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He therefore submitted, with a very good grace, to seeing a good deal of the young man, and if it occasionally irked him to have Stephen Kenwick's grandson about, he found his account in the spirit and ease with which his two Pollys dealt with the situation. Kenwick, of course, attached himself ostensibly to the Daymond party.
There was something in Kenwick's manner that antagonised him; it was, somehow, too appreciative. "I make a condition," the Colonel exclaimed abruptly, in his voice of martinet. "If there's a likeness the sketch is forfeited." "I'm safe," Geoffry laughed. "I never got a likeness in my life."
"There's the flag-ship over by San Servolo," Geof would exclaim, seizing an oar and giving immediate chase; or they would cruise about in an aimless way until Kenwick dropped the remark that the Colonel had said something about a trip to Murano that day. The casual nature of Kenwick's allusions to the Colonel's party afforded Geof no little amusement.
They were all standing about in the bright sunshine, deriving no little entertainment from Kenwick's discomfiture. The child took the proposition very seriously; but, after a moment's deliberation, she walked straight up to Pauline and lifted a small, pursed-up mouth to her. "If that's not just Pauline's luck!" May exclaimed, as her sister stooped to receive the proffered salutation.
The sunshine of four hundred years ago that glows in mellow warmth upon Carpaccio's canvases, the vigour and the piety and the fun of that "wayward patchwork," are more vital and more absorbing than any mortal roses. And if, in the morning, Kenwick's interests had been subordinated to Art, Nature proved no less exacting in the afternoon.
It was Kenwick's method to talk to people about themselves, with a judicious linking together of his own peculiarities and theirs. He imagined that that sort of thing lent a piquancy to conversation. The aim of Oliver Kenwick's life was to be effective; his art had suffered from it, and even in social matters he sometimes had the misfortune to overshoot the mark.
"Oh, yes, he did; there was a little dot that did very well for a nose. And, besides, there isn't very much of you in your nose." "I wish you had told me that my hat was tipped up on one side," May continued, reproachfully. She was examining Kenwick's sketch with much interest. "It would have spoiled it if it hadn't been; your hair wouldn't have showed half as well."
Well, you know we went to see her this morning, and took her those roses of Mr. Kenwick's. Uncle Dan, they didn't seem to meet the case!" and May looked at her victim with the gravity of a secretary of the metropolitan board of charities. "That was rather hard on those particular roses," Uncle Dan observed, with a certain grim satisfaction. "Yes, I think it was.
"Uncle Dan," Pauline had asked, one day, after an hour spent in Kenwick's society, "what is the reason Mr. Kenwick makes so little impression?" "Because he doesn't tally," May put in. "Well," said Uncle Dan, scowling perplexedly; "I don't quite make him out.
The golden head, bent over the swarthy little cherub, was a sight that would have attracted Oliver Kenwick's notice, for example, even if he had had no personal interest in the chief actor.
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