The Argosy — page 347: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

326 Lady Valera. It was the sultry weather, Hester supposed, that made steady work impossible, and sent her off into languid fits of dreaming at critical moments, or else drove her into sticking doggedly at her easel long after both eyes and fingers had given signs of being past all good work for that day. Master Jack expressed his sentiments after the manner of his kind ; srimaced, fidgetted, insisted on being bribed into goodness with un- limited chocolate creams ; presented his heels instead of his head for his sister’s contemplation ; tried the sharpness of his little sword on the nearest chair-back ; made art experiments of his own with char- coal and turpentine ; and, in fact, generally conducted himself after the fashion of his elfish double, till dismissed in disgrace to the nursery. Roswal knew all about it. He would pose “in act to spring ” obediently enough; but in a limp, uninterested fashion. ‘‘ What’s the use ?” his great red eyes seemed to ask eloquently. “‘ Why should I glare? If I did, instead of getting it down on canvas forthwith, you let the very slightest interruption— a postman’s knock, or a stray step in the drawing-room—set your attention wandering for minutes together. Cats? No, I don’t believe you!” It was treatment to make any dog flop down disgustedly, hang his great tongue out imbe- cilely and pant in exasperation. “Tt’s the weather, Cuss. I’m just as stupid as you to-day.” It was a glaringly unjust comparison, but Cuss only blinked the more. ‘Such a good day too, old dog. Papa gone off with mother for the whole afternoon ; no one to interrupt us; but,” regretfully, “I can’? paint, somehow. I’m getting nervous. Suppose we go round to Rose Damien’s. She likes me to be there on a Monday; and you shall lie in the conservatory and watch the gold fish ; and in the even- ing well have the horses out, and then, and ¢hen, old darling, you'll get your turn. Anything’s better than waiting for people who don’t mean to come, or who may just as easily be met at Rose’s; eh?” Roswal came and sat up against her very hard for a moment to ex- press approval, and then lumbered downstairs to the hall-door, so as to lose no time at the start. There were a few hot days in that year’s June, and this was one of them. The pavement scorched, the houses reflected heat, the sun beat through Hester’s red parasol, the wind was a hot blast, the shadow a glow. Hester and Roswal both rejoiced when, the fiery transit over, they found themselves in shelter at St. Maur Road, listening in the hall to the murmur of voices above, that showed no falling off in the number of Mrs. Damien’s Monday visitors. Hester decided on entering unannounced through the conservatory, and dis- posing of Roswal on the way. He had his own favourite nook under a stand of palms, where the tiles were cold and damp, and a lazy little fountain close by dripped musically into its moss-edged basin. Hester’s eyes, dazzled by the outer glare, at first wandered unrecog- nisingly from group to group in the cool, softly-hghted room, which COMICOOOKS»E@ im