Part 14 (2/2)
”Poor old Palamon! Poor old dog!” Odd had lifted the dog in his arms, and was scratching the silky smooth ears as only a dog-lover knows how.
Palamon's head slowly turned to one side in an ecstasy of appreciation.
Odd looked down at Hilda. Katherine was behind him. ”Poor Palamon, 'allone, withouten any companye.'” Hilda's eyes met his in a sad, startled look, then she dropped them to Palamon, who was now putting out his tongue towards Odd's face with grateful emotion.
”Yes,” she said gently, putting her hand caressingly on the dog's head; her slim, cold fingers just brushed Odd's; ”yes, poor Palamon.” She was silent, and there was silence behind them, for Katherine, with her usual good-humored tact, was examining the picture. The model on the sofa stretched her arms and yawned a long, sc.r.a.ping yawn. Palamon gave a short, brisk bark, and looked quickly and suspiciously round the studio.
Both Odd and Hilda laughed.
”But not 'allone,' after all,” said Odd. ”Is he a great deal with you?
That is a different kind of company, but Palamon is the gainer.”
”We mustn't judge Palamon by our own standards,” smiled Hilda, ”though highly civilized dogs like him don't show many social instincts towards their own kind. He did miss Arcite though, at first, I am sure; but he certainly is not lonely. I bring him here with me, and when I am at home he is always in my room. I think all the walking he gets is good for him. You see in what good condition he is.”
Palamon still showing signs of restlessness over the yawn, Odd put him down. He was evidently on cordial terms with the model, for he trotted affably toward her, standing with a lazy, smiling wave of the tail before her, while she addressed him with discreetly low-toned, whispering warmth as ”_Mon chou! Mon bijou! Mon pet.i.t lapin a la sauce blanche!_”
”Don't you get very tired working here all day?” Odd asked.
”Sometimes. But anything worth doing makes one tired, doesn't it?”
”You take your art very seriously, Hilda?”
”Sometimes--yes--I take it seriously.” Hilda smiled her slight, reserved smile.
”Well, I can't blame you; you really have something to say.”
”Hilda, I am afraid we are becoming _de trop_. I must carry you off, Mr.
Odd. Hilda's moments are golden.”
”That is a sisterly exaggeration,” said Hilda. Had all her personality gone into her pictures? was she a self-centred little egotist? Odd wondered, as he and Katherine walked away together. Katherine's warmly human qualities seemed particularly consoling after the chill of the abstract one felt in Hilda's studio.
CHAPTER IV
”Peter, she is a nice, a clever, a delightful girl,” said Mary Apswith.
Mrs. Apswith sat in a bright little salon overlooking the Rue de la Paix. For her holiday week of shopping Peter's hotel was not central enough, but Peter himself was at her command from morning till night. He stood before her now, his back to the flaming logs in the fireplace, looking alternately down at his boots and up at his sister. Peter's face wore an amused but pleasant smile. Katherine must certainly be nice, clever, and delightful, to have won Mary, usually so slow in friends.h.i.+p.
”Whether she is deep--deeply good, I mean--I don't know; one can't tell.
But, at all events, she is sincere to the core.” Mary had called on the Archinards some days ago, and had seen Katherine every day since then.
Mary's stateliness had not become buxom. The fine lines of her face had lost their former touch of heaviness. Her gray hair--grayer than Peter's--and fresh skin gave her a look of merely perfected maturity.
Life had gone well with her; everybody said that; yet Mary knew the sadness of life. She had lost two of her babies, and sorrow had softened, ripened her. The Mary of ten years ago had not had that tender look in her eyes, those lines of sympathetic sensibility about the lips. Her decisively friendly sentence was followed by a little sigh of disapprobation.
”As for Hilda!”
”As for Hilda?”
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