"No; it's a different character. He's a good deal like his father, irresponsible."
To console his mother, Paul did not go much to Willey Farm at this time. And in the autumn exhibition of students' work in the Castle he had two studies, a landscape in water-colour and a still life in oil, both of which had first-prize awards. He was highly excited.
"What do you think I've got for my pictures, mother?" he asked, coming home one evening. She saw by his eye he was glad. Her face flushed.
"And a first prize for that sketch up at Willey Farm."
There was a rosy, bright look about her, though she said nothing.
"Why don't you praise me up to the skies?"
"I should have the trouble of dragging you down again," she said.
But she was full of joy, nevertheless. William had brought her his sporting trophies. She kept them still, and she did not forgive his death. Arthur was handsome--at least, a good specimen--and warm and generous, and probably would do well in the end. But Paul was going to distinguish himself. She had a great belief in him, the more because he was unaware of his own powers. There was so much to come out of him. Life for her was rich with promise. She was to see herself fulfilled. Not for nothing had been her struggle.
Several times during the exhibition Mrs. Morel went to the Castle unknown to Paul. She wandered down the long room looking at the other exhibits. Yes, they were good. But they had not in them a certain something which she demanded for her satisfaction. Some made her jealous, they were so good. She looked at them a long time trying to find fault with them. Then suddenly she had a shock that made her heart beat. There hung Paul's picture! She knew it as if it were printed on her heart.
It looked so strange, there in public, on the walls of the Castle gallery, where in her lifetime she had seen so many pictures. And she glanced round to see if anyone had noticed her again in front of the same sketch.
But she felt a proud woman. When she met well-dressed ladies going home to the Park, she thought to herself:
"Yes, you look very well--but I wonder if _your_ son has two first prizes in the Castle."
And she walked on, as proud a little woman as any in Nottingham. And Paul felt he had done something for her, if only a trifle. All his work was hers.