She was abashed at
her philistinism, and begged me not to tell her father--he would make such
fun of her!
After that--well, the sittings went on. Not many, of course; Vard was too
busy to give me much time. Still, I could have done him ten times over.
Never had I found my formula with such ease, such assurance; there were no
hesitations, no obstructions--the face was _there_, waiting for me; at
times it almost shaped itself on the canvas. Unfortunately Miss Vard was
there too ...
All this time the papers were busy with the viaduct scandal. The outcry
was getting louder. You remember the circumstances? One of Vard's
associates--Bardwell, wasn't it?--threatened disclosures. The rival
machine got hold of him, the Independents took him to their bosom, and the
press shrieked for an investigation. It was not the first storm Vard had
weathered, and his face wore just the right shade of cool vigilance; he
wasn't the man to fall into the mistake of appearing too easy. His
demeanor would have been superb if it had been inspired by a sense of his
own strength; but it struck me rather as based on contempt for his
antagonists. Success is an inverted telescope through which one's enemies
are apt to look too small and too remote. As for Miss Vard, her serenity
was undiminished; but I half-detected a defiance in her unruffled
sweetness, and during the last sittings I had the factitious vivacity of a
hostess who hears her best china crashing.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204