The Last Chronicle of Barset [125]
I see,' said Mrs Van Siever. Then Mrs Dobbs Broughton drew herself back, remembering some little attack which had been made on her by Mrs Van Siever when she herself had had the real lord to dine with her.
There was a Miss Van Siever there also, sitting between Crosbie and Conway Dalrymple. Conway Dalrymple had been specially brought there to sit next to Miss Van Siever. 'There's no knowing how much she'll have,' said Mrs Dobbs Broughton, in the warmth of their friendship. 'But it's all real. It is, indeed,. The mother is awfully rich.'
'But she's awful in another way, too,' said Dalrymple.
'Indeed she is, Conway.' Mrs Dobbs Broughton had got into a way of calling her young friend by his Christian name. 'All the world calls him Conway,' she had said to her husband once when her husband had caught her doing so. 'She is awful. Her husband made the business in the City, when things were very different from what they are now, and I can't help having her. She has transactions of business with Dobbs. But there's no mistake about the money.'
'She needn't leave it to her daughter, I suppose?'
'But why shouldn't she? She has nobody else. You might offer to paint her, you know. She'd make an excellent picture. So much character. You come and see her.'
Conway Dalrymple had expressed his willingness to meet Miss Van Siever, saying something, however, as to his present position being one which did not admit of any matrimonial speculation. Then Mrs Dobbs Broughton had told him, with much seriousness, that he was altogether wrong, and that were he to forget himself, or commit himself, or misbehave himself, there must be an end to their pleasant intimacy. In answer to which, Mr Dalrymple had said that his Grace was surely of all Graces the least gracious. And now he had come to meet Miss Van Siever, and was now seated next to her at table.
Miss Van Siever, who at this time had perhaps reached her twenty-fifth year, was certainly a handsome young woman. She was fair and large, bearing no likeness whatever to her mother. Her features were regular, and her full, clear eyes had a brilliance of their own, looking at you always steadfastly and boldly, though very seldom pleasantly. Her mouth would have been beautiful had it not been too strong for feminine beauty. Her teeth were perfect--too perfect--looking like miniature walls of carved ivory. She knew the fault of this perfection, and showed her teeth as little as she could. Her nose and chin were finely chiselled, and her head stood well upon her shoulders. But there was something hard about it all which repelled you. Dalrymple, when he saw her, recoiled from her, not outwardly, but inwardly. Yes, she was handsome, as may be horse or a tiger; but there was about her nothing of feminine softness. He could not bring himself to think of taking Clara Van Siever as the model that was to sit before him for the rest of his life. He certainly could make a picture of her, as had been suggested by his friend, Mrs Broughton, but it must be as Judith with the dissevered head, of as Jael using her hammer over the temple of Sisera. Yes--he thought she would do as Jael; and if Mrs Van Siever would throw him a sugar-plum--for he would want the sugar-plum, seeing that any other result was out of the question --the thing might be done. Such was the idea of Mr Conway Dalrymple respecting Miss Van Siever--before he led her down to dinner.
At first he found it hard to talk to her. She answered him, and not with monosyllables. But she answered him without sympathy, or apparent pleasure in talking. Now the young artist was in the habit of being flattered by ladies, and expected to have his small talk made very easy for him. He liked to give himself little airs, and was not generally disposed to labour very hard at the task of making himself agreeable.
'Were you ever painted yet?' he asked after they had both been sitting silent for two or three minutes.
'Was I ever--painted? In what way?'
'I don't mean rouged, or enamelled, or got up by Madame Rachel; but have you ever had
There was a Miss Van Siever there also, sitting between Crosbie and Conway Dalrymple. Conway Dalrymple had been specially brought there to sit next to Miss Van Siever. 'There's no knowing how much she'll have,' said Mrs Dobbs Broughton, in the warmth of their friendship. 'But it's all real. It is, indeed,. The mother is awfully rich.'
'But she's awful in another way, too,' said Dalrymple.
'Indeed she is, Conway.' Mrs Dobbs Broughton had got into a way of calling her young friend by his Christian name. 'All the world calls him Conway,' she had said to her husband once when her husband had caught her doing so. 'She is awful. Her husband made the business in the City, when things were very different from what they are now, and I can't help having her. She has transactions of business with Dobbs. But there's no mistake about the money.'
'She needn't leave it to her daughter, I suppose?'
'But why shouldn't she? She has nobody else. You might offer to paint her, you know. She'd make an excellent picture. So much character. You come and see her.'
Conway Dalrymple had expressed his willingness to meet Miss Van Siever, saying something, however, as to his present position being one which did not admit of any matrimonial speculation. Then Mrs Dobbs Broughton had told him, with much seriousness, that he was altogether wrong, and that were he to forget himself, or commit himself, or misbehave himself, there must be an end to their pleasant intimacy. In answer to which, Mr Dalrymple had said that his Grace was surely of all Graces the least gracious. And now he had come to meet Miss Van Siever, and was now seated next to her at table.
Miss Van Siever, who at this time had perhaps reached her twenty-fifth year, was certainly a handsome young woman. She was fair and large, bearing no likeness whatever to her mother. Her features were regular, and her full, clear eyes had a brilliance of their own, looking at you always steadfastly and boldly, though very seldom pleasantly. Her mouth would have been beautiful had it not been too strong for feminine beauty. Her teeth were perfect--too perfect--looking like miniature walls of carved ivory. She knew the fault of this perfection, and showed her teeth as little as she could. Her nose and chin were finely chiselled, and her head stood well upon her shoulders. But there was something hard about it all which repelled you. Dalrymple, when he saw her, recoiled from her, not outwardly, but inwardly. Yes, she was handsome, as may be horse or a tiger; but there was about her nothing of feminine softness. He could not bring himself to think of taking Clara Van Siever as the model that was to sit before him for the rest of his life. He certainly could make a picture of her, as had been suggested by his friend, Mrs Broughton, but it must be as Judith with the dissevered head, of as Jael using her hammer over the temple of Sisera. Yes--he thought she would do as Jael; and if Mrs Van Siever would throw him a sugar-plum--for he would want the sugar-plum, seeing that any other result was out of the question --the thing might be done. Such was the idea of Mr Conway Dalrymple respecting Miss Van Siever--before he led her down to dinner.
At first he found it hard to talk to her. She answered him, and not with monosyllables. But she answered him without sympathy, or apparent pleasure in talking. Now the young artist was in the habit of being flattered by ladies, and expected to have his small talk made very easy for him. He liked to give himself little airs, and was not generally disposed to labour very hard at the task of making himself agreeable.
'Were you ever painted yet?' he asked after they had both been sitting silent for two or three minutes.
'Was I ever--painted? In what way?'
'I don't mean rouged, or enamelled, or got up by Madame Rachel; but have you ever had