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Updated: May 13, 2025
The four or five intervening months, commencing with that tragic night in the Ravenscourt Park studio, had wrought a great change in Jack; though it was more internal, perhaps, than external. His old friends would promptly have recognized the returned war-artist, laden with honors that he did not care a jot for. He looked fit, and his step was firm and elastic.
During the next three days, however, Jack was too busy to carry out his plan at least in the mornings. Not for any consideration would he have sacrificed his afternoons, for then he met Madge in Regent's Park, and spent an hour or more with her, reckless of extortionate cab fares from Ravenscourt Park to the neighborhood of Portland Terrace.
But a few months before the opening of this story Jack had taken his new studio at Ravenscourt Park, in the west of London. It was a big place, with a splendid north light, and with an admirable train service to all parts of town; in that respect he was better off than artists living in Hampstead or St. John's Wood.
But she descended again upon her visitors, now purple with exasperation, and possessed herself of their hands. "I have enjoyed your conversation so much, Mr. Ravenscourt, and yours, too, Sergeant Chiswick, but even the best of friends must part; as Anthony used to say when I bought him his first comb. Goodbye goodbye." She paused dramatically. "Oh, I nearly forgot my salts my salts.
"You are," replied the pasty youth. It is a long journey from the city to Ravenscourt Park, but the task of planning out the future life of Mrs. Korner and himself kept Mr. Korner wide awake and interested. When he got out of the train the thing chiefly troubling him was the three-quarters of a mile of muddy road stretching between him and his determination to make things clear to Mrs.
Bruce didn't hear the last words, for he was flying out of the door. Miss Argles was walking very slowly; he joined her. 'Pardon me, he said, raising his hat. 'It's so very hot am I going your way? Would you allow me to see you home? 'Oh, you're very kind, I'm sure, she said sadly. 'But I don't think I live at Ravenscourt Park. Bruce thought there was plenty of time. 'Why how very curious!
The grounds cover between thirty and forty acres, and are well laid out in flower-beds, etc., at the southern end. The Ravenscourt Park Railway-station is on the east side, and the arched railway-bridge crosses the southern end of the park. A beautiful avenue of fine old elms leads to the Public Library, which is at the north end in what was once the old manor-house.
We must take the reader now to Ravenscourt Park, to the studio of Jack Vernon. Early in the afternoon, while Victor Nevill was closeted with Stephen Foster, the young artist was sitting at his easel. He had been working since breakfast on a landscape, a commission from one of his wealthy patrons. Things had gone unusually well with him lately.
'Oh, Vincy, I think you're very sweet to me, but how late dare I get back to Ravenscourt Park? 'Why not miss the eight-five train? then you'll catch the quarter to ten and get back at about eleven. 'Which would you rather I did? 'Well, need you ask? 'I don't know, Vincy. I have a curious feeling sometimes. I believe you're rather glad when I've gone relieved!
It stands on the site of an older chapel, which was first used for services of the Church of England, and was acquired by the Baptists in 1793. The old tombstones standing round the present building are memorials of the former burial-ground. At the west end of King Street is an entrance to Ravenscourt Park, acquired by the L.C.C. in 1888-90.
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