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Rooth partook as she cried indulgently, giving her a slap, "Oh get along, you gypsy!" "She's always up to something," Dashwood laughed as Miriam, radiant and with a conscious stage tread, glided toward Sherringham as if she were coming to the footlights.
Rooth insinuated; which led Miriam to go on immediately: "Has she been trying her hand at Mr. Sherringham?" "When should she try her hand, poor dear young lady? He's always sitting with us," said Mrs. Rooth. "Dear mamma, you exaggerate. He has his moments when he seems to say his prayers to me; but we've had some success in cutting them down.
I've been putting it off partly because I'm so ashamed of my indiscretion. Que voulez-vous, my dear chap? My provocation was great. I heard you had been painting Miss Rooth, so that I couldn't restrain my curiosity. I simply went into that corner and struck out there a trifle wildly no doubt. I dragged the young lady to the light your sister turned pale as she saw me.
"But where? That's what I ask!" said Mrs. Rooth. "Why not here?" Sherringham threw out. "Oh here!" And the good lady shook her head with a world of sad significance. "Come and live in London and then I shall be able to paint your daughter," Nick Dormer interposed. "Is that all it will take, my dear fellow?" asked Gabriel Nash. "Ah, London's full of memories," Mrs. Rooth went on.
"Come and practise it to me, if your mother will be so kind as to bring you," said Peter Sherringham. "Do you give lessons do you understand?" Miriam asked. "I'm an old play-goer and I've an unbounded belief in my own judgement." "'Old, sir, is too much to say," Mrs. Rooth remonstrated. "My daughter knows your high position, but she's very direct. You'll always find her so.
"But you must do me the justice to remember that if I should resort to force I should do something that's not particularly in my interest I should be magnanimous." "We must always be that, mustn't we?" moralised Mrs. Rooth. "How could it affect your interest?" Miriam asked less abstractedly. "Yes, as you say," her mother mused at their host, "the question of marriage has ceased to exist for you."
"Why you said a while ago that if Peter was there you wouldn't act." "I'll act for him," smiled Miriam, inconsequently caressing her mother. "It doesn't matter whom it's for!" Mrs. Rooth declared sagaciously. "Take your drive and relax your mind," said the girl, kissing her. "Come for me in an hour; not later but not sooner."
Dormer. It's a great advantage to him that when he's peremptory with his model it only makes her better, adds to her expression of gloomy grandeur." "We did the gloomy grandeur in the other picture: suppose therefore we try something different in this," Nick threw off. "It is serious, it is grand," murmured Mrs. Rooth, who had taken up a rapt attitude before the portrait of her daughter.
"It's his nom de théâtre Basil Dashwood. Do you like it?" Mrs. Rooth wonderfully inquired. "You say that as Miriam might. Her talent's catching!" "She's always practising always saying things over and over to seize the tone. I've her voice in my ears. He wants her not to have any." "Not to have any what?" "Any nom de théâtre. He wants her to use her own; he likes it so much.
I see Lovick," Peter added, "but he doesn't talk of his brother-in-law." "I didn't, that day, like his tone about him," Mrs. Rooth observed. "We walked a little way with Mrs. Lovick after church and she asked Miriam about her prospects and if she were working. Miriam said she had no prospects." "That wasn't very nice to me," Sherringham commented.
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