As a matter of fact, Ariel had not escaped from Joan at all. She was there in that formal, straight chair, all of her there, cold, and shut up like a stone. It was quite a minute of silence before she asked, “Why shouldn’t I see Michael Schwankovsky? What do you and what does Hugh mean?”
She was looking at the frosted cakes on a Wedgwood plate as she asked this, and Joan thought, “She’d take one if I’d pass it. She’s thinking about cake like any greedy schoolgirl. Why am I spending time and attention like this on a mere chrysalis! If she’s to grow wings some day, be a woman worth even annoying, that day’s far off.”
“Why shouldn’t you see Michael? But you should, my dear. In fact, if he’s to go on with this exhibition of your father’s work, you must. It is only Hugh who thinks you shouldn’t. Though Hugh’s enough to spoil the chances for the exhibition, if he begins interfering.”
“I simply don’t understand, Mrs. Nevin,—what you are trying to say.”
_Trying to say!_ She! Joan! Well, just for that Joan would say it.
“Simply this. Hugh’s merely decided that if you’re the sort of girl it’s so easy to be affectionate with, you aren’t safe with a person of Michael Schwankovsky’s temperament. Anybody can see that Michael can’t keep his hands off you, and that you would be sorry if he could. But I told Hugh that it might come to more than petting. Suppose Michael’s actually thinking of marriage, Ariel!”
Ariel put her cup down on the table and stood up. “Marry Michael Schwankovsky!” she exclaimed—anger giving place to shock. “Why, he’s old enough to be my grandfather!” She looked down at Joan, and grew still again, but this time it was not a stony stillness. It was just sudden natural relaxation. “You have misunderstood Hugh,” she affirmed. “You’re as far off about him as you are about Michael. And they were both of them friends of yours long before I ever knew them. So it’s strange you can make these mistakes.” She said it in all simplicity and went on, more relaxed and at peace with every word she uttered, “I’m very fond of Michael Schwankovsky and very grateful to him. He believes in the pictures. I’d love him just for that. But I love him for himself. He means more to me than any one else living except Doctor Hazzard and Hugh. And he’d no more think of wanting to marry me than Doctor Hazzard would think of it. And Doctor Hazzard’s a grandfather with eight grandchildren. So you see.