Chapter XV: Various Threads of Romance

ON the following afternoon, Enid went to Miss Strutt's studio, for she knew that her friend, whom she had not seen at the "soirée" on the previous evening, would be interested in hearing what she could tell her about it. But Miss Strutt's door was locked. It was evident that the artist had gone out, though it was earlier than the hour at which she usually left off work.

So Enid went back to the Studio Mariano feeling disappointed, for she had looked forward to a chat with Miss Strutt.

She had that pleasure, however, on the next day. Miss Strutt welcomed her warmly, and at once began to express congratulations in playful fashion.

"So your picture attracted the royal notice! You were presented to the Queen! How we are coming on! Really, I almost wonder that after such an honour you can condescend to visit a poor old maid like me!"

"Now, Miss Strutt, I will not have that!" cried Enid. "It does not become you to be satirical. Let me inform you that I came to see you yesterday afternoon, but you were out. I wanted to tell you the news myself; but it seems someone has forestalled me."

"It was Herr Schmitz," said Miss Strutt. "I met him yesterday afternoon, and he asked eagerly if I had heard of your success. He was delighted with the honour done to his pupil."

"I believe I owe it in a great measure to him," replied Enid. "But why were not you at the 'soirée' last evening? All the other exhibitors were there!"

"My dear, need you ask? I thought you knew that I never go into company."

"I know you dislike general company," said Enid; "but I thought on such an occasion as this—"

"You thought the idea of meeting so many of my fellow artists ought to attract me? I must confess that their society has little more attraction for me than that of other people. Do not look so reproachfully at me, my little Enid. You do not know artists as well as I do. You do not know what bitterness, jealousy, and petty feelings of various kinds are hidden under the surface cordiality they maintain towards each other. You look incredulous, but it is true. Tell me, have you ever heard a painter warmly praise the work of one of his brethren of the brush?"

"Yes—at least I have heard one praise the work of a sister artist," said Enid, with a smile. "Herr Schmitz speaks most highly of your work."

The colour rose quickly in the old maid's faded cheek. "Ah, that is different," she said. "Herr Schmitz and I are friends, and he is very good to his friends. Besides, I owe much to his advice and teaching, so that he looks upon me almost as a pupil. And you know he does not withhold encouragement from his pupils if he sees they are in earnest. But Herr Schmitz has the character of being most severe in his criticisms of the work of his fellow artists."

Enid remembered that Julius Dakin had said the same of him.

"Oh dear!" she said with a sigh. "How disappointing human nature is! If ever I fancy I have found a hero, someone immediately shows me he is not flawless."

"Do you expect to find a hero without a flaw?" asked Miss Strutt. "But there! That is always the way with young people like you. It is of no use to tell them they will not find perfection; they always want those they love and believe in to be perfect, and are impatient of everything that mars their ideal conception of them. But as we grow older, we learn to make allowance for human nature; we see that in every human life there is much which, as Browning expresses it, the 'world's coarse thumb and finger' fails to 'plumb,' and we think less of the 'flaws and warpings' of the stuff, so long as the aim of the life be true, for we know that God will yet mould it into conformity to His will. The world has never seen and will never see but one Life absolutely without flaw, and that was more than human."

Enid was silent. It caused her some wonder to hear Miss Strutt, who always shrank from the society of her fellow mortals, speak so tolerantly of human weaknesses.

"Well, Enid," said Miss Strutt the next minute, with an abrupt change of manner, "if I stayed away from the 'soirée,' I was not uninterested in the pictures. I never attempt to look at pictures in the midst of a crowd, so I went to the Exhibition early yesterday morning before anyone was there. I wanted to see how they had hung your little painting."

"'My' picture only?" said Enid. "Had you no anxiety with respect to the hanging of your own?"

"Well, yes; I will not pretend that I was indifferent to the fate of my own. But it is generally disappointing to see them. They never look quite as they did in your own studio."

"No, that is true," said Enid.

"However, you cannot complain," said Miss Strutt. "Your picture is hung in a good position, and looks very well. You are fortunate in its finding a purchaser at once."

"A purchaser! What do you mean?" asked Enid in a tone of surprise.

"Surely you know that your picture is sold?"

"No, indeed; it is news to me! Are you sure you are not mistaken? Who told you so?"

"The secretary. I was looking over the catalogue with him."

"Do you know who has bought it?"

"Mr. Julius Dakin."

Enid's face flushed a deep crimson; but the colour receded as rapidly as it rose, and left her unusually pale. Miss Strutt, watching her, wondered at the effect of her words.

"My dear, it cannot surprise you that Mr. Dakin should buy your picture."

"But he has gone away," faltered Enid.

"Well, what of that? Do you not suppose he could have commissioned someone to buy the picture for him?"

"Yes, of course; but—" Enid's face looked strangely troubled.

Miss Strutt was silent for some minutes, but her mind was busy. She was a shrewd observer, this quiet little woman, and having a "mind at leisure from itself," she could read the hearts of others. She had had various opportunities of observing Enid and Julius Dakin both together and apart, and she had drawn a certain inference from her observation of them. But the turn events had recently taken puzzled her.

"Why has Mr. Julius Dakin gone away so suddenly?" she asked with some abruptness.

"He has gone on business," Enid replied, her colour rising again.

"Yes, yes, on business, of course;" but Miss Strutt's manner showed that she had little belief in the business. "Enid, have you had anything to do with his going away? You have not suffered yourself to be misled by your desire for a flawless hero?"

"Indeed, indeed—" Enid began to protest, but paused in confusion.

"There is the making of a hero in Julius Dakin," Miss Strutt went on without heeding her. "He has been spoiled by too easy a life; but if I mistake not, there are sterling qualities in his character. You must forgive me. Enid, if I say what I should not, but I have seen—I cannot help fancying—"

"Please don't speak of it," broke in Enid nervously. "I know what you mean—but you are mistaken—indeed you are mistaken."

"Am I really mistaken? Was it only a dream that I had when I thought I saw a great happiness coming to you?"

"Yes, yes," faltered Enid, in evident distress. "It was just that—a dream—what you think can never be, never!"

"I suppose I must take your word for it," said Miss Strutt, looking perplexed; "but I wish I could be sure that you are acting fairly by yourself. I wish you could confide in me, Enid, and tell me all that troubles you."

"I could not—there is nothing to tell," said Enid in sore embarrassment. "At least you would not understand."

"I don't know about that," said Miss Strutt. "Perhaps I understand more than you think." But she did not try to force the girl's confidence.

They talked of other things; but there was a kindness, a sympathy in Miss Strutt's manner towards Enid as long as they remained together, of which Enid was gratefully conscious.

"How can you like to spend so much time with that old maid?" Maud asked rather scornfully, when she returned to the studio.

"I like to do so because she is such good company," replied Enid with a smile.

Maud looked amazed, but said no more.

It happened the next day, when Enid was with Herr Schmitz in his studio, that he began talking about Miss Strutt, with whose pictures in the Exhibition he was very pleased.

"She is a good artist and a good woman," he said emphatically. "I cannot give her higher praise than that."

"She deserves it," said Enid; "she is truly good. I wish she led a happier life."

The old painter turned and looked shrewdly at Enid. "Does she ever complain?" he asked.

"Certainly not," said Enid; "you know that is not her way. But I know she has had great sorrows, and her life seems to me a hard one."

"Ah! She has told you of her troubles, then?"

"She has told me about her brother," said Enid, with, some hesitation. "That seems to me a terrible thing."

"Ah! It is—it was, a terrible thing," said Herr Schmitz, with feeling. "I heard all about it from a friend of mine, a Scotch artist, who knew the Strutts well and was acquainted with all the circumstances of the case. Did she never tell you the rest of the story?"

"The rest!" said Enid in surprise. "I don't know what you mean. Her brother remains the same—there is no hope of his recovery."

"Oh, I was not thinking of him. Well, it was like her to keep back what most concerned herself. But there is no harm in my telling you. She was engaged to be married. The man was a poor creature, quite unworthy of her; but of course she loved him devotedly. When that terrible affair happened, and her brother had to be sent away, the man took fright—thought he must not marry into a family tainted by insanity. She saw how he felt, and at once released him. That was all; but you will understand what it meant for her."

Enid did understand.

"She could never see that the man was selfish and heartless," continued Herr Schmitz. "She thought him justified in what he did. And of course, he married someone else; and she—well, you see what her life is. The worst of it is, when a woman such as she is gives her heart away, she gives it once and for ever. It is of no use for any other man to think how he might care for her."

A thought darted quickly into Enid's mind. It must be remembered that she was of a romantic disposition. It occurred to her that Herr Schmitz was a lonely man; his kindred, if he had any, were far away. Would it be strange if his heart went out towards the poor little woman who had known so many sorrows? But Enid was half ashamed of the thought as it arose, and she would not for the world have confided it to her cousin. She fancied she could hear how Maud would laugh at the idea of the rough, bearish old Herr having any tender feeling for the odd little spinster, whose eccentricities would never fail to excite Maud's sense of the ridiculous, though she had learned to respect Miss Strutt's sterling character.

If Enid's experiences of late had been of a sobering nature, disposing her to dwell on the disappointments of human life, she was about to see a brighter aspect of affairs. Clouds may darken our life for awhile, but they do not last for ever, nor is even the course of true love destined to be perpetually impeded, as Enid was soon to learn.

Three days had passed since the opening of the exhibition of paintings, and they had been to Enid rather dreary days, when one afternoon, as she was working alone in the studio, Maud having gone out to pay calls, there came a tap at the door.

Enid went to the door expecting nothing more exciting than to see the porter with a letter or parcel. What was her amazement and delight when she saw standing on the threshold Adela Ravani, with the prettiest, brightest, happiest face imaginable! But she had little time to study the expression of her friend's face, for in a moment Adela had thrown herself into her arms, and was half smothering her with kisses.

"Oh, you dear, darling Enid, how glad I am to see you again! And I thought I never should! Oh, to think of it!—To think of it!"

"Then they have not made a nun of you, Adela?" said Enid, as soon as she could speak.

"A nun! I should think not, indeed! No, no; I am free—free! And yet Francesco has not made me bend to his will! It seems too wonderful to be true."

"Then it has all come right after all. Oh, I 'am' glad! But sit down. Adela, and tell me about it. I can hardly believe that I really see you again. I have thought of you so often, and felt so unhappy about you."

"And I have been unhappy—'so' unhappy. But it is all over now, thank God! And I am as happy as possible. I know, Enid, that I owe it all to you, and I must thank you before I say another word."

"Thank me!" exclaimed Enid in the utmost astonishment. "My dear Adela, what can I have had to do with it? I knew nothing of your happiness till I saw you, and I am still quite in the dark as to how it has come about."

"That may be; but I know very well that it is for your sake that Mr. Julius Dakin has exerted himself so much on our behalf. You need not blush and protest, Enid, for I know it is so."

"But what has Mr. Julius Dakin done?"

"He has done everything," said Adela eagerly. "It seems that Signor Torlono, Lucio's uncle, was in Rome, on business a few weeks ago, and he dined at the Dakins; and they spoke to him of Lucio—told him how clever he was, and how highly everyone praised his pictures. They saw he was interested, although he pretended to be indifferent, and they tried to work on his feelings. They tried to persuade him to see Lucio, but there they failed.

"However, I suppose he went back to Florence rather better disposed towards his nephew. Mr. Julius Dakin would not let the matter rest. He kept sending him notices of Lucio's paintings, in newspapers and journals, you know.

"Then last week, when Mr. Julius Dakin started for London, he persuaded Lucio to go with him to Florence, and they stayed there a day. Mr. Dakin went to see Signor Torlono, who appeared very pleased to see him. And of course, he introduced the subject of Signor Torlono's nephew, and talked and talked and talked about Lucio—how good he was, and how clever, and how affectionate; and then, when Signor Torlono seemed properly affected, he informed him that his nephew was there at Florence about to pass the night at an hotel. By that time, the uncle's hard heart was quite melted, and he sent for Lucio and forgave him, and he is to be his heir after all; and—and everything has come right, just like a story-book."

"And there is no longer any hindrance to your marriage?"

"No," said Adela, blushing in the prettiest manner. "Only fancy! Mr. Julius Dakin actually told the old uncle all about me, and made him quite interested in me too! I don't know how he managed it, but he has such clever, nice ways, has Mr. Julius Dakin. Do you not think so?"

"Never mind what I think," said Enid, catching the mischievous gleam in Adela's eyes. "What does Francesco say to it all?"

"Oh, he is willing enough now, I can assure you. The heir of Signor Torlono, the rich banker of Florence, is a grand match for me. And I need not tell you how pleased mamma is. Lucio says she must live with us, and I should like it so much; but she will not promise to do so always."

"And when is the wedding to be?"

"Oh, soon—in April, I believe," said Adela, blushing and dimpling in the most charming way.

Enid had always greatly admired her friend's beauty, but it seemed to her that now, radiant as she was with happiness, Adela was more lovely than ever.

"Enid, you must not think of leaving Rome till after April. I want you to be at my wedding."

"Thank you; I should love dearly to see you married, but my movements of course depend on Maud. I do not know how long she intends to stay here; and indeed I think she ought to return home before the end of April."

"Oh, do not say that!" cried Adela.

Adela had been absent from Rome for two months. After such a separation, it may be imagined that the girls had much to tell each other. Enid asked many questions concerning Adela's experience in the lonely convent to which she had been banished.

Adela said the time had seemed very long. She had been allowed to receive no letters, and had heard no news of the outer world; but the good sisters had been very kind to her. It had been a relief when her brother appeared and took her away; but she had not dared to hope for any permanent good.

But when she saw her mother's face, she knew that she had joyful news for her, and from her she learned how Lucio's prospects had changed, and that his suit was now accepted.

Naturally Adela's mind was full of her own happiness, and it was discussed from every point of view. Yet she was not so absorbed in herself as to be unobservant of her friend.

"Enid," she exclaimed, after a while, "you have changed, whilst I have been away! Are you sure you are well?"

"Quite well," said Enid decidedly.

"But you do not look so; you are certainly paler and thinner than you were. Have you had anything to trouble you?"

"What could trouble me here in Rome—the most fascinating, delightful city in the world?"

"Ah! Then you are still in love with Rome? I suppose you have been doing too much, for you certainly do not look as you did when I went away."

Enid was glad to quit the subject of her looks.

When at last, after some further talk, Adela took her departure, she left Enid looking brighter than she had looked for days. She was delighted that Adela had come back, and delighted with the news she had brought. It was easy to conceive how it had all come about. Her imagination dwelt on the picture suggested by Adela's words. She could see Julius Dakin talking to the old banker; she could hear his very tones as he gently insinuated, suggested, persuaded in the winning manner peculiar to him. Yes, Adela was right; he had clever, nice ways. No one had just such ways as he had. Enid could not wonder that the old man had been won over by him.

And Adela had declared that it was for "her"—Enid's—sake that he had taken such pains to bring about this reconciliation. The thought was dear to Enid. A voice in her heart echoed back an assurance that it was even so. For her sake, he had been anxious to succeed, that he might give her gladness through the happiness of her friend.

Certainly if Julius Dakin could have seen Enid's face at this hour, he would have had his reward. The immediate effect of Adela's visit was to fill Enid's heart for a brief while with a rapture of delight.