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The Real Thing When the porters wife who used to answer the house-bell, announced A gentleman and a lady, sir, I had, as I often had in those daysthe wish being father to the thoughtan immediate vision of sitters. Sitters my visitors in this case proved to be; but not in the sense I should have preferred. There was nothing at first however to indicate that they mightnt have come for a portrait. The gentleman, a man of fifty, very high and very straight, with a moustache slightly grizzled and a dark grey walking-coat admirably fitted, both of which I noted professionallyI dont mean as a barber or yet as a tailorwould have struck me as a celebrity if celebrities often were striking. It was a truth of which I had for some time been conscious that a figure with a good deal of frontage was, as one might say, almost never a public institution. A glance at the lady helped to remind me of this paradoxical law: she also looked too distinguished to be a personality. Moreover one would scarcely come across two variations together. Neither of the pair immediately spokethey only prolonged the preliminary gaze suggesting that each wished to give the other a chance. They were visibly shy; they stood there letting me take them inwhich, as I afterwards perceived, was the most practical thing they could have done. In this way their embarrassment served their cause. I had seen people painfully reluctant to mention that they desired anything so gross as to be represented on canvas; but the scruples of my new friends appeared almost insurmountable. Yet the gentleman might have said I should like a portrait of my wife, and the lady might have said I should like a portrait of my husband. Perhaps they werent husband and wifethis naturally would make the matter more delicate. Perhaps they wished to be done togetherin which case they ought to have brought a third person to break the news. We come from Mr. Rivet, the lady finally said with a dim smile that had the effect of a moist sponge passed over a sunk piece of painting, as well as of a vague allusion to vanished beauty. She was as tall and straight, in her degree, as her companion, and with ten years less to carry. She looked as sad as a woman could look whose face was not charged with expression; that is her tinted oval mask showed waste as an exposed surface shows friction. The hand of time had played over her freely, but to an effect of elimination. She was slim and stiff, and so well-dressed, in dark blue cloth, with lappets and pockets and buttons, that it was clear she employed the same tailor as her husband. The couple had an indefinable air of prosperous thriftthey evidently got a good deal of luxury for their money. If I was to be one of their luxuries, it would behoove me to consider my terms. Ah, Claude Rivet recommended me? I echoed; and I added that it was very kind of him, though I could reflect that, as he only painted landscape, this wasnt a sacrifice. The lady looked very hard at the gentleman, and the gentleman looked round the room. Then, staring at the door a moment and stroking his moustache, he rested his pleasant eyes on me with the remark: He said you were the right one. I try to be, when people want to sit. Yes, we should like to, said the lady anxiously. Do you mean together? My visitors exchanged a glance. If you could do anything with me I suppose it would be double, the gentleman stammered. Oh, yes, theres naturally a higher charge for two figures than for one. We should like to make it pay, the husband confessed. Thats very good of you, I returned, appreciating so unwonted a sympathyfor I supposed he meant pay the artist. |
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