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Page 10
He lighted a pipe, read a little further, and then tossed the sheaf of
manuscript aside. He rose and put on a hat and a black coat--he wore
evening dress as little as possible.
"Will you dine in town to-night, sir?" asked Alphonse, who was cleaning
a stack of brushes.
"Yes, oh, yes," Jack answered. "You can go when you have finished."
Whatever may have been his intention when he left the studio, Jack did
not cross the park toward the District Railway station. He walked slowly
to the high-road, and then westward with brisker step. He struck down
through Gunnersbury, by way of Sutton Court, and came out at the river
close to the lower end of Strand-on-the-Green.
A girl was sitting on a bench near the shore, pensively watching the sun
drooping over the misty ramparts of Kew Bridge; she held a closed book
in one hand, and by her side lay a sketching-block and a box of colors.
She heard the young artist's footsteps, and glanced up. A lovely blush
suffused her countenance, and for an instant she was speechless. Then,
with less confusion, with the candor of an innocent and unconventional
nature, she said:
"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Vernon."
"That is kind of you," Jack replied, with a smile.
"Yes, I wanted to thank you--"
"Your father has written to me."
"But that is different. I wanted to thank you for myself."
"I wish I were deserving of such gratitude," said Jack, thinking that
the girl looked far more charming than when he had first seen her.
"Ah, don't say that. You know that you saved my life. I am a good
swimmer, but that morning my clothes seemed to drag me down."
"I am glad that I happened to be near at the time," Jack replied, as
he seated himself without invitation on the bench. "But it is not a
pleasant topic--let us not talk about it."
"I shall never forget it," the girl answered softly. She was silent for
a moment, and then added gravely: "It is so strange to know you. I
admire artists so much, and I saw your picture in last year's Academy.
How surprised I was when I read your card!"
"You paint, yourself, Miss Foster?"
"No, I only try to. I wish I could."
She reluctantly yielded her block of Whatman's paper to Jack, and in the
portfolio attached to it he found several sketches that showed real
promise. He frankly said as much, to his companion's delight, and then
the conversation turned on the quaintness of Strand-on-the-Green, and
the constant and varied beauty of the river at this point--a subject
that was full of genuine interest to both. When the sun passed below the
bridge the girl suddenly rose and gathered her things.
"I must go," she said. "My father is coming home early to-day. Good-by,
Mr. Vernon."
"Not really good-by. I hope?"
An expression of sorrow and pain, almost pitiful, clouded her lovely
face. Jack understood the meaning of it, and hated Stephen Foster in his
heart.
"I shall see you here sometimes?" he added.
"Perhaps."
"Then you do not forbid me to come again?"
"How can I do that? This river walk is quite free, Mr. Vernon. Oh,
please don't think me ungrateful, but--but--"
She turned her head quickly away, and did not finish the sentence. She
called a word of farewell over her shoulder, and Jack moodily watched
her slim and graceful figure vanish between the great elm trees that
guard the lower entrance to Strand-on-the-Green.
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