CHAPTER FIVE

The Studio

Later in the month, Rose and I went to Wildfell Hall for a visit. We were surprised to see that as we entered the house, our first sight was of a painting being finished. Nearby against the wall were several drawings and a few finished paintings, mostly of the countryside.

"Welcome to my studio," said Mrs Graham.

"Please continue your work, we do not want to disturb you," I said.

"Oh, no!" she replied, as she quickly put her brush down on the table. "I appreciate you visiting me, and must take some time to be with you."

"You have almost completed your painting," said I, looking at the painting closely. "Why have you called it Fernley Manor, instead of Wildfell Hall?" I asked.

But immediately, I realized that asking such a question was quite impolite. She looked quite embarrassed and paused before she replied, "Because I have friends who should not know where I am currently living. They may see the picture and recognize the style. I, as well, did not put my name to the painting. I must be careful."

"So, you plan to sell the painting?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Mamma sends all her pictures to London," said Arthur, "and somebody sells them there for her, and sends us the money."

Mrs Graham was looking out the window when she suddenly jumped from her seat, saying, "Excuse me one moment," and hurried from the room, and shut the door behind her.

"It's Mamma's friend," said Arthur.

Rose and I looked at each other.

I began looking through her other paintings, and soon found one facing the wall. I looked at it carefully. It was of a young man, handsome, but overconfident. The painting had obviously been done many years ago, for the paint had somewhat faded.

She soon returned.

"I hope it is not impolite to look at a picture that the artist has turned to the wall, but may I ask—

"I believe it is quite impolite, indeed, and so I hope you will not ask me any questions about it," she said, looking quite annoyed.

"I was only going to ask if you had painted it yourself," I said, as she took the painting from me.

She did not answer. As we were leaving, however, she turned to me, "I'm sorry I was impolite with you earlier."

I accepted her apology, and we parted as good friends.

(end of section)