The Lesson of the Master | Page 8

he multiplied the attentions lately brought by his wife to the
General's notice. Paul Overt had gathered as well that this lady was not
in the least discomposed by these fond excesses and that she gave every
sign of an unclouded spirit. She had Lord Masham on one side of her
and on the other the accomplished Mr. Mulliner, editor of the new
high- class lively evening paper which was expected to meet a want felt
in circles increasingly conscious that Conservatism must be made
amusing, and unconvinced when assured by those of another political
colour that it was already amusing enough. At the end of an hour spent
in her company Paul Overt thought her still prettier than at the first
radiation, and if her profane allusions to her husband's work had not
still rung in his ears he should have liked her - so far as it could be a
question of that in connexion with a woman to whom he had not yet
spoken and to whom probably he should never speak if it were left to
her. Pretty women were a clear need to this genius, and for the hour it
was Miss Fancourt who supplied the want. If Overt had promised
himself a closer view the occasion was now of the best, and it brought
consequences felt by the young man as important. He saw more in St.
George's face, which he liked the better for its not having told its whole
story in the first three minutes. That story came out as one read, in short
instalments - it was excusable that one's analogies should be somewhat
professional - and the text was a style considerably involved, a
language not easy to translate at sight. There were shades of meaning in
it and a vague perspective of history which receded as you advanced.
Two facts Paul had particularly heeded. The first of these was that he

liked the measured mask much better at inscrutable rest than in social
agitation; its almost convulsive smile above all displeased him (as
much as any impression from that source could), whereas the quiet face
had a charm that grew in proportion as stillness settled again. The
change to the expression of gaiety excited, he made out, very much the
private protest of a person sitting gratefully in the twilight when the
lamp is brought in too soon. His second reflexion was that, though
generally averse to the flagrant use of ingratiating arts by a man of age
"making up" to a pretty girl, he was not in this case too painfully
affected: which seemed to prove either that St. George had a light hand
or the air of being younger than he was, or else that Miss Fancourt's
own manner somehow made everything right.
Overt walked with her into the gallery, and they strolled to the end of it,
looking at the pictures, the cabinets, the charming vista, which
harmonised with the prospect of the summer afternoon, resembling it
by a long brightness, with great divans and old chairs that figured hours
of rest. Such a place as that had the added merit of giving those who
came into it plenty to talk about. Miss Fancourt sat down with her new
acquaintance on a flowered sofa, the cushions of which, very numerous,
were tight ancient cubes of many sizes, and presently said: "I'm so glad
to have a chance to thank you."
"To thank me - ?" He had to wonder.
"I liked your book so much. I think it splendid."
She sat there smiling at him, and he never asked himself which book
she meant; for after all he had written three or four. That seemed a
vulgar detail, and he wasn't even gratified by the idea of the pleasure
she told him - her handsome bright face told him - he had given her.
The feeling she appealed to, or at any rate the feeling she excited, was
something larger, something that had little to do with any quickened
pulsation of his own vanity. It was responsive admiration of the life she
embodied, the young purity and richness of which appeared to imply
that real success was to resemble THAT, to live, to bloom, to present
the perfection of a fine type, not to have hammered out headachy
fancies with a bent back at an ink- stained table. While her grey eyes
rested on him - there was a wideish space between these, and the
division of her rich-coloured hair, so thick that it ventured to be smooth,
made a free arch above them - he was almost ashamed of that exercise

of the pen which it was her present inclination to commend. He was
conscious he should have liked better to please her in some other way.