Henry C. Rowland

“ Jack," she said with a laugh, and with a quick tug drew the sheet from the bacchante. Lady Avis, turning in surprise and vexation to protest with her sister-in-law, looked full at the bust and her blue eyes opened wide.
"Jack!" cried Lady Darran in ecstasy, "what a perfectly delicious head! How mean, not to want us to see it! What a fascinatingly pretty, naughty face! And what a dear little nuque! She's a raving, tearing beauty—even if she does look a trifle—eh—grisée. What an adorable profile." She stepped in front of the bust and all at once a puzzled expression crept into her eyes. ”

“ Bob whistled softly; his lustrous eyes glowed.
"Gad!" he gasped, true even in emotion to his Anglicism. "What a parfec'ly deelicious thing! Eet is marvelous! Eet is almos' unholy! What a face! What a neck!" He shook his head slowly from side to side. "What a triumph of expression—for the features are absolutely parfec'—ident'cale!" He laughed softly to himself. "If the Lady Avis ever looked like that it would be a pity! Think of the trail of broken hearts! As it is, the men are all afraid of her!"
"Perhaps that is the reason," said Randal vaguely. ”

“ But Avis, strangely excited, laughed also and in the same language; and then, suddenly the eyes of the sculptor met those of the girl and the color flamed into the faces of both. The conventional present arose to rebuke the naked past. Avis dropped her eyes, ashamed of the lawless emotion of the past moment as if it had been some flagrant act. Her beautiful face regained its classic purity—or coldness. But Randal had seen and heard and his heart was clashing joyful chords. ”

“ He tried to speak but failed, and looked helplessly at his sister.
"It is a shame!" cried Lady Darran passionately. "It is an outrage! If one can't give a quiet tea without having one's guests insulted——"
"Jack did not insult anybody," said one of the men quickly. "L' esprit tout excuse!' He did not mean to be rude."
"I s'pose really I ought to have asked him," muttered Mabley. "He was a class-mate of mine—but he always does such crazy stunts——"
"Deuced clever, I thought, if it was a bit cheeky," drawled the good-natured guardsman, "but one rather expects that sort of thing in a studio. ”

“ Bob laughed.
"I say," said he, "maybe you malign Lady Darran and flatter the Lady Avis. Maybe she hasn't eet in her, ye know!"
"That is what most people think," answered Randal quietly. "That is no doubt what she thinks herself—but it is a mistake." He studied the head thoughtfully and when he spoke there was an odd wistfulness in his voice, which made his friend glance at him keenly. "Lady Avis Darran has heart enough and to spare—if only one could find the way to it!" ”

“ His sister, Lady Darran, was, on the contrary, the epitome of social grace. She was a dream of beauty, of perfect poise in all but her temper, which sometimes grabbed the bits and twisted, and as perfectly finished a woman of the world as a very expensive education could produce. This is often the case in the female of the Mabley kind. ”

“ The door swung open and Lady Darran, followed by the Lady Avis, entered the studio.
"Good morning, Jack," said Lady Darran. "We have come an hour earlier because we want to go to a tea at the Casino later. You don't mind, do you?" She threw a friendly nod to Bob.
"Certainly not," replied Randal, a bit stiffly. He looked curiously at Lady Avis, then at the nearly finished bust.
"How do you like it?" he asked.
"Very much," answered the English girl unemotionally. She let her blue eyes rest meditatively upon the beautiful reproduction of her head, then turned to the sculptor. ”

“ I had hoped to get her as she looks"—he glanced keenly at the girl—"when under some emotion."
Lady Avis's eyes flashed up to his, then instantly fell.
"I think that I prefer it as it is," she murmured, in her dear, cold voice.
"I quite agree with you," said Lady Darran vexedly. "Unless a thing has a dash of the rococo it never quite pleases you, Jack." Her eyes fell upon the veiled bust of the bacchante which was at her elbow. ”

“ He stooped quickly, gripped the iron dumb-bell at his feet, and raised it to his shoulder.
"Step back, please," he said coldly. "The stuff is apt to fly." He raised the dumb-bell.
"Oh, no—no—!" cried Lady Avis, and at the same instant Randal brought the iron down with all of the strength of his athletic arm, full upon the smiling face of the bacchante.
Lady Darran gave a slight scream, a "sacré" escaped from Bob's compressed lips. The blue eyes of Lady Avis filled; she turned away. ”

“ No, I'm going to smash her now! "
A dawning intelligence is an to gleam in Bob's dark eyes.
"Eef you change her you will hate her—and so you are going to smash her head! Ah, my boy, my boy—you are in love with her!"
Randal paused to stare at his friend in angiy amazement.
"In love with Lady Avis!" he growled.
"Not a bit of it. You are in love with her face on your naughty bacchante."
A knock sounded on the door, which was slightly ajar. Randal, not caring to be caught in the act of beating in the head of a bacchante with a ten-pound dumb-bell, quickly threw the sheet over the bust. ”

“ The Lady Avis thoughtfully studied her bracelet. Presently she turned to her informer.
"Is Mr. Randal usually—like that?"
"By no means. You have seen him at his worst. I think that he was hurt at not being asked, and took that way of showing it. When he hasn't one of his wild fits he is apt to be very quiet—and he is at all times a hard worker."
"R'really? " The Lady Avis relapsed into her thoughtful silence, and shortly afterwards the party broke up. ”

“ Lady Avis disliked Americans intensely because her dearest friend, who had been "disappointed" through an American girl, had told her that they were vulgar. Mabley's studio was at Dinard, and several of his guests were American artists, and the mere accent and colloquialisms of these were enough to freeze the Lady Avis into a very beautiful snow maiden and limit her conversation to such remarks as, "R'really! ”

“ He struck a final minor chord, then for an instant looked forward and smiled into the face of the Lady Avis. The smile was in itself an apology for the Bohemian impertinence.
The girl's lips parted and a wave of color swept across her lovely face. Randal smiled again, then tossed the guitar lightly upon a pile of cushions and turned to Mabley, who was staring hopelessly at his sister, as if for a cue.
"There!" said Randal challengingly, "have I earned my drink? A song is always the price of a drink in Bohemia!" He picked up a decanter, poured out some whisky, and drank it. "Thanks! ”

“ You see, the chap is really a genius, and not amenable to usual methods. For instance, if you were to order a bust of yourself, he would probably not sculp you as you really are, but in some fantastic way ”

“ When he inherited his money he had passed from meat canning to high art because the latter seemed to him to be a short cut to culture, or at least an excuse for the absence of this quality on the ground of Bohemianism. ”