Princess Mary's Gift Book Part 9

"So it is," he declared, "and I've got it bad--very bad indeed. I'll ask you to believe me, Miss Kitty--I mean Miss Thorold--that I haven't had you out of my mind for one moment since we parted."

"It's a pity you haven't something better to think of," said Kitty.

"There I disagree with you," observed the young man stoutly. "I couldn't have anything better to think of, and I don't want to. I shall think of you for the rest of my natural life. One moment, Miss Kitty, before you refuse me. I ought to tell you that I'm a poor young captain, in a marching regiment, with no prospects."

"The allurement is irresistible----" began Kitty, with admirable gravity.

"I'm delighted to hear it," he said. "So you accept me?"

"The politeness of a soldier should have compelled you to hear me out. I was going to add, that it would be irresistible if I were in love with you; but----"

"Don't go on, I beg of you!" he implored. "I'm not such a fat-headed idiot as to suppose that you _are_ in love with me. What I wanted to ask you was to give me a show. You see, I've arranged with Mr. Thorold to stand, not only for this picture, but for an oil-painting, which I suppose--don't know much about art--will take some time."

"You have? Well, of all the----!"

"Quite so," he said meekly. "You see, it will give me a chance of trying to explain to you that, if you refuse me, it will be--oh, worse than a conical bullet in a particularly vital spot. All I ask is that you will look in now and again, and--and give me an opportunity of--of----"

"Bothering me to death," finished Kitty for him.

"No; bothering you into an engagement--which is sometimes a serious affair, but not always fatal," he said frankly. "Come, Miss Kitty, don't be hard on me! It's not much to ask----"

"Oh, isn't it?" interjected Kitty with fine irony. "Thank you. Captain Barnard."

"If you were in love with me--absurd idea, of course! but I'm just putting the case--I'd come and sit with you and give you any amount of chances."

Kitty heard her father's returning footsteps, and she stood up and looked from side to side, and then at this meekly audacious young man, with a mixture of astonishment and bewilderment--and something else I cannot define--in her really wonderful eyes.

"Well, of all the cool----" she said again. But he cut her short.

"That's all right," he said breathlessly; "thank you ever so much. Your father's coming. I'm to be here at eleven o'clock every morning."

"And you think," said Kitty, as hurriedly, "that, by simply sitting here and regarding you in that absurd att.i.tude, I shall fall in----?"

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"Oh, no; not at all. Fortune will have pity on me and give me an opportunity for seeing you for a minute or two alone. Besides, perhaps--I only say perhaps, mind!--you might be induced to lunch at an A.B.C. shop," he jerked out in a rapid whisper, as the innocent parent returned with his yellow ochre.

Kitty went up to her room, flung herself into a chair in her favourite att.i.tude, with her chin in her hands, and stared at nothing--no, not nothing, but at the handsome face and manly form of a wounded soldier.

Of course, she would not go near the studio while he was there.

Consequently, the next morning, at half-past eleven, she entered with refreshment on a tray; and, with downcast eyes and a blush, informed her father that she had left his soda-and-milk in the dining-room because a change of scene and air would be good for him.

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She was still rosy with shame when the model sprang from the dais, caught her hand, and declared fervently that she was an angel.

"No, I am a sly and deceitful, not to say forward, girl," said Kitty.

"But I've only made an opportunity to tell you that I'm not coming into the studio again while you're here."

"That's all right," he responded cheerfully. "Come in just about this time. And I've found a jolly little A.B.C. shop where we can get some lunch to-day: second turning to the right, in the corner--I should like you to be able to tell me, quite quietly, why you find it necessary to refuse me. I think that's only fair to you."

"And I think," said Kitty emphatically, "that you possess the concentrated cheek--I am sorry there is no stronger word--of the whole British Army; and I decline your invitation."

She kept him waiting at the A.B.C. shop for a good quarter of an hour.

In the afternoon Kitty presented herself at 209, Belgrave Square, and was shown into what a house-agent would call "the magnificent and s.p.a.cious salon." Lady Hawborough was seated in a capacious chair, knitting for dear life; on a small table beside her was an orderly disorder of blue books, reports of charitable societies, vegetarian tracts, and the debris of her morning's correspondence. She received Kitty with more than graciousness; for her ladys.h.i.+p, notwithstanding her crankiness, was the owner of that organ the possession of which we are led to believe atones for all minor faults, not to say crimes--a "good heart."

Besides, she had been immensely taken with Kitty, and admired genuinely the pluck and readiness which the girl had displayed in the rescue of the puppy: of course, Lady Hawborough was a prominent member of the S.P.C.A.

She gave Kitty some tea, patted her hand several times, and proceeded to put her through a kindly, but searching, catechism; and, before tea was over, had obtained sufficient information respecting Kitty's life to convince her that the girl was a fitting object of her ladys.h.i.+p's benevolence. It is true that, every now and then, Kitty caught a glimpse of the somewhat masterful spirit which her ladys.h.i.+p displayed in her favourite occupation of ordering the lives of all who came in contact with her; but Kitty was not so stupid as to fail to recognise the presence of the aforesaid good heart, or not to credit the old lady with the amiable intention which smiled behind the mask of tyranny.

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"She's not at all a bad sort," Kitty informed her father on her return home. "Oh, I daresay she's fond of interfering and all that; but she can't interfere with me; I'm not her relation--I was going to say 'Thank goodness,' but I really do like her, Dad. She's coming to see some of your pictures some day."

"Oh, my great aunt!" groaned Mr. Thorold, who, like a true artist, had a loathing for the necessary, but sometimes maddening, art patron.

The drawing for the _Long Acre Magazine_ being duly finished, Mr.

Thorold began on the more important battle-piece.

"I think I'm going to make a hit with this, Kitty," he said to his daughter one morning, as he was preparing for the arrival of his admirably punctual and singularly patient model. "You see, I've got a splendid young chap to stand for it. He's the real thing, instead of a coster dressed up in an officer's uniform. And he's a pleasant chap, too," he continued meditatively. "A modest, well-mannered young fellow: no sw.a.n.k or swagger; in fact, a gentleman. By the way, Kitty, you might remember that little fact, and not be quite so short and sharp with him when he speaks to you."

"Oh, it won't hurt him," retorted Kitty, turning her back quickly. "From what I have seen of him, I should say that Captain Barnard would not be easily snubbed."

"And you try pretty hard," remarked her father. "For instance, yesterday there was no occasion for you to tell him to shut up when he observed that it was a fine day."

"All I said was that a model was much more effective when he kept his mouth closed," said Kitty.

"That strikes me as being pretty much the same thing," said her father.

"He looked quite crushed."

"Do him good," murmured Kitty. "Besides, he can talk the hind leg off an army mule when he likes."

"How do you know?" asked her parent, with mild surprise.

"Oh, I'm only drawing inferences from--from his general appearance,"

said Kitty, looking a trifle confused.

"Going out to lunch again to-day?" demanded her father, repiningly, as, clad in outdoor things, she pa.s.sed him in the pa.s.sage a couple of hours later.

"Sorry, dear; got a pressing engagement. Besides, you never eat anything. There! did it miss its nurse? Never mind! I'll be in all the evening." She scrunched up his face, gave him what she called her "screw" kiss, and departed to the A.B.C. shop.

By this time, it must be confessed, the fortress besieged by Captain Barnard with such ingenuous strategy, but manly courage, had surrendered; and to-day the wounded soldier had brought a pretty but inexpensive ring with him.

"It's all I can afford, dearest," he said, as he slipped it on the finger.