CHAPTER XV.

ELEANOR'S THEORIES REDUCED TO PRACTICE--STUDIES--THE ARITHMETIC-MASTER.

Madame was not ungenerous to an apology. She believed in Eleanor too, and was quite disposed to think that Eleanor might be in the right in a dispute with anybody but herself. Perhaps she hoped to hear her triumph in a discussion with Mr. Henley, or perhaps it was only as a punishment for her presumptuous remarks that Madame started the subject on the following day to the drawing-master himself.

"Miss Arkwright says your trees are all one, Mr. Henley," she began.

(Madame's English was not perfect.) "Except that the half are yellow and the other half blue. She knows not the kind even."

The poor little drawing-master, who was at that moment "touching up" a yellow tree in one of the younger girls' copies, trying by skilfully distributed dabs to make it look less like a faded cabbage-leaf, blushed, and laid down his brush. Eleanor, who was just beginning to colour a copy of a mountain scene, turned scarlet, and let her first wash dry into unmanageable shapes as she darted indignant glances at Madame, who appeared to enjoy her bit of malice.

"Miss Arkwright will observe that these are sketches indicating the general effect of a scene; not tree studies."

"I know, Mr. Henley," said poor Eleanor, in much confusion; "at least, I mean I don't know anything about water-colour sketching, so I ought not to have said anything; and I never thought that Madame would repeat it.

I was thinking of pencil-drawings and etchings; and I do like to know one tree from another," she added honestly.

"You draw in pencil yourself?" asked Mr. Henley.

"Oh no!" said Eleanor; "at least only a little. It was my mother's drawings I was thinking of; and how she used to show us the different ways of doing the foliage of different trees, and the marking on the bark of the trunks."

Mr. Henley drew a sheet of paper from his portfolio, and took a pencil from his case.

"Let us see, my dear young lady, what you remember of these lessons. The pencil is well cut. There are flat sides for shading, and sharp ends for outlines."

Madame's thin lips pursed with the ghost of a smile, as Eleanor, with hot cheeks and hands, came across "the room" to put her theories in practice.

"I can't do it, I know," she said, as she sat down, and gave herself one of those nervous twitches common to girls of the hobble-de-hoy age.

But Eleanor's nervous' spasms were always mitigated by getting something into her fingers. Pencil and paper were her favourite implements; and after a moment's pause, and a good deal of frowning, she said: "We've a good many oaks about us;" and forthwith began upon a bit of oak foliage.

"It's only a spray," she said.

"It's very good," said the drawing-master, who was now looking over her shoulder.

"Oak branches are all elbows," she murmured, warming to her work, and apparently talking to herself. "So different from willows and beeches."

"Ve-ry good," said Mr. Henley, as Eleanor fitted the branches dexterously into the cl.u.s.ters of leaves; "now for a little bit of the oak bark, if you please."

"This is only one tree, though," said Madame, who was also looking on.

"Let us see others, mademoiselle."

"Willows are nice to do," said Eleanor, intent upon her paper; "and the bark is prettier than oak, I think, and easier with these long points.

My mother says branches of trees should be done from the tips inwards; and they do fit in better, I think. Only willow branches seem as if they ought to be done outwards, they taper so. Beech trunks are very pretty, but the leaves are difficult, I think. Scotch pines are easy." And Eleanor left the beech and began upon the pine, fitting in the horizontal branches under the foliage groups with admirable effect.

"That will do, Miss Arkwright," said the little drawing-master. "Your mother has been a good guide to you; and Mother Nature will complete what she has begun. Now we will look at the copy, if you please."

Eleanor's countenance fell again. Her pink mountain had run into her blue mountain, and the interrupted wash had dried with hard and unmanageable outlines. Sponging was the only remedy.

Next drawing-lesson day Mr. Henley arrived a few minutes earlier than was his wont, staggering under a huge basket containing a large clump of flags and waterside herbage, which he had dug up "bodily," as he said.

These he arranged on a tray, and then from the bottom of the basket produced the broken fragments of a red earthenware jug.

"It was such a favourite of mine, Miss Arkwright," said he; "but what is sacred to a maid-of-all-work? My only consolation, when she smashed it this morning, was the thought that it would serve in the foreground of your sketch."

Saying which, the kind-hearted little man laid the red crocks among the weeds, and after much pulling up and down of blinds to coax a good light on to the subject, he called Eleanor to set to work.

"It is _very_ good of you," said Eleanor emphatically. "When I have been so rude, too!"

"It is a pleasure," said the old man; "and will be doubly so if you do it well. I should like to try it myself," he added, making a few hasty dashes with the pencil. "Ah, my dear young lady, be thankful that you will sketch for pleasure, and not for bread! It is pleasanter to learn than to teach."

Out of grat.i.tude to Mr. Henley alone, Eleanor would have done her best at the new "study"; but apart from this the change of subject was delightful to her. She had an accurate eye, and her outlines had hitherto contrasted favourably with her colouring in copies of the sketches she could not like. The old drawing-master was delighted with her pencil sketch of his "crockery among the reeds," and Eleanor confessed to getting help from him in the choice and use of her colours.

"Studies" became the fashion among the more intelligent pupils at Bush House; though I have heard that experience justified the old man's prophecy that they would not be so popular with the parents as the former style had been. "They like lakes, and boats, and mountains, and ruins, and a brighter style of colouring," he had said, and, as it proved, with truth.

Eleanor was his favourite pupil. Indeed, she was in favour with all the teachers.

A certain quaint little German was our arithmetic-master; a very good one, whose patience was often sorely tried by our stupidity or frivolity. On such occasions he rained epithets on us, which, from his imperfect knowledge of English, were often comical, and roused more amus.e.m.e.nt than shame. But for Eleanor he never had a harsh word. She was thoroughly fond of arithmetic, and "gave her mind to it," to use a good old phrase.

"Ah!" the little man would yell at us. "You are so light-headed!

Sometimes you do do a sum, and sometimes not; but you do never _think_.

There is not one young lady of this establishment who thinks, but Miss Arkwright alone."

I remember an incident connected with the arithmetic-master which occurred just after we came, and which roused Eleanor's intense indignation. It was characteristic, too, of Madame's ideas of propriety.

The weather was warm, and we were in the habit of dressing for tea. Our toilettes were of the simplest kind. Muslin garibaldis, for coolness, and our "second-best" skirts.

Eleanor, Matilda, and I shared one room. On the first Wednesday evening after our arrival at Bush House we were dressing as usual, when Emma ran in.

"I'm so sorry I forgot to tell you," said she; "you mustn't put on your muslin bodies to-night. The arithmetic-master is coming after tea."

"I don't understand," said Eleanor, who was standing on one leg as usual, and who paused in a struggle with a refractory elastic sandal to look up with a puckered brow, and general bewilderment. "What has the arithmetic to do with our dresses?"

Emma's saucy mouth and snub nose twitched with amus.e.m.e.nt, as she replied in exact mimicry of Madame's broken English: "Have you so little of delicacy as to ask, mademoiselle? Should the young ladies of this establishment expose their shoulders in the transparency of muslin to a professor?"

Matilda and I burst out laughing at Emma's excellent imitation of Madame; but Eleanor dropped her foot to the floor with a stamp that broke the sandal, and burst forth into an indignant torrent of words, which was only stayed by the necessity for resuming our morning dresses, and hastening down-stairs. There Eleanor swallowed her wrath with her weak tea; and I remember puzzling myself, to the neglect of mine, as to the probable connection between arithmetic-masters and transparent bodices.

CHAPTER XVI.

ELEANOR'S REPUTATION--THE MAD GENTLEMAN--FANCIES AND FOLLIES--MATILDA'S HEALTH--THE NEW DOCTOR.

We were not jealous of Eleanor's popularity. She was popular with the girls as well as with the teachers. If she was apt to be opinionated, she was candid, generous, and modest. She was always willing to help any one, and (the firmest seal of friendship!) she was utterly sincere.

She worked harder than any of us, so it was but just that she should be most commended. But of all who lagged behind her, and who felt Madame's severity, and created despair in the mind of the little arithmetic-master, the most unlucky was poor Matilda.

Matilda and I were now on the best of terms, and the credit of this happy condition of matters is more hers than mine.