"Babiole is fascinated, you see, Mr. Maude," said her mother, with the little affected laugh which gave less the idea of pleasure than that of a wish to please. "If she dared she would ask who those ladies are."
"They are both the same, mother," said Babiole, so softly, so shyly, that one could think she guessed there was some story about the portraits.
Mrs. Ellmer"s eyes began to beam with a less artless curiosity.
"Would it be indiscreet to ask her name?"
"Her name was Helen."
"Ah, poor lady! She is dead, then?"
"No, I believe she is alive."
Babiole glanced quickly from the pictures to my face and pressed her mother"s hand, as that lady was about to burst forth into more questions. I don"t know that my countenance expressed much, for my feelings on the subject of the original of the portrait had long ceased to be keen; but I think the little one, being very young, liked to make as much as possible out of any suggestion of a romance. I took the girl by the arm and led her to the end of the room, where the portraits hung.
"Now," said I, "which of these two pictures do you like best?"
Babiole instantly a.s.sumed the enormous seriousness of a child who is honoured with a genuine appeal to its taste. After a few moments"
grave comparison of the pictures, she turned to me, with the face of a fairy judge, and asked solemnly--
"Do you mean which should I love best, or which do I admire most as a work of art?"
This altogether unexpected question, which came so quaintly from the childish lips, made me laugh. Babiole turned from me to the pictures, rather disconcerted, and Mrs. Ellmer broke in with her sharp high voice--
"Babiole understands pictures; she has had a thorough art education from her father, Mr. Maude."
"Oh yes," said I, wondering vaguely why mothers always show up so badly beside their daughters. Then I turned again to the girl. "I didn"t know how clever you were, Miss Babiole. Supposing I had two friends, one who had known this lady and loved her, and the other who was a great art collector. Which portrait would each like best?"
Babiole decided without hesitation. "The art collector would like this one, and the one who had loved her would like that," she said, indicating each with the glance of her eyes.
"But the art collector"s is the prettier face of the two," I objected.
"Yes; but it isn"t so good."
I was astonished and fascinated by the quickness of the girl"s perception.
"You ought to grow into an artist," I said, smiling. "The pretty one was in the Academy this year, painted by a famous artist. I heard it was a wonderful portrait, and I commissioned a man to buy it for me.
The other is an enlargement, by an unknown artist, from half a dozen old photographs and sketches, of the same lady five years ago."
"And is it exactly like her--like what she was, I mean?"
"No; she was prettier, but not so--good."
I used the word "good" because she had used it, though it was not the word I should have chosen. I wanted her to say something more, for she was still looking at the pictures in a very thoughtful way; but at that moment Mrs. Ellmer, skipping lightly along the polished floor in a way that made me tremble for her balance, thrust her head between us, and laid her pointed chin on her daughter"s shoulder.
"And what are you two so deeply interested about?" she asked playfully.
Babiole put her tender little cheek lovingly against her mother"s thin face, and I began talking about art in a vague and ignorant manner, which incautiously showed that I disliked the interruption. Ferguson came to my rescue with the solemn announcement of dinner.
From Mrs. Ellmer"s rather critical att.i.tude towards the different dishes, I gathered that she prided herself on her own cookery, and Babiole ingenuously let out that mamma had once superintended a very grand dinner of some friends of theirs--"Oh, such rich people!"--and it had been a great success. Mamma seemed a little uneasy at this indiscretion, but hastened to add that they were such dear friends of hers that when they were left in a difficulty by the sudden illness of their man-cook--a man who had been in the first families, and had come to them from Lord Stonehaven"s--she had overwhelmed them by the offer of her services.
"I think all ladies should learn cooking, Mr. Maude; and, indeed, many do now. The lessons are very expensive, certainly; but one never regrets either the time or the money when it is once learned," said she. "Servants never understand how things ought to be done unless there is some one able to give them a little guidance."
To all this conversation Ferguson listened with the amiability of an enraged bear restrained by iron bars from making a meal of his tormentors.
Babiole had little attention to spare for any one but Ta-ta, with whom she had struck up a rapidly ripening friendship.
"Ta-ta has taken a fancy to you," I said, smiling. "She always likes the people I like," I added, with the common fatuity of owners of pet animals.
Upon this Mrs. Ellmer piped out "Ta-ta, Ta-ta, Ta-ta!" until, to stop her, I beckoned the dog to her side of the table. But the collie, seeing that she had nothing better than a raisin to offer, merely sniffed at it, avoided the threatened caress, and slunk back to her old place by Babiole, in whose lap she rested her head contentedly.
While her mother was still laughing shrilly at this misadventure, the child asked if they might see my monkey.
"Shall I take you to my study now," said I, "and show you how an old bachelor pa.s.ses his evenings?"
"Is the monkey fond of you too, Mr. Maude?" asked Babiole, as I opened the door for them.
"I flatter myself that he is. At least I can boast that he flies at any one whom he suspects of doing me harm. Two months ago a doctor was attending me for a swelling on my neck. He came day after day, and To-to treated him with all the courtesy due to an honoured guest, until he decided one day that the swelling ought to be lanced, and took from his pocket a case of instruments. He had scarcely opened it when To-to, chattering and grimacing, sprang across the hearthrug with such violence that he broke his chain, and fastened his teeth in the doctor"s hand."
"What a savage brute!" exclaimed Mrs. Ellmer.
Babiole thought it out as we crossed the hall, and then spoke gravely--
"But the monkey was wrong, for the doctor never meant to hurt you,"
she said, in her deliberate way.
"I suppose you gave him a good beating," said Mrs. Ellmer.
"No, I didn"t. I scolded him till we were alone together, for the sake of the doctor"s feelings. But when he was gone I sneaked up to To-to"s kennel and stroked him and gave him a beautiful bone. The scolding was for the mistake, you know, and the bone for the devotion."
We entered the study, Mrs. Ellmer first, I last. The alarmed lady, on coming round the screen, was close to the monkey before she saw him.
To-to only blinked up at her composedly, with no demonstration of hostility; but to my horror and amazement, no sooner did he catch sight of Babiole, who came up to him bravely by my side, with her little hand cordially outstretched towards him, than he made a savage spring at her, his teeth and eyes gleaming with malice. I was just in time to draw her back in my arms, so that he fell to the ground instead of fastening on her poor little wrist. Mrs. Ellmer screamed, Ta-ta began to bark and make judiciously-distanced rushes at the monkey; while Babiole recovered herself, very pale, but quite quiet, and I, strangely excited, gave To-to a sharp blow.
"Oh, don"t!" cried the child; but then, smiling archly, though the colour driven away by the little fright had not yet come back to her cheek, she added, "but you will give him a bone as a reward when we are gone."
"Do you think so?" said I, in a rather constrained voice. Then, seeing that Mrs. Ellmer"s eyes were fixed curiously upon me, I added, "The first mistake, you see, was excusable; there was a reason for it. But this attack was unprovoked."
"Yes," said Babiole navely; "for how could I do you any harm?"
"Yes, how indeed?" said I.
But even as I said this, and looked at her blue-eyed face, I thought that perhaps the monkey might prove to be wiser than either of us, unless I grew wiser as she grew older.
The rest of the evening pa.s.sed pleasantly enough in the ransacking of my cabinets of curiosities; Mrs. Ellmer, who proved to be a connoisseur of more things than china, took delight in the value of the treasures themselves, while Babiole pleased herself with such as she thought beautiful, and enjoyed particularly the stories I told about the places I had found them in, and the ways in which I had picked them up. She grew radiant over the present of a Venetian bead necklace, such as can be bought in the Burlington Arcade for a few shillings; but when I told her it was a souvenir from a woman whose child I had saved from drowning, her joy in her new treasure was suddenly turned to reverence. How did I do it? It was a very simple story; a little boy of four or five had slipped into one of the ca.n.a.ls, and I, pa.s.sing in a gondola, had caught his clothes, or rather his rags, and handed the choking squalling manikin back into the custody of a black-eyed, brown-skinned woman, who had insisted, with impulsive but coquettish grat.i.tude, on presenting me with the beads she wore round her own neck.
"Wasn"t she in rags, too, then?" asked Babiole.
"Oh no, she was rather picturesquely got up."