yn

fTlHE  May  morning  was  warm. Its  soft  ra-
•*•  diance  penetrated  the  studio,  even  with  the
north  light,  and  the  patch  of  sky  seen  through
the  upper  half  of  the  open  window  was  tenderly,
opaquely  blue,  crossed  by  an  occasional  small
downy  cloud. The  first  touch  of  summer  lan-
guor was  in  the  air. The  rattle  of  wheels  and
whirr  of  cars  in  the  streets  below,  and  the  street
cries,  seemed  oddly  softened,  as  though  the
world  had  grown  more  spacious. Two  great
masses  of  lilacs,  in  brown  jars,  set  on  the  floor
of  the  studio,  sent  out  their  fresh  perfume. Basil
sang  tunelessly  as  he  worked,  and  his  eyes
glowed  happily. Teresa  was  posing  for  a  pic-
ture, begun  some  weeks  before,  but  interrupted
by  her  own  engagements,  or  Basil's. Basil  had
usually  a  picture  of  Teresa  in  some  stage  of
progress. He  had  painted  her  a  dozen  times,
and  each  time  the  picture  had  been  sold. How-
ever, Basil  was  only  "  one  of  the  promising
younger  men."  He  had  often  occasion  to  laugh
at  such  a  judgment  upon  himself. Newspaper
praise  or  blame  merely  amused  him,  and  he  did
not  even  care  much  whether  he  sold  his  pictures
or  not;  "  except,"  as  he  said,  "  that  one  doesn't
want  too  many  of  them  round,  mussing  up  the

86


THEBOND  87

place. I  shouldn't  like  to  live  in  the  midst  of
an  unbroken  circle  of  my  creations,  like  Erhart,
for  instance. And  giving  them  away  is  an  un-
worthy subterfuge."  His  successes  had  been
made  so  far  with  portraits. Character  inter-
ested him  as  much  as  paint,  and,  though  brother
artists  agreed  that  "  his  colour  was  sour,  and
his  drawing  bad,"  the  sitters  were  always  in-
terested in  what  he  made  of  them. The  portrait
was  something  to  talk  about,  though  usually,
"  It  doesn't  half  do  you  justice,  my  dear. Your
nose  really  isn't  as  large  as  that,  and  as  for  your
complexion — well,  I  suppose  yellow  and  mauve
are  the  latest  discoveries,  so  we  must  say  noth-
ing— still,  there  is  a  likeness "

Teresa  was  sitting  in  a  high-backed  Italian
chair;  she  wore  a  white  dress,  and  a  flat,  black
chip  hat,  tied  under  her  chin. In  her  hands
she  had  a  bit  of  red  clay,  from  which  she  was
modelling  a  tiny  statuette  of  a  faun. 