And she had put up her hand to caress his, with such a timid sweetness of lip, and such a shining of the eye, that he had been silenced, feeling himself indeed in the presence of something he was not particularly well fitted to explore.
Well, if she was inconsequent, she was dear!--and if her mystical fancies comforted and sustained her, nobody should ever annoy or check her in the pursuit of them. He put a very summary stop to his wife's 'Protestant nonsense,' whenever it threatened to worry Eugénie; though on other occasions it amused him.
The landlady in Bernard Street greeted them with particular effusion. If they had only known, they represented to her--cautious yet not unkindly soul!--the main security for those very long arrears of rent she had allowed her lodger to run up. Were they now come--at this unusual hour--to settle up with Mr. Fenwick? If so, her own settling up--sweet prospect!--might be in sight. Cuningham and Watson had recently left her, and taken a joint studio in Chelsea. Their rooms, moreover, were still unlet. Her anxieties therefore were many, and it was with lively expectation that she watched the 'swells' grope their way upstairs to Mr. Fenwick's room. She always knew it must come right some day, with people like that about.
Lord Findon and Eugénie mounted the stairs. The studio door was half-open. As they approached the threshold they heard Fenwick speaking.
'I say, hand me that rag--and look sharp and bring me some more oil--quick! And where the devil is that sketch? Well, get the oil--and then look for it--under that pile over there--No!--hi!--stand still a moment--just where you are--I want to see the tone of your head against this background! Hang it!--the light's going!'
The visitors paused--to see Fenwick standing between them and a large canvas covered with the first 'laying-in' of an important subject. The model, a thin, dark-faced fellow, was standing meekly on the spot to which Fenwick had motioned him, while the artist, palette on thumb, stood absorbed and frowning, his keen eye travelling from the man's head to the canvas behind it.
Lord Findon smiled. He was a clever amateur, and relished the details of the business.
'Smells good!' he said, in Eugénie's ear, sniffing the scents of the studio. 'Looks like a fine subject too. And just now he's king of it. The torments are all ahead. Hullo, Fenwick!--may we come in?'