The Laughing Girl. Chambers Robert William

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СКАЧАТЬ chef-d'oeuvre is a priceless anæsthetic: duplicated it loses one hundred per cent of its soporific value. I was glad I had hung one pair of curtains upside down. I went into Smith's room. He was shaving and I had him at my mercy.

      "The principal element of art," said I to Smith, "is beauty – or rather, perhaps, the principal element of beauty is art – I am not very clear at this moment which it is. But I do know that beauty is never noisy. Calm and serenity reign where there is no chattering repetition of effects. Therefore, as an interior decorator, I always take liberties with the stereotyped rules of decoration. I jumble periods. I introduce bold innovations. For example: Old blue plates, tea-pots and sugar-bowls I do not relegate to the pantry or the china-closet where they belong. No. I place them upon a Louis XV commode or a Victorian cabinet, or on a mantel. A clock calms the irritating monotony of a side-board. A book-case in the bath-room produces a surprisingly calm effect amid towels and tooth-mugs. A piano in the dining room gives tone … if played. And so, in my profession, Smith, I am always searching for the calm harmony of the inharmonious, the unity of the unconventional, and the silence of the inexplicable. And, if I may venture to say so, I usually attain it. This is not a business card."

      And having sufficiently punished Smith, I returned to my own room.

      Lovingly, and with that unerring knowledge born of instinct, I worked away quite happily all the morning decorating my room, and keeping one eye on Smith to see that he didn't drift toward the kitchen. He betrayed a tendency that way once or twice but desisted. I think he was afraid I might decorate his room in his absence. He need not have worried: I wanted all my things in my own room.

      While I was busy hanging some red and pink curtains in my dressing-room and tacking a yellowish carpet to the floor – a definitely advanced scheme of color originating with me – I heard voices in the rear court and, going to the window, beheld my consignment of brand new servants arriving from Berne by diligence.

      Smith, who had come up beside me to peer out through the blinds, uttered an exclamation.

      "That girl in Swiss peasant dress! – she looks like the twin sister to your cook!"

      "She is her sister. But she isn't nearly as pretty."

      "She's infinitely prettier!" he asserted excitedly. "She's a real beauty! – for a peasant."

      I corrected him in my most forbearing manner: "What you are trying to convey to me," said I, kindly, "is that the girl is flamboyantly picturesque, but scarcely to be compared to Thusis for unusual or genuine beauty. That's what you really mean, Smith; but you lack vocabulary."

      "Whatever I lack," he retorted warmly, "I mean exactly what I said! For a peasant, that girl is beautiful to an emphatic degree, – far more so than her sister Thusis. Be kind enough to get that."

      I smiled patiently and pointed out to him that the hair of the newcomer was merely light golden, not that magnificent Venetian gold-red of Thusis' hair; and that her eyes were that rather commonplace violet hue so much admired by cheap novelists. I don't know why he should have become so animated about what I was striving to explain to him: he said with unnecessary heat: "That's what I'm trying to drive into your Irish head! That girl is beautiful, and her red-headed sister is merely good-looking. Is my vocabulary plain?"

      I began to lose my temper: "Smith," said I, "you fell for Thusis before I noticed her at all – "

      "I merely called your attention to the resemblance between her and your photograph of 'The Laughing Girl.' And I did not 'fall for her' – as you put it with truly American elegance – "

      "Confound it!" I exclaimed, "what do you mean by 'American elegance'? Don't hand me that, Smith – you and your 'My girl's a corker!' Of the two of us you'd be picked for a Yankee before I'd be. And I have my own ideas on that subject, too – you and your Sagas about —

      "'She plays the races' – "

      "In my travels," he said, looking me straight in the eye, "it has happened that I have picked up a few foreign folk-songs. You understand me, of course."

      "Yes," I replied amiably. "I think I get you, Smith. Whatever you say goes; and you're a Viking as far as I'm concerned."

      The slightest shadow of a grin lurked on his lips. "Good old Michael," he said, patting me on the shoulder. And, reconciled, we looked out of the window again in brotherly accord. Just in time to see the golden-haired sister of Thusis rise and jump lightly from the wagon to the grass.

      "Did you see that!" he demanded excitedly. "Did you ever see such grace in a human being? Did you, Michael?"

      What was the use? I saw nothing supernaturally extraordinary in that girl or in her flying leap. Of course she was attractive in her trim, supple, dainty, soubrette-like way. But as for comparing her to Thusis! —

      "Her name's Clelia," I remarked, avoiding further discussion. "She's to do the rooms; Thusis waits on table and runs our establishment; and that other girl down there – her name is Josephine Vannis, I believe – she is to cook for us. You know," I added, "she also is very handsome in her own way…"

      He nodded without interest. She seemed to be of the Juno type, tall, dark-haired, with velvet eyes and intensely white skin, – too overwhelmingly classical to awaken my artistic enthusiasm. In fact she rather scared me.

      "And to think that six-foot goddess is my new cook," said I, rather awed. I took another intent survey of the big, healthy, vigorous, handsome girl; and I determined to keep out of her kitchen and avoid all culinary criticism.

      "She'd not hesitate to hand us a few with a rolling-pin," I remarked. "Juno was celebrated for her quick temper, Shan, so don't find fault with your victuals."

      "No," he said very earnestly, "I won't."

      My new gardener was now carrying in the assorted luggage, – bundles and boxes of sorts done up in true peasant fashion with cords.

      He seemed to be a sturdy, bright, good-looking young fellow with keen black eyes and a lively cock-sure manner.

      "He'll raise jealousies below stairs," remarked Smith. "That young fellow is the beau ideal of all peasant girls. He'll be likely to raise the deuce below stairs with Thusis and Juno."

      Somehow or other the idea of such rustic gallantry did not entirely please me. Nor did Smith's reference to Thusis and his cool exclusion of Clelia.

      "I don't believe Thusis would care for his type," said I carelessly. "And if he gets too – too – " I hesitated, not exactly knowing what I had meant to say.

      "Sure," nodded Smith; "fire him if he bothers Clelia."

      I dimly realized then that I didn't care whether he cut up with Clelia or not. In fact, I almost hoped he would.

      A little later when I was in my room, alone, and agreeably busy, there sounded a low and very discreet knocking at my door. Instantly my pulse, for some unexplained reason, became loud and irregular.

      "Come in," said I, laying aside my work – some verses I had been composing – trifles – trifles.

      Thusis came in.

      As the hostile Trojans rose unanimously to their feet when Helen entered – rose in spite of their disapproval – so I got up instinctively and placed a chair for her. She merely dropped me a curtsy and remained standing.

      "Please be seated," said I, looking at her with uneasy suspicion.

      "Monsieur СКАЧАТЬ