December Love Part 86

He put a finger to his lips and went down, leaving her alone with the portrait.

CHAPTER III

"Come up! Come up, my boy! I've something to show you!"

She heard steps mounting the stairs, and got up from the sofa. She looked once more at the portrait, then turned round to meet the two men, standing so that she was directly in front of it. Just then she had a wish to conceal it from Arabian, to delay, if only for a moment, his knowledge of what had been done.

Arabian came into the studio and saw her in her mourning facing him. At once he came up to her with d.i.c.k Garstin behind him. He looked grave, sympathetic, almost reverential. His brown eyes held a tender expression of kindness.

"Miss Van Tuyn! I did not know you were here."

She saw Garstin smiling ironically. Arabian took her hand and pressed it.

"I am glad to see you again."

His look, his pressure, were full of ardent sympathy.

"I have been thinking often of you and your great sorrow."

"Thank you!" she said, almost stammering.

"And what is it I am to see?" said Arabian, turning to Garstin.

"Stand away, Beryl!" said Garstin roughly.

She moved. What else could she do? Arabian saw the portrait and said:

"Oh, my picture at last!"

Then he took a step forward, and there was a silence in the studio.

Miss Van Tuyn looked at the floor at first. Then, as the silence continued, she raised her eyes to Arabian's. She did not know what she expected to see, but she was surprised at what she did see. Standing quite still immediately in front of the picture, with his large eyes fixed upon it, Arabian was looking very calm. There was, indeed, scarcely any expression in his face. He had thrust both hands into the pockets of his overcoat. Miss Van Tuyn wondered whether those hands would betray any feeling if she could see them. In the calmness of his face she thought there was something stony, but she was not quite sure.

She was, perhaps, too painfully moved, too violently excited just then to be a completely accurate observer. And she was aware of that. She wished Arabian would speak. When was he going to speak?

"Well?" said Garstin at last, perhaps catching her feeling. "What do you think of the thing? Are you satisfied with it? I've been a long time over it, but there it is at last."

He laughed slightly, uneasily, she thought.

"What's the verdict?"

"One moment--please!" said Arabian in an unusually soft voice.

Miss Van Tuyn was again struck, as she had been struck, when she first met Arabian in the studio, by the man's enormous self-possession. She felt sure that he must be feeling furiously angry, yet he did not show a trace of anger, of surprise, of any emotion. Only the marked softness of his voice was unusual. He seemed to be examining the picture with quiet interest and care.

"Well? Well?" said Garstin at last, with a sort of acute impatience which betrayed to her that he was really uneasy. "Let's hear what you think, though we know you don't set up for being a judge of painting."

"I think it is very like," said Arabian.

"Oh, Lord--like!" exclaimed Garstin, on an angry gust of breath. "I'm not a d.a.m.ned photographer!"

"Should not a portrait be like?" said Arabian, still in the very soft voice. "Am I wrong, then?"

"Of course not!" said Miss Van Tuyn, frowning at Garstin.

At that moment absolutely, and without any reserve, she hated him.

"Then you're satisfied?" jerked out Garstin.

"Indeed--yes, d.i.c.k Garstin. This is a valuable possession for me."

"Possession?" said Garstin, as if startled. "Oh, yes, to be sure! You're to have it--presently!"

"Quite so. I am to have it. It is indeed very fine. Do not you think so, Miss Van Tuyn?"

For the first time since he had seen the portrait he looked away from it, and his eyes rested on her. She felt that she trembled under those eyes, and hoped that he did not see it.

"You do not say! Surely this is a very fine picture?"

He seemed to be asking her to tell him whether or not the portrait ought to be admired. There was just then an odd simplicity, or pretence of simplicity, in his manner which was almost boyish. And his eyes seemed to be appealing to her.

"It is a magnificent piece of painting," she forced herself to say.

But she said it coldly, reluctantly.

"Then I am not wrong."

He looked pleased.

"My eye is not very educated. I fear to express my opinion before people such as you"--he looked towards Garstin, and added--"and you, d.i.c.k Garstin."

And then he turned away from the picture with the manner of a man who had done with it. She was amazed at his coolness, his perfect ease of manner.

"May I ask for a cigar, d.i.c.k Garstin?" he said.

"Pardon!" said Garstin gruffly.

Miss Van Tuyn noticed that he seemed very ill at ease. His rough self-possession had deserted him. He looked almost shy and awkward.

Before going to the cabinet he went to the easel and noisily wheeled it away. Then he fetched the cigar and poured out a drink for Arabian.

"Light up, old chap! Have a drink!"

There was surely reluctant admiration in his voice.

Arabian accepted the drink, lit the cigar, sat down, and began to talk about his flat. At that moment he dominated them both. Miss Van Tuyn felt it. He talked much more than she had ever before heard him talk in the studio, and expressed himself better, with more fluency than usual.

Garstin said very little. There was a fixed flush on his cheek-bones and an angry light in his eyes. He sat watching Arabian with a hostile, and yet half-admiring, scrutiny, smoking rapidly, nervously, and twisting his large hands about.