The Last Chronicle of Barset [194]
to retire into Mrs Broughton's room in order that Jael might be arrayed in various costumes--and in each costume she had to kneel down, taking the hammer in her hand, and holding the pointed stick which had been prepared to do duty as the nail, upon the forehead of the dummy Sisera. At last it was decided that her raiment should be altogether white, and that she should wear, twisted round her head and falling over her shoulder, a Roman silk scarf of various colours. 'Where Jael could have gotten I don't know,' said Clara. 'You may be sure that there were lots of such things among the Egyptians,' said Mrs Broughton, 'and that Moses brought away all the best for his own family.'
'And who is to be Sisera?' asked Mrs Broughton in one of the pauses in their work.'
'I'm thinking of asking my friend John Eames to sit.'
'Of course we cannot sit together,' said Miss Van Siever.
'There's no reason why you should,' said Dalrymple. 'I can do the second figure in my own room.' Then there was a bargain made that Sisera should not be a portrait. 'It would never do,' said Mrs Broughton, shaking her head very gravely.
Though there was really very little done to the picture on that day, the work was commenced; and Mrs Broughton, who had at first objected strongly to the idea, and who had said twenty times that it was quite out of the question that it should be done her house, became very eager in her delight about it. Nobody should know anything of the picture till it should be exhibited. That would be best. And it should be the picture of the year! She was a little heart-broken when Dalrymple assured her that it could not possible be finished for exhibition in that May; but she came to again when he declared that he meant to put out all his strength upon it. 'There will be five or six months' work in it,' he said. 'Will there, indeed? And how much work was there in "The Graces"?' 'The Graces', as will perhaps be remembered, was the triple portrait of Mrs Dobbs Broughton herself. This question the artist did not answer with absolute accuracy, but contented himself with declaring that with such a model as Mrs Broughton the picture had been comparatively easy,
Mrs Broughton, having no doubt that ultimate object of which she had spoken to her friend Conway steadily in view, took occasion before the sitting was over to leave the room, so that the artist might have an opportunity of speaking a word in private to his model--if he had any such word to speak. And Mrs Broughton, as she did this, felt that she was doing her duty as a wife, a friend, and a Christian. She was doing her duty as a wife, because she was giving the clearest proof in the world--the clearest at any rate to herself--that the intimacy between herself and her friend Conway had in it nothing that was improper. And she was doing her duty as a friend, because Clara Van Siever, with her large expectations, would be an eligible wife. And she was doing her duty as a Christian, because the whole thing was intended to be moral. Miss Demolines had declared that her friend Maria Clutterbuck--as Miss Demolines delighted to call Mrs Broughton, in memory of dear old innocent days--had high principles; and the reader will see that she was justified in her declaration. 'It will be better so,' said Mrs Broughton, as she sat upon her bed and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. 'Yes; it will be better so. There is a pang. Of course there's a pang. But it will be better so.' Acting upon this high principle, she allowed Conway Dalrymple five minutes to say what he had to say to Clara Van Siever. Then she allowed herself to indulge in some very savage feelings in reference to her husband--accusing her husband in her thoughts of great cruelty--nay, of brutality, because of certain sharp words that he had said as to Conway Dalrymple. 'But of course he can't understand,' said Mrs Broughton to herself. 'How is it to be expected that he should understand?'
But she allowed her friend on this occasion only five minutes, thinking probably that so much time might suffice. A woman,
'And who is to be Sisera?' asked Mrs Broughton in one of the pauses in their work.'
'I'm thinking of asking my friend John Eames to sit.'
'Of course we cannot sit together,' said Miss Van Siever.
'There's no reason why you should,' said Dalrymple. 'I can do the second figure in my own room.' Then there was a bargain made that Sisera should not be a portrait. 'It would never do,' said Mrs Broughton, shaking her head very gravely.
Though there was really very little done to the picture on that day, the work was commenced; and Mrs Broughton, who had at first objected strongly to the idea, and who had said twenty times that it was quite out of the question that it should be done her house, became very eager in her delight about it. Nobody should know anything of the picture till it should be exhibited. That would be best. And it should be the picture of the year! She was a little heart-broken when Dalrymple assured her that it could not possible be finished for exhibition in that May; but she came to again when he declared that he meant to put out all his strength upon it. 'There will be five or six months' work in it,' he said. 'Will there, indeed? And how much work was there in "The Graces"?' 'The Graces', as will perhaps be remembered, was the triple portrait of Mrs Dobbs Broughton herself. This question the artist did not answer with absolute accuracy, but contented himself with declaring that with such a model as Mrs Broughton the picture had been comparatively easy,
Mrs Broughton, having no doubt that ultimate object of which she had spoken to her friend Conway steadily in view, took occasion before the sitting was over to leave the room, so that the artist might have an opportunity of speaking a word in private to his model--if he had any such word to speak. And Mrs Broughton, as she did this, felt that she was doing her duty as a wife, a friend, and a Christian. She was doing her duty as a wife, because she was giving the clearest proof in the world--the clearest at any rate to herself--that the intimacy between herself and her friend Conway had in it nothing that was improper. And she was doing her duty as a friend, because Clara Van Siever, with her large expectations, would be an eligible wife. And she was doing her duty as a Christian, because the whole thing was intended to be moral. Miss Demolines had declared that her friend Maria Clutterbuck--as Miss Demolines delighted to call Mrs Broughton, in memory of dear old innocent days--had high principles; and the reader will see that she was justified in her declaration. 'It will be better so,' said Mrs Broughton, as she sat upon her bed and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. 'Yes; it will be better so. There is a pang. Of course there's a pang. But it will be better so.' Acting upon this high principle, she allowed Conway Dalrymple five minutes to say what he had to say to Clara Van Siever. Then she allowed herself to indulge in some very savage feelings in reference to her husband--accusing her husband in her thoughts of great cruelty--nay, of brutality, because of certain sharp words that he had said as to Conway Dalrymple. 'But of course he can't understand,' said Mrs Broughton to herself. 'How is it to be expected that he should understand?'
But she allowed her friend on this occasion only five minutes, thinking probably that so much time might suffice. A woman,