If she should marry Thorpe she would have to live on romance and moonshine. Artists rave about the true and the beautiful, but they do not pay cash,” Randolph said to himself, rather disdainfully.
Two days before the picnic Mr. Chester called at Mrs. Kent’s and inquired, in a tone of some importance, for Miss Frost. Mabel made her appearance in the parlor without unnecessary delay.
“I hope I see you well, Miss Frost,” said Mr. Chester, with a smile that was meant to be captivating.
“Thank you, Mr. Chester; I have seldom been better.”
“I hope you are enjoying your summer in Granville.”
“Indeed I am,” answered Mabel heartily.
“Where were you last summer, Miss Frost?”
Mabel hesitated. She did not like to say that she spent the greater part of the season at Newport, since this would probably lead to further questions on the subject, and possibly expose her secret.
“I was in the city part of the time,” she answered evasively.
“It must have been very uncomfortable,” said Mr. Chester, adding complacently: “I have never passed the summer in New York. I should find it quite intolerable.”
“A rich man can consult his own wishes,” said Mabel. “If you were a poor school teacher it would be different.”
Randolph Chester always enjoyed allusions to his wealth, It gratified him that Mabel seemed aware of his easy circumstances.
“Quite true, Miss Frost,” he answered. “I often feel how fortunate I am in my worldly circumstances. You ought to be rich,” he continued. “You have accomplishments which would grace a high social position.”
“I am afraid you flatter me, Mr. Chester.”
“Upon my word I do not,” said the bachelor warmly. He was dangerously near declaring himself, but stopped upon the brink. He did not wish to be precipitate.
“Are you going to the picnic on Saturday, Miss Frost?”
“I believe so. Everybody will go, and I do not want to be out of fashion.”
“Permit me to offer my escort,” said Randolph Chester gallantly.
“You are too late, Mr. Chester,” said Mabel, with a smile. “Some one has already invited me.”
“Indeed!” said the bachelor stiffly, and looking offended. “May I inquire who that somebody is?”
“Certainly; it is no secret. I have promised to accompany Mr. Allan Thorpe.”
“Oh! The artist!”
The words were few, but the tone spoke volumes. It expressed disdain, and implied that to be an artist was something exceedingly disreputable.
“Yes,” said Mabel, not unwilling to tease her elderly admirer, “as you say, he is an artist. He paints very clever pictures. Have you ever seen any of them, Mr, Chester?”
“Can’t say I have,” answered Mr. Chester shortly.
“He promises to be eminent some day,” continued Mabel.
“Does he? A good many promises are unfulfilled I don’t think much of artists.”
“How can you say that, Mr. Chester? I thought every man of culture admired the pictures of Titian and Raffaelle.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Chester, suspecting that he had gone too far. “They are the old masters, you know. It’s the modern daubers of canvas that I was speaking of.”
“But are not some of the artists of the present day to become eminent?” asked Mabel.
“When they have become so I will admire them. I don’t think Mr. Thorpe stands much chance of it if he wastes his time in Granville.”
“Then you don’t know that he is painting a picture here?”
“I know nothing of the young man’s movements,” said Mr. Randolph Chester loftily.” Then I shall not have the pleasure of escorting you, Miss Frost?”
“I fear not. I hope, however, to meet you there.”
“I am not sure that I shall go,” returned Mr. Chester discontentedly.
“I believe Miss Bassett is unprovided with an escort, Mr. Chester,” suggested Mabel, still bent on teasing him.
“I don’t care to escort a Maypole,” said the bachelor quickly. “Miss Bassett is not to my taste.”
“I am afraid you are very fastidious, Mr. Chester.”
“I admit that I am so. I prefer to leave Miss Clarissa to some one who appreciates her more than I do.”
Soon after Randolph Chester took his leave. He went from the presence of Mabel in a very uncomfortable frame of mind. His feelings toward the artist were far from cordial.