II

As soon as I reached London, thinking that Wilderspin was still on the Continent, I went first to D’Arcy’s studio, but was there told that D’Arcy was away—­that he had been in the country for a long time, busy painting, and would not return for some months.  I then went to Wilderspin’s studio, and found, to my surprise and relief, that he and Cyril had returned from Paris.  I learnt from the servant that Wilderspin had just gone to call on Cyril; accordingly to Cyril’s studio I went.

‘He is engaged with the Gypsy-model, sir,’ said Cyril’s man, pointing to the studio door, which was ajar.  ’He told me that if ever you should call you were to be admitted at once.  Mr. Wilderspin is there too.’

‘You need not announce me,’ I said, as I pushed open the door.

Entering the studio, I found myself behind a tall easel where Cyril was at work.  I was concealed from him, and also from Wilderspin and Sinfi.  On my left stood Cyril’s caricature of Wilderspin’s ’Faith and Love,’ upon which the light from a window was falling aslant!

Before I could pass round the easel into the open space I was arrested by overhearing a conversation between Cyril, Sinfi, and Wilderspin.

They were talking about her!

With my eyes fixed on Cyril’s caricature on my left hand; I stood, every nerve in my body seeming to listen to the talk, while the veil of the goddess-queen in the caricature appeared to become illuminated; the tragedy of our love (from the spectacle of her father’s dead body shining in the moonlight, with a cross on his breast, down to the hideous-grotesque scene of the woman at the corner of Essex Street) appeared to be represented on the veil of the mocking queen in little pictures of scorching flame.  These are the words I heard: 

‘Keep your head in that position, Lady Sinfi,’ said Cyril, ’and pray do not get so excited.’

‘I thought I felt the Swimmin’ Rei in the room,’ said Sinfi.

‘What do you mean?’

’I thought I felt the stir of him in my burk [bosom].  Howsomever, it must ha’ bin all a fancy o’ mine.  But you see, Mr. Cyril, she wur once a friend o’ mine.  I want to know what skeared her?  If it was her as set for the pictur, she’d never ‘a’ had the fit if she hadn’t, ‘a’ bin skeared.  I s’pose Mr. Wilderspin didn’t go an’ say the word “feyther” to her?  I s’pose he didn’t go an’ ax her who her feyther was?’

I heard Wilderspin’s voice say.  ’No, indeed. I would never have asked who her father was.  Ah, Mr. Cyril, I knew how mysteriously she had come to me; why should I ask who was her father?  Her earthly parentage was not an illusion.  But you will remember that I was not in the studio at the time of the fit.  Mr. Ebury had called about a commission, and I had gone into the next room to speak to him.  You came into the studio at the time, Mr. Cyril.  When I returned, I found her in the fit, and you standing over her.’