CHAPTER XXVI.

THE MR. TALBOYS RESORT TO STRATEGY.

On arriving at the Rosery the next morning Honor finds the two old gentlemen waiting in the garden to receive her, both in an unwonted state of excitement. For they have been arranging a little plot together, which they are burning to disclose (partially) when the right moment shall arrive.

Mr. Edward had gone home the evening before with his thoughts running on the tin painting, and pinning his brother Ben by the button-hole without loss of time he told him of a plan which he had thought of for Honor's benefit, and which only required discussion with him, Mr. Benjamin, to be carried into instant effect.

"And although I should still like to break Mr. Nathan's head with this stick," says Mr. Edward to his brother, and shaking the said stick menacingly, "I cannot help feeling grateful to the rogue, Ben, for having, as it were, paved the way for our helping Miss Honor, poor child, in a manner which cannot possibly hurt her feelings. That was a good thought of yours, Ben, a capital thought, about Spaull the picture-dealer. If this tin painting is to come into vogue for a time--and I suppose it will from what Miss Honor said--he will be just the man to place the paintings with; and of course we must bind him over to strict secrecy as to our part in the business, eh, Ben?" and Mr. Ned nudges his brother playfully with his stick.

"Yes," answers Mr. Benjamin, nodding and smiling.

"Why, bless me," adds Mr. Ned, "we shall have to do quite a nice little piece of acting. But here comes Miss Honor. Now we shall see what she says to our plan. Mind you must be very careful, Ben, not to let the cat out of the bag--you run on at such a rate sometimes, you know; and it would never do for her to think we were paying for the paintings in the first instance, though of course it will be quite the same to us when Spaull refunds the money." And here they trot forward to open the gate for Honor, who has just reached it.

After inquiring rather breathlessly as to the welfare of the roses at the Rookery, and Molly's real, honest opinion about them, they dash straight into the subject of the painting.

"We have been talking it all over, Brother Ben and I, and it seems to us that with your gift for painting, my dear, you might make a very nice thing of this. Now, we happen to know a man in the picture-dealing trade, a Mr. Spaull, a most respectable man, who would be just the very person to suit our purpose; and what we propose--"

"Yes, what we propose," repeats Mr. Ben, nodding at Honor.

"Is," resumes Mr. Ned, "that you shall paint so many pictures, varying in size and style perhaps, for a fixed price, which will be paid--be paid by--by--"

"By the _party_," says Mr. Ben, frowning a little at his brother.

"Exactly--by the party," repeats Mr. Ned.

"Mr. Spaull," quietly suggests Honor with a smile.

"Just so, just so--Mr. Spaull, of course!" cry both the brothers together. "Dear me, how very warm it is this morning!" continues Mr. Ned. "Did I say that this--er, this _person_ would pay for the pictures at once, on completion, you know? and sell them at his, that is to say, Mr. Spaull's convenience?" And Mr. Ned, concluding rather abruptly, looks helplessly towards his brother for encouragement.

"The fact is," remarks Mr. Ben, coming nobly to the rescue, "my brother is apt to become a little confused when speaking of this firm. There are partners--"

"Yes, yes; partners!" cries Mr. Ned delightedly. "Two partners!"

"_Three_," corrects Mr. Ben; "although only the one name, that of Spaull, appears. I think my brother wants you to go up to the town with him to-morrow, to the proper art shop there, where, he says, you can provide yourself with the necessary materials, and get what information you require respecting the preparation of the tin at the same time."

"Yes, that is exactly what I mean, my dear Miss Honor," says Mr. Ned, nodding approvingly at his brother. "And while you are seeing to _your_ business, _I_ will go and have a talk with Mr. Spaull. You see, I think it will be so much more pleasant if you transact your business with him _through_ me, as it were. So what do you say to going with me to-morrow? When I say 'me,' of course I mean _us_. Brother Ben will like to give his opinion as well, I am sure, and we all know what a valuable one it is on a subject like this. Don't we, Ben?"

It is useless to try to describe poor Honor's delight and gratitude at this kind thought of her old friends. As they all go down the little drive together, she tries to say a few words of thanks, first to one, and then to the other; but the brothers have so much to say on their own account that she cannot get a word in edge-ways. When they reach the gate, Mr. Benjamin takes Honor's hand, and tapping Mr. Edward on the shoulder with his walking-stick, says:

"My brother here is taking such an active part in the management of this little affair, that I hope, my dear, you will allow _me_ to purchase for you all the materials which you are likely to require; merely as a set off against his part in the business, you know," he adds hastily, "for I can see plainly that he will become quite conceited if he has _everything_ his own way."

Honor, with her almost over-scrupulous objection to accepting anything which actually costs money, hesitates a moment, but she sees such a look of disappointment creeping over the old man's countenance that she quickly changes her mind, and thanks him for his kindness with such a beaming face as to effectually set at rest any fears he may have had at first of having offended her.

As Honor walks home she takes herself to task about what some people have called her _fault_ of independence.

"I wonder whether I _do_ carry it too far sometimes," she says to herself. "Mother and Molly say I do, and Molly at any rate has a very fair amount of independence in _her_ composition. I suppose if shown too much it amounts to ungraciousness, as I know it did with dear Mr. Ben just now, though I do hope I made up for it afterwards. Yes, I suppose I overdo it sometimes; and I know Dr. Sinclair thought so the other day, when he spoke so kindly of there being plenty of time for sending in his bill. I _know_ I answered him ungratefully, and as if we had ten thousand a year at least, when he knows just as well as I do, I daresay, that ten thousand pence is much nearer the mark. I felt what an idiot I had made of myself, with my nasty, false pride; for where in the world the poor man is to get his money from at all _I_ can't see, unless anything really comes of this painting and I can save up. Yes, it is all very well; but where, I wonder, would I have got the money for the tin and things, if good old Mr. Ben had not taken it upon himself to buy them. I am sure I am thankful enough now that he told me he would, especially after wasting those three shillings yesterday. O, dear me, I hope the Mr. Talboys know how grateful I am to them! I wonder what would have become of us all since we came here if it hadn't been for them. Ah, well! I must try and remember in future that real, proper independence is a perfectly different thing from the feeling which I know has been growing on me lately, and which I am _sure_ now is false pride. Aunt was quite right in what she said to me the other day; I am afraid I do not consider the feelings of others enough sometimes."

Therefore it comes about that Honor has a softened manner with her from this time. Not that it is in the girl's nature ever to be anything but gentle and kind to every one around her. But, nevertheless, there is a _something_ different now which causes her mother to say, "Ah, poor girl! anyone can see what a load is lifted from her shoulders, now that she has the prospect of making a little money."

And Doris says to Molly one day, "Honor is not so excruciatingly particular in the spending of a penny or so as she used to be, is she Molly? Poor old girl! I'm afraid the struggle to make the best of our poverty has been a hard one for her---harder than we think, I expect, for she is not one to _say_ much, you know. She never talks openly about what she feels, as some people do."

"No," says Molly. "Honor's a little brick, there's no doubt about that; and it is plain to see that this painting, for which she is sure to be properly paid, is an immense relief to her mind."

It is now that the attic which the Horton boys had taken such pains to fit up, comes to be thoroughly appreciated.

Honor and the Mr. Talboys have paid their visits respectively to the ironmonger's (where Mr. Benjamin was with difficulty prevented from purchasing a whole roll of tin), to the art material shop, and to Mr. Spaull's the picture-dealer. To this last, however, Mr. Edward preferred going alone, telling his brother with a very palpable nod and wink that he is sure Miss Honor will like to have a look at the shops, and that it will save time, therefore, if they separate for a while.

Well supplied with everything she can possibly need, Honor now snatches every spare moment and spends it in the "studio," painting away with an energy which Doris and Molly declare takes their breath away. Sometimes Daisy sits up there, cosily curled up in the most comfortable arm-chair. But this does not happen very often, as the smell of the oils and turpentine turn the child faint.

Molly, however, who has taken to "reading herself up," as she calls it, is often up there, and may be found in her favourite attitude when particularly absorbed in anything--her elbows planted on the table, and her fingers buried in her hair.

Doris at this time is much taken up with needlework, her five pounds having been expended chiefly in materials for underclothing, boots and shoes, and other really necessary things for a prolonged visit abroad.

"I would far rather your aunt found you a little badly off as regards dresses or hats, than in linen and such things," said Mrs. Merivale sensibly. "Your aunt is a generous woman, and if she finds that her present has been wisely spent, I do not suppose she will let you suffer in the matter of dresses."

So between them all they had managed to cut out these garments, and Mrs. Merivale and Doris are busily engaged in making them, with occasional assistance from the others.

Doris, therefore, is often to be found upstairs also; and Honor and Molly, having suddenly awakened to the necessity of their sister being able upon her arrival on foreign shores to say a sentence or two in French without utterly disgracing herself, they form a sort of class, which Doris (under protest) is made to join.

"And for one whole mortal hour," said Doris, complaining to Hugh Horton afterwards, "did we sit like three noodles, hammering away at French conversation, Molly with a huge dictionary at her elbow, and both she and Honor pretending they liked it. You may imagine that _my_ remarks were few and far between. They call it 'rubbing up' my French, you know; and I'm sure it is all labour thrown away, for all the rubbing up in the world, even with the best French polish, would never make me express myself decently in any language but my own. And to tell you the truth, Hugh," lowering her voice, "I am not always so _very_ confident of doing that. It's dreadfully shocking, of course, but none the less true."

And so there is often quite an industrious party to be found up in the attic studio, with the windows wide open, letting in the sweet soft air, laden with the scent of the rich grass (so soon to fall beneath the scythe), and the multitudes of early summer flowers; and the girls feel that they are happier in their busy useful life, even though there are still crosses and trials for all to bear at times, than in former days, when living a life of luxury and ease. There is one never-to-be-forgotten sorrow which all share, however, and though some time has elapsed now since their kind and indulgent father passed away, his memory is still as fresh as ever in their young minds. It is, indeed, a common thing with them all, even still, to study what probably would have been his wishes in settling little matters concerning their own affairs, saying to themselves, "I wonder if father would have approved," or "I think that would have pleased father," showing, therefore, that the good influence of his gentle though firm training still remains with them.