Part 2 (1/2)
”I will take a carriage,” she said, ”and fetch s”
”Let us say that Cafe Maston, in the Boulevard des Italiennes, at half-past seven then,” he decided ”I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself--pray don't look like that It is a very small affair, after all, and you can pay me back if you will”
She took the pocket-book and looked up at him with a little impulsive
”I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said ”I shall never be able to thank you”
”Won't you postpone the atte to deserve your gratitude? You will not forget--seven-thirty, Cafe Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes”
She drove off in a little _fiacre_, nodding and s at Sir John, who remained upon the Avenue He too, when she had disappeared, called a carriage
”Hotel Ritz,” he said mechanically to the coachman ”If only her sister is half as pretty, no wonder that she has set the Parisians talking”
_Chapter II_
THE ADVENTURE OF ANNABEL
The eon Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips Opposite, his pupil stood with bowed head and clasped hands
”You have the temperament,” he said ”You have the ideas Your first treatestive But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish You lack only that mechanical knack of expression which is the least important part of an artist's equipment, but which remains a tedious and absolute necessity We have both tried hard to develop it--you and I--and we have failed It is better to face the truth”
”Much better,” she agreed ”Oh, much better”
”Personally,” he went on, ”I reat disappoint of my pupils I overlooked the mechanical imperfections of your work, the utter lack of finish, the crudeness of your drawing I said to myself, 'this will coers are even now as stiff as a schoolgirl's You will never be able to draw
You have the ideas You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expressionTake my advice Burn your palette and your easel
Give up your lonely hours of work here Look somewhere else in life
Depend upon it, there is a place for you--waiting Here you only waste your tiloom of the dimly lit apartment he could not see her face He drew a little breath of relief The worst was over now He continued tenderly, als left in the world for you Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree To-night all this may seem hard and cruel To-morrow you will feel like a freed woain--of other things”
A e and went
The girl, with a little moan, crossed the room and threw open the
She looked steadfastly out Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon The lights of the Chaestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an arht She stood there hite set face and nervously clenched fingers The echo of those kindly words see in her ears She was crushed with a sense of her own terrible impotency A failure! She e, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament and creative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent st the ruck, a young wo by painting Christ into her flesh It was the bitterestherself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless In a momentary fury she seized and tore in pieces the study which reround in a little white shower It was the end, she told herself, fiercely And then, as she stood there, with the fraght upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered huht tune
The newcoedy has happened, little sister? No lights, no supper, no coffee--and, above all, no Mr Courtla dreary it all looks
Never land”
”Annabel, are you , of course But coht the stove, and there shall be some coffee presently”
”Coffee! Bah!”