by putting direct questions, derived purely from the resources of his own knowledge.  He had insisted on plain answers, without excuses of any kind; he had carried his point as usual; and his departure the same morning had left him no chance of re-opening the question, even if his irritation against his wife had permitted him to do so.  There the Alpaca dress hung, neglected in the dark—­the unnoticed, unsuspected center of dangers that were still to come.

Toward the afternoon Mrs. Wragge took courage to start a suggestion of her own—­she pleaded for a little turn in the fresh air.

Magdalen passively put on her hat; passively accompanied her companion along the public walk, until they reached its northward extremity.  Here the beach was left solitary, and here they sat down, side by side, on the shingle.  It was a bright, exhilarating day; pleasure-boats were sailing on the calm blue water; Aldborough was idling happily afloat and ashore.  Mrs. Wragge recovered her spirits in the gayety of the prospect—­she amused herself like a child, by tossing pebbles into the sea.  From time to time she stole a questioning glance at Magdalen, and saw no encouragement in her manner, no change to cordiality in her face.  She sat silent on the slope of the shingle, with her elbow on her knee, and her head resting on her hand, looking out over the sea—­looking with rapt attention, and yet with eyes that seemed to notice nothing.  Mrs. Wragge wearied of the pebbles, and lost her interest in looking at the pleasure-boats.  Her great head began to nod heavily, and she dozed in the warm, drowsy air.  When she woke, the pleasure-boats were far off; their sails were white specks in the distance.  The idlers on the beach were thinned in number; the sun was low in the heaven; the blue sea was darker, and rippled by a breeze.  Changes on sky and earth and ocean told of the waning day; change was everywhere—­except close at her side.  There Magdalen sat, in the same position, with weary eyes that still looked over the sea, and still saw nothing.

“Oh, do speak to me!” said Mrs. Wragge.

Magdalen started, and looked about her vacantly.

“It’s late,” she said, shivering under the first sensation that reached her of the rising breeze.  “Come home; you want your tea.”  They walked home in silence.

“Don’t be angry with me for asking,” said Mrs. Wragge, as they sat together at the tea-table.  “Are you troubled, my dear, in your mind?”

“Yes,” replied Magdalen.  “Don’t notice me.  My trouble will soon be over.”

She waited patiently until Mrs. Wragge had made an end of the meal, and then went upstairs to her own room.

“Monday!” she said, as she sat down at her toilet-table.  “Something may happen before Monday comes!”