Before a week had elapsed he met Miss Fancourt in Bond Street, at a private view of the works of a young artist in "black-and-white"who had been so good as to invite him to the stuffy scene. The drawings were admirable, but the crowd in the one little room was so dense that he felt himself up to his neck in a sack of wool. Afringe of people at the outer edge endeavoured by curving forward their backs and presenting, below them, a still more convex surface of resistance to the pressure of the mass, to preserve an interval between their noses and the glazed mounts of the pictures; while the central body, in the comparative gloom projected by a wide horizontal screen hung under the skylight and allowing only a margin for the day, remained upright dense and vague, lost in the contemplation of its own ingredients. This contemplation sat especially in the sad eyes of certain female heads, surmounted with hats of strange convolution and plumage, which rose on long necks above the others. One of the heads Paul perceived, was much the so most beautiful of the collection, and his next discovery was that it belonged to Miss Fancourt. Its beauty was enhanced by the glad smile she sent him across surrounding obstructions, a smile that drew him to her as fast as he could make his way. He had seen for himself at Summersoft that the last thing her nature contained was an affectation of indifference; yet even with this circumspection he took a fresh satisfaction in her not having pretended to await his arrival with composure. She smiled as radiantly as if she wished to make him hurry, and as soon as he came within earshot she broke out in her voice of joy: "He's here - he's here - he's coming back in a moment!""Ah your father?" Paul returned as she offered him her hand.
"Oh dear no, this isn't in my poor father's line. I mean Mr. St.
George. He has just left me to speak to some one - he's coming back. It's he who brought me - wasn't it charming?""Ah that gives him a pull over me - I couldn't have 'brought' you, could I?""If you had been so kind as to propose it - why not you as well as he?" the girl returned with a face that, expressing no cheap coquetry, simply affirmed a happy fact.
"Why he's a pere de famille. They've privileges," Paul explained.
And then quickly: "Will you go to see places with ME?" he asked.
"Anything you like!" she smiled. "I know what you mean, that girls have to have a lot of people - " Then she broke off: "I don't know; I'm free. I've always been like that - I can go about with any one. I'm so glad to meet you," she added with a sweet distinctness that made those near her turn round.
"Let me at least repay that speech by taking you out of this squash," her friend said. "Surely people aren't happy here!""No, they're awfully mornes, aren't they? But I'm very happy indeed and I promised Mr. St. George to remain in this spot till he comes back. He's going to take me away. They send him invitations for things of this sort - more than he wants. It was so kind of him to think of me.""They also send me invitations of this kind - more than I want.
And if thinking of YOU will do it - !" Paul went on.
"Oh I delight in them - everything that's life - everything that's London!""They don't have private views in Asia, I suppose," he laughed.
"But what a pity that for this year, even in this gorged city, they're pretty well over.""Well, next year will do, for I hope you believe we're going to be friends always. Here he comes!" Miss Fancourt continued before Paul had time to respond.
He made out St. George in the gaps of the crowd, and this perhaps led to his hurrying a little to say: "I hope that doesn't mean I'm to wait till next year to see you.""No, no - aren't we to meet at dinner on the twenty-fifth?" she panted with an eagerness as happy as his own.
"That's almost next year. Is there no means of seeing you before?"She stared with all her brightness. "Do you mean you'd COME?""Like a shot, if you'll be so good as to ask me!""On Sunday then - this next Sunday?"
"What have I done that you should doubt it?" the young man asked with delight.
Miss Fancourt turned instantly to St. George, who had now joined them, and announced triumphantly: "He's coming on Sunday - this next Sunday!""Ah my day - my day too!" said the famous novelist, laughing, to their companion.
"Yes, but not yours only. You shall meet in Manchester Square; you shall talk - you shall be wonderful!""We don't meet often enough," St. George allowed, shaking hands with his disciple. "Too many things - ah too many things! But we must make it up in the country in September. You won't forget you've promised me that?""Why he's coming on the twenty-fifth - you'll see him then," said the girl.
"On the twenty-fifth?" St. George asked vaguely.
"We dine with you; I hope you haven't forgotten. He's dining out that day," she added gaily to Paul.
"Oh bless me, yes - that's charming! And you're coming? My wife didn't tell me," St. George said to him. "Too many things - too many things!" he repeated.
"Too many people - too many people!" Paul exclaimed, giving ground before the penetration of an elbow.
"You oughtn't to say that. They all read you.""Me? I should like to see them! Only two or three at most," the young man returned.
"Did you ever hear anything like that? He knows, haughtily, how good he is!" St. George declared, laughing to Miss Fancourt. "They read ME, but that doesn't make me like them any better. Come away from them, come away!" And he led the way out of the exhibition.
"He's going to take me to the Park," Miss Fancourt observed to Overt with elation as they passed along the corridor that led to the street.
"Ah does he go there?" Paul asked, taking the fact for a somewhat unexpected illustration of St. George's moeurs.
"It's a beautiful day - there'll be a great crowd. We're going to look at the people, to look at types," the girl went on. "We shall sit under the trees; we shall walk by the Row.""I go once a year - on business," said St. George, who had overheard Paul's question.
