Rosamund herself had nothing, and but the smallest expectations should her father die.  Two years before this, it had occurred to her that she should like to study art, and might possibly find in it a means of self-support.  She was allowed to attend classes at South Kensington, but little came of this except a close friendship with a girl of her own age, by name Bertha Cross, who was following the art course with more serious purpose.  When she had been betrothed for about a year, Rosamund chanced to spend a week in London at her friend’s house, and this led to acquaintance between Franks and the Crosses.  For a time, Warburton saw and heard less of the artist, who made confidantes of Mrs. Cross and her daughter, and spent many an evening with them talking, talking, talking about Rosamund; but this intimacy did not endure very long, Mrs. Cross being a person of marked peculiarities, which in the end overtried Norbert’s temper.  Only on the fourth story flat by Chelsea Bridge could the lover find that sort of sympathy which he really needed, solacing yet tonic.  But for Warburton he would have worked even less.  To Will it seemed an odd result of fortunate love that the artist, though in every other respect a better man than before, should have become, to all appearances, less zealous, less efficient, in his art.  Had Rosamund Elvan the right influence on her lover; in spite of Norbert’s lyric eulogy, had she served merely to confuse his aims, perhaps to bring him down to a lower level of thought?

There was his picture, “Sanctuary.”  Before he knew Rosamund, Franks would have scoffed at such a subject, would have howled at such treatment of it.  There was notable distance between this and what Norbert was painting in that summer sunrise four years ago, with his portable easel in the gutter.  And Miss Elvan admired “Sanctuary”—­ at least, Franks said she did.  True, she also admired the picture of the pawnshop and the public-house; Will had himself heard her speak of it with high praise, and with impatient wonder that no purchaser could be found for it.  Most likely she approved of everything Norbert did, and had no more serious criterion.  Unless, indeed, her private test of artistic value were the financial result.

Warburton could not altogether believe that.  Annoyance with the artist now and then inclined him to slighting thought of Rosamund; yet, on the whole, his view of her was not depreciatory.  The disadvantage to his mind was her remarkable comeliness.  He could not but fear that so much beauty must be inconsistent with the sterling qualities which make a good wife.

Will’s eye fell on Sherwood’s note, and he went to bed wondering what the project might be which was to make their fortune.

CHAPTER 6