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He left me pretty much to myself just then, though quite open-handed, don't you know.... One day I was walking through one of the poorer streets where the people was very Flemish, and I stood looking up at an old doorway Dunno' why S'pose I thought it picturesque reminded me of Praddy's drawin's.
Besides, I'm to meet Frank at Praddy's studio in order to tell him the history of the last thirteen years." As they walked away: "You know, Michael, I'm still hoping we may be friends without being lovers. I wonder whether Linda would get to like me?" At Praed's studio. Lewis Maitland Praed is looking older. He must be now November, 1910 about fifty-eight or fifty-nine.
However this mob at last quitted Praddy's premises and he and David were left alone. Praed yawned, and almost intentionally knocked over an easel with a semi-obscene drawing on it of a Sphynx with swelling breasts embracing a lean young man against his will. David: "Praddy! why do you tolerate such people and why prostitute your studio to such unwholesome art?" Praed: "My dear David!
Frank: "But I say, Viv, about this Rossiter man. He seems awfully gone on you...?" It's only friendship. I really don't see them often but he came to my assistance once at a critical time. And now that Praddy's all-powerful parlour-maid's definitely left us, I will tell you my story."
I am equally sure that Vivie was not long in London before she appeared at dear old Praddy's studio, beautifully gowned and looking years younger than forty-three; and I shouldn't wonder but that her presence once more in his circle will give his frame a fillip so that he may cheat Death over a few more annual outbreaks of influenza.
In fact, he had at last to tip-toe down through a sleeping house cautiously to let himself out and relieve his feelings by pacing the verandah till the nausea passed off. After that he lay long awake trying to size up the situation. He got his thoughts at last into some such shape as this: "It's clear I was a regular young rake before I was sent up to London to be Praddy's pupil.
It was a rare experience in his twenty-four years of life he guessed that should be his age to find himself really taken on trust, really desired and loved. Honoria's friendship was a pure and precious thing, but in its very purity carefully restrained. Praddy's kindness, and the office boy's worship had both been gratifying to Vivie's self-esteem, but both had to be kept at bay.
Your ever loving and always faithful FRANK. P.S. There's a poor fellow here in the same ward dying I should say of necrosis of the jaw Vavasour Williams is his name or a part of his name. His father was at Cambridge with my old man, and isn't it rum? he was a pupil of Praddy's!! He mucked his school and 'varsity career, thought next he'd like to be an architect or a scene painter.
The parlour-maid received her sumptuously, and Praddy's eyes watered with senile tears. But Vivie would have no melancholy. "Oh Praddy! If you only knew. It's worth going to prison to know the joy of coming out of it! I'm so happy at thinking this is my last day in England for ever so long.
Then at half-past six, the practical Frank says: "Look here, you chaps, I could go on listening till midnight, but what's the matter with a bit of dinner? I dare say Praddy's parlour-maid might turn sour if we asked her at a moment's notice to find dinner for three. Why not come out and dine with me at the Hans Crescent Hotel? Close by. I'll get a quiet table and we can finish our talk there.
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