might well exclaim, for a very startling and unantic.i.p.ated spectacle greeted them. The cla.s.sic heads of the casts had lost their dignity. Apollo wore a tam-o'-shanter c.o.c.ked rakishly over his left ear; Clytie had on a motor veil; Juno and Ceres were fas.h.i.+onably arrayed in straw hats; a wreath of twisted paper encircled the intellectual brow of Minerva; Psyche peered through spectacles; Perseus was decked with a turban; and, worst of all, the beautiful upper lip of Venus sported a moustache. Armed with a pointer stood Diana, ready, like Mrs. Jarley of the famous waxworks, to act show-woman.
”Walk up! Walk up, ladies and gentlemen!” she began glibly. ”This isn't funny at all, it's calm and cla.s.sical. Greek art up-to-date is what I call it. If Apollo had lived in this British climate I guess he'd have needed a tammy to keep his hair in curl; and Psyche must have been short-sighted when she blundered about hunting for Cupid; she'd have found him in a decent pair of spectacles, poor girl! Clytie suffered from earache, and couldn't motor without a veil; as for Venus, it's giving her the vote that's forced a moustache; she's sent for a safety-razor, but it hasn't arrived yet.”
More girls had come in during Diana's explanation, and they wandered round the room in explosions of laughter.
”Why has Perseus got a turban on?” demanded Tattie.