CHAPTER XXVIII
IN THE STUDIO
Jane mounted to the studio; unlocked the door, and, entering, closed
it after her.
The evening sun shone through a western window, imparting an added
richness to the silk screens and hangings; the mauve wistaria of a
Japanese embroidery; or the golden dragon of China on a deep purple
ground, wound up in its own interminable tail, and showing rampant
claws in unexpected places.
Several times already Jane had been into Garth's studio, but always
to fetch something for which he waited eagerly below; and she had
never felt free to linger. Margery had a duplicate key; for she
herself went up every day to open the windows, dust tenderly all
special treasures; and keep it exactly as its owner had liked it
kept, when his quick eyes could look around it. But this key was
always on Margery's bunch; and Jane did not like to ask admission,
and risk a possible refusal.
Now, however, she could take her own time; and she seated herself in
one of the low and very deep wicker lounge-chairs, comfortably
upholstered; so exactly fitting her proportions, and supporting
arms, knees, and head, just rightly, that it seemed as if all other
chairs would in future appear inadequate, owing to the absolute
perfection of this one. Ah, to be just that to her beloved! To so
fully meet his need, at every point, that her presence should be to
him always a source of strength, and rest, and consolation.
She looked around the room. It was so like Garth; every detail
perfect; every shade of colour enhancing another, and being enhanced
by it. The arrangements for regulating the light, both from roof and
windows; the easels of all kinds and sizes; clean bareness, where
space, and freedom from dust, were required; the luxurious comfort
round the fireplace, and in nooks and corners; all were so perfect.
And the plain brown wall-paper, of that beautiful quiet shade which
has in it no red, and no yellow; a clear nut-brown. On an easel near
the further window stood an unfinished painting; palette and brushes
beside it, just as Garth had left them when he went out on that
morning, nearly three months ago; and, vaulting over a gate to
protect a little animal from unnecessary pain, was plunged himself
into such utter loss and anguish.
Jane rose, and took stock of all his quaint treasures on the
mantelpiece. Especially her mind was held and fascinated by a stout
little bear in brass, sitting solidly yet jauntily on its haunches,
its front paws clasping a brazen pole; its head turned sideways; its
small, beady, eyes, looking straight before it. The chain, from its
neck to the pole denoted captivity and possible fierceness. Jane had
no doubt its head would lift, and its body prove a receptacle for
matches; but she felt equally certain that, should she lift its head
and look, no matches would be within it. This little bear was
unmistakably Early Victorian; a friend of childhood's days; and
would not be put to common uses. She lifted the head. The body was
empty. She replaced it gently on the mantelpiece, and realised that
she was deliberately postponing an ordeal which must be faced.
Deryck had told her of Garth's pictures of the One Woman. Garth,
himself, had now told her even more. But the time had come when she
must see them for herself. It was useless to postpone the moment.
She looked towards the yellow screen.
Then she walked, over to the western window, and threw it wide open.
The sun was dipping gently towards the purple hills. The deep blue
of the sky began to pale, as a hint of lovely rose crept into it.
Jane looked heavenward and, thrusting her hands deeply into her
pockets, spoke aloud. "Before God" she said,--"in case I am never
able to say or think it again, I will say it now--I BELIEVE I WAS
RIGHT. I considered Garth's future happiness, and I considered my
own. I decided as I did for both our sakes, at terrible cost to
present joy. But, before God, I believed I was right; and--I BELIEVE
IT STILL."
Jane never said it again.
