Fenwick's Career Part 21

'Genius or no, papa, it's time you paid him his money.'

'How you go on, Eugenie!' said Lord Findon, crossing his knees luxuriously, as the tea filtered down. 'Pray, what money do I owe him?'

'Well, of course, if you wait till he's made a hit, prices will go up,' said Eugenie, calmly. 'I advise you to agree with him quickly, while you are in the way with him.'

'I never asked him to paint you,' said Lord Findon, hastily, swallowing a sip of tea under the regulation time, and frowning at the misdeed.

'Oh, shuffling papa! Come--how much?--two hundred?'

'Upon my word! A painter shouldn't propose to paint a picture, my dear, and then expect to get paid for it as if he'd been commissioned.

The girls might as well propose matrimony to the men.'

'n.o.body need accept,' said Eugenie, slyly, replenishing his cup. 'I consider, papa, that you have bolted that cup.'

'Then for goodness' sake, don't give me any more!' cried Lord Findon.

'It's no joke, Eugenie, this sipping business--Where were we? Oh, well, of course I knew we should have to take it--and I don't say I'm not pleased with it. But two hundred!'

'Not a penny less,' said Eugenie--'and the apotheosis of my frock alone is worth the money. Two hundred for that--and two-fifty for the other?'

'Welby told me that actually was the price he had put on it! The young man won't starve, my dear, for want of knowing his own value.'

'I shouldn't wonder if he had been rather near starving,' said Eugenie, gravely.

'Nothing of the kind, Eugenie,' said her father, testily. 'You think everybody as sensitive as yourself. I a.s.sure you, young men are tough, and can stand a bit of hardship.'

'They seem to require butcher's meat, all the same,' said Eugenie.

'Do you know, papa, that I have been extremely uncomfortable about our behaviour to Mr. Fenwick?'

'I entirely fail to see why,' said Lord Findon, absently. He was holding his watch in his hand, and calculating seconds.

'We have let him paint my portrait without ever saying a word of money--and you have always behaved as though you meant to buy the "Genius Loci."'

'Well, so I do mean to buy it,' said Lord Findon, closing his watch with a sigh of satisfaction.

'You should have told him so, papa, and advanced him some money.'

'It is an excellent thing, my dear Eugenie, for a young man to be kept on tenterhooks. Otherwise they soon get above themselves.'

'You have driven him into debt, papa.'

'What on earth do you mean?'

'I have been questioning Mr. Cuningham. He doesn't know, but he _thinks_ Mr. Watson has been lending him money.'

'Artists are always so good to one another,' said Lord Findon, complacently. 'Nice fellow, Watson--but quite mad.'

'Papa, you are incorrigible. I tell you he has been in great straits.

He has not been able to buy a winter overcoat, and Mr. Cuningham suspects he has often not had enough to eat. He does ill.u.s.tration-work the greater part of the night--_et cetera_.'

'The way you pile on the agony, my dear!' said Lord Findon, rising.

'What I see you want is that I should write the check, and then go with you to call on the young man?'

'Precisely!' said Eugenie, nodding.

Lord Findon looked at her.

'And that you suppose is your own idea?'

Eugenie waited--interrogatively.

'Do you know why I have never said a word to the young man about money?'

'Because you forgot it,' said Eugenie, smiling.

'Not in the least,' said Lord Findon, flushing like a school-boy found out; 'I wanted my little sensation at the end.'

'My very epicurean papa!' said Eugenie, caressing him. 'I see! Young man in a garret--starving--_au desespoir._ Enter Providence, _alias_ my papa--with fame in one hand and gold in the other. Ah, _que tu es comedien, mon pere. A la bonne heure_!--I now order the carriage!'

She moved toward the bell, but paused suddenly:--

'I forgot--Arthur was to come before six.'

A slight silence fell between the father and daughter.

Lord Findon cleared his throat, took up the evening paper and laid it down again.

'Eugenie!'

'Yes, papa.'

Lord Findon went up to her and took her hand. She stood with downcast eyes, the other hand playing with the folds of her dress. Her father's face was discomposed.

'Eugenie!' he broke out. 'I don't think he ought to come so much.

Forgive me, dear!'

'You only think what I have thought for a long time,' she said, in a low voice, without raising her eyes. 'But to-day I sent for him.'

'Because?'--Lord Findon's face expressed a quick and tender anxiety.

'I want to persuade him--to marry Elsie Bligh.'

Lord Findon made a hurried exclamation, drew her to him, kissed her on the brow, and then, releasing her, turned away.

'I might have known--what you would do,' he said, in a m.u.f.fled voice.

'I ought to have done it long ago,' she said, pa.s.sionately; then, immediately curbing herself, she turned deliberately to a vase of roses that stood near and began to rearrange them, picking out a few faded blooms and throwing them on the wood-fire.

Lord Findon watched her, the delicate, drooping figure in its grey dress, the thin hand among the roses.