“After that, Clara, you need not scruple to be a Jael,” said Mrs. Broughton.
“But I do scruple—very much; so strongly that I know I never shall do it. In the first place I don’t know why Mr. Dalrymple wants it.”
“Want it!” said Conway. “I want to paint a striking picture.”
“But you can do that without putting me into it.”
“No;—not this picture. And why should you object? It is the commonest thing in the world for ladies to sit to artists in that manner.”
“People would know it.”
“Nobody would know it, so that you need care about it. What would it matter if everybody knew it? We are not proposing anything improper;—are we, Mrs. Broughton?”
“She shall not be pressed if she does not like it,” said Mrs. Broughton. “You know I told you before Clara came in, that I was afraid it could not be done.”
“And I don’t like it,” said Miss Van Siever, with some little hesitation in her voice.
“I don’t see anything improper in it, if you mean that,” said Mrs. Broughton.
“But, mamma!”
“Well, yes; that is the difficulty, no doubt. The only question is, whether your mother is not so very singular, as to make it impossible that you should comply with her in everything.”
“I am afraid that I do not comply with her in very much,” said Miss Van Siever in her gentlest voice.
“Oh, Clara!”
“You drive me to say so, as otherwise I should be a hypocrite. Of course I ought not to have said it before Mr. Dalrymple.”
“You and Mr. Dalrymple will understand all about that, I daresay, before the picture is finished,” said Mrs. Broughton.
It did not take much persuasion on the part of Conway Dalrymple to get the consent of the younger lady to be painted, or of the elder to allow the sitting to go on in her room. When the question of easels and other apparatus came to be considered Mrs. Broughton was rather flustered, and again declared with energy that the whole thing must fall to the ground; but a few more words from the painter restored her, and at last the arrangements were made. As Mrs. Dobbs Broughton’s dear friend, Madalina Demolines had said, Mrs. Dobbs Broughton liked a fevered existence. “What will Dobbs say?” she exclaimed more than once. And it was decided at last that Dobbs should know nothing about it as long as it could be kept from him. “Of course he shall be told at last,” said his wife. “I wouldn’t keep anything from the dear fellow for all the world. But if he knew it at first it would be sure to get through Musselboro to your mother.”
“I certainly shall beg that Mr. Broughton may not be taken into confidence if Mr. Musselboro is to follow,” said Clara. “And it must be understood that I must cease to sit immediately, whatever may be the inconvenience, should mamma speak to me about it.”
This stipulation was made and conceded, and then Miss Van Siever went away, leaving the artist with Mrs. Dobbs Broughton. “And now, if you please, Conway, you had better go too,” said the lady, as soon as there had been time for Miss Van Siever to get downstairs and out of the hall-door.
“Of course you are in a hurry to get rid of me.”
“Yes, I am.”
“A little while ago I improperly said that some suggestion of yours was nonsense and you rebuked me for my blunt incivility. Might not I rebuke you now with equal justice?”
“Do so, if you will;—but leave me. I tell you, Conway, that in these matters you must either be guided by me, or you and I must cease to see each other. It does not do that you should remain here with me longer than the time usually allowed for a morning call. Clara has come and gone, and you also must go. I am sorry to disturb you, for you seem to be so very comfortable in that chair.”
“I am comfortable—and I can look at you. Come;—there can be no harm in saying that, if I say nothing else. Well;—there, now I am gone.” Whereupon he got up from his armchair.
“But you are not gone while you stand there.”
“And you would really wish me to marry that girl?”
“I do—if you can love her.”
“And what about her love?”
“You must win it, of course. She is to be won, like any other woman. The fruit won’t fall into your mouth merely because you open your lips. You must climb the tree.”
“Still climbing trees in the Hesperides,” said Conway. “Love does that, you know; but it is hard to climb the trees without the love. It seems to me that I have done my climbing—have clomb as high as I knew how, and that the boughs are breaking with me, and that I am likely to get a fall. Do you understand me?”
“I would rather not understand you.”
“That is no answer to my question. Do you understand that at this moment I am getting a fall which will break every bone in my skin and put any other climbing out of the question as far as I am concerned? Do you understand that?”
“No; I do not,” said Mrs. Broughton, in a tremulous voice.
“Then I’ll go and make love at once to Clara Van Siever. There’s enough of pluck left in me to ask her to marry me, and I suppose I could manage to go through the ceremony if she accepted me.”
“But I want you to love her,” said Mrs. Dobbs Broughton.
“I daresay I should love her well enough after a bit;—that is, if she didn’t break my head or comb my hair. I suppose there will be no objection to my saying that you sent me when I ask her?”
“Conway, you will of course not mention my name to her. I have suggested to you a marriage which I think would tend to make you happy, and would give you a stability in life which
