The lady looks backwards, holding a pitcher of what I assume to be tea. Her hair Is made up, and a look of some sort of mixture between confusion and fascination is on her face. I can only imagine what the circumstance may be; it's not I that decided to paint this piece. Indeed, the image I'm describing is a painting of a Victorian woman- or perhaps some french high-society maiden. She looks very wealthy, and her clothes are obviously from a long time ago. Who is looking at her, from my perspective? Is it some kind of maid, is the lady preparing the tea for two? Why is there a curtain behind her, and why is she holding that pitcher of tea? I'm not sure if its a pitcher, because it isn't see-through. Her dress is pale green, or perhaps yellow-green. She is very beautiful. I think, perhaps, she could be visited by some man. Maybe she's preparing tea after some sort of encounter? Alas, my youthful mind is getting the best of me. What secrets could this woman have seen? Is she the daughter of someone important? I shall assume, for sake of the imagined story I'm creating here, that the unseen viewer of this woman (since this is a painting, after all) is perhaps some sort of visitor. She's caught off-guard.
“Oh! You surprised me. I was making you tea. Please, sit down.”
I shall imagine the fellow to be myself.
“I'm unsure why you called me, milady.”
I take a chair on the veranda and the lady pours me a glass of tea. Strange- one would think she'd have someone to do that for her.
“Did you make me that yourself?”
“Why, yes. It does a lady good to learn this sort of thing. The commoners do it, yes? Then why not I?”
She definitely has a point.
“I suppose you're right, milady. But I ask again; why did you call me?”
“I was going to ask you how that novel of yours is coming along.”
I realize that in this scenario, I would have to become some sort of author.
“Oh, yes. The novel is coming along fine.”
I'm recalling the painting from my desk in my one-person dorm. It's late now, and I have just taken my pills. I suppose this lady must have been someone that inherited a large amount of money. Someone royal perhaps... she does look young I remember. Let's continue the imagined scenario.
“I was wondering, milady; the people in the palace have been talking about your most recent suitor. You turned him down. Why is this?”
The young woman drinks her tea for a second, and replies flatly:
“I didn't find him very attractive. Also, he was quite dull if I do say so myself.”
“Milady, such language doesn't become of-”
“Pish posh. Don't be like that! You've known me since we were young.”
Huh. I guess I had to go somewhere with this little scene.
“I remember quite well. My father was called to write a biography of your father. We were allowed to play, then. I remember you were quite the bookworm.”
“Yes, I was quite a fan of your father's work. My father used to go on and on about him. Usually when he was drunk.”
“It's a shame, about your father. I heard he died recently.”
The lady looks me for a second. I wonder what she is thinking.
“You know? I felt trapped by that man. I don't know just why... perhaps it was for the best that he left me in charge of his fortune and his estate rather than one of my brothers.”
“You always were the smart one.”
“Oh, look at the time!” The lady says. “I haven't even gotten to the main reason I called you over here...”
I look at her cautiously. “I thought you said I was here for-”
“Besides that. The real reason I called you over here is...” she looks off into the distance, and then at me. She gives me a strange smile.
“Is... what? Milady, do speak.”
“I wanted to ask if you wanted to be my next suitor.”
Typical. First I see a painting of some beautiful woman, next thing I'm imagining her in some sort of love story, with me the main character! I suppose that's really a testament of the painting. I'll never know what she's really thinking, but for now, I'll end it at that.