"I feel that."

"Well, G., perhaps you deserve a treat. The Christmas entertainment I had provided for you in the way of Lao fell rather flat, did it not!"

"One grows tired of souffle."

"Yes, but do not forget that more substantial food can cause shocking indigestion, unless partaken of with moderation."

"Heavens, Seraphim! I am no gourmand!"

"Gerard, my dear boy--you are at a stage of hunger, I fear, when intelligence may not guide discretion. You see, Nature is apt to break out after years of artificial repression."

"We are overcivilised, I admit."

At that moment, the luncheon-gong sounded and they both rose from their chairs.

Lady Garribardine slipped her fat hand into her nephew's arm, as they went down the stairs.

"G.--I leave the afternoon to you--only don't burn your fingers irretrievably; this young woman is no fool like poor Lao. I look upon her as a rather marvellous product of the twentieth century."

CHAPTER XVII

After lunch the two in the picture gallery pa.s.sed a perfectly delightful half-hour. Mr. Strobridge had sagacity enough to know that he must stick loyally to art, and indeed after the first few minutes he found he was carried away himself, his listener was so interested, and gave such intelligent response. He almost began to believe that she had really come there to learn something; and not to flirt with himself! Her taste also surprised him, and her want of all pose.

She wrote systematically the reflections he made as to the condition of the canvases.

"It is a great thing to learn how to look at pictures," she said when they halted before a particularly primitive Madonna. "Of course I could not have seen anything to admire in this if I had come by myself, and I do not suppose that I shall ever be able really to appreciate it--except the colour--because there is something in me which likes the real so much better than the ideal; I like prose far more than poetry, for instance."

"Will you let me come up again to the schoolroom and read to you some day?"

"I should like that very much."

"I would try to make you love poetry; you are endeavouring to convince me that you are a very material young woman, you know!"

"Well, I suppose I am material. I like facts and solid things."

"And yet you spoke of dreamland once not so very long ago--do you remember!"

"Yes--but you do not know that this dreamland of mine may not be a place where wished-for facts and solid things appear realities, not fancies."

"You would not tell me if I asked you; I recollect how you eluded me before, and said it was a place which only admitted yourself."

"Even materialists must have some corner where they can be alone."

Then he questioned her.--How had she learned all that she knew?--And his interest did not diminish when she gave him a brief outline of the manner of her education.

"It was very difficult sometimes, because I never had anyone with whom to talk, and one grows one-sided _if_ one has only oneself to argue with, and I don't really know how to p.r.o.nounce numbers of words. I should be grateful if you would tell me every time I make a mistake."

"It is quite evident that we must ratify this compact that I shall be your tutor, though I am to get no wages--even love!"

"Who would be supposed to give the love?"

Her strange eyes glanced at him provokingly for a second, and then resumed their steady look. He was quite uncertain as to whether in this there lay a challenge.--He proceeded to act as if there did.

"When I come up to give my first lesson I will tell you all about the giving--and taking--of love."

"That would be of no advantage to either of us. Love is a thing which can cause only pain."

"You are quite mistaken--it is the only divine joy in this unsatisfactory world."

Her face changed; she felt this was cruelly true--and she did not wish to be reminded of the fact.

"You shall only come to the schoolroom if you talk sense. I will not listen to a word of speculation about love; it is pure waste of time--but in any case I do not see how you can come there at all. I would not receive you without Her Ladyship's permission--it was very kind of her to let me have this afternoon."

"What a circ.u.mspect darling!"

Miss Bush looked at him with scorn.

"I am not a darlings--I am a lower middle cla.s.s young woman, trying to learn how to be a lady, and whatever you think, if you want to be with me, you will have to treat me as if I had arrived at my goal already."

"I think you have, but the greatest ladies are often darlings."

"Yes, but married men do not tell them so, on very short acquaintance, Mr. Strobridge."

In his case he felt this was rather true, since he never spoke to girls at all if he could help it. He suddenly wondered in what light he really did consider her?--As an abstract and quite adorably provoking woman, he supposed.

"Is there anything else to be written down?" she asked. She had become the conventional secretary. "Because if not, I must go back to my work."

"My aunt gave me full permission to keep you for two hours. I told her all we had to do would take quite that time."

"Well, you see it has not--we have come to the end of the gallery."

"Then there is a very comfortable sofa not too far from the fire, where we could sit down and discuss what we have learned."

They walked to it. As long as he was being of some use to her Katherine Bush desired his company. So they talked uninterruptedly until dusk fell, and the footmen would soon be coming to close shutters and draw curtains.

They flitted from subject to subject, Gerard Strobridge exerting his brain to interest and amuse her, in a way that he had seldom done with Englishwomen, even of his own cla.s.s. Her receptive power was exceptional, and she was completely frank. She was honestly and deeply interested in all he had to say, and the subtle flattery of this was eminently soothing. He began to take pride in his pupil. They touched upon the spirit of the Renaissance and its origin--and upon all the glorious flood of light which it brought to art and learning. He was astonished to find her so advanced in certain branches of literature, and absolutely ignorant of the names even of others--showing that it had merely been chance and no helping hand which had guided her.

"I must send you some books upon the Renaissance," he said, "if you will let me."

"That will be very kind--If I had had some master to give me an idea what to read, as a kind of basis to go upon, it would have been much better, but I had no guide--only if I saw one subject that I did not know about mentioned in what I was reading, I looked it up, but of course with really educated people there must be some plan."

"Well, shall we begin upon the Renaissance; that is rather a favourite period of mine?"

"Yes--do you not wonder if we shall ever have another?--What a lot of good it would do us, would it not?"