Mallard seated himself without invitation; indeed, he had a difficulty in standing.

“Hasn’t she been out to-day?” he asked, in a voice which might have signified selfish indifference.

“Nor yesterday.  Mrs. Spence was here this morning, but Cecily would not see her.  I made excuses, and of course said nothing of what was going on.  I asked the child if she would like to see Mrs. Baske, but she refused.”

Mallard sat as if he had nothing to say, looking vaguely about the room.

“Have you heard from Mr. Elgar?” Mrs. Lessingham inquired.

“No.  I know nothing about him.  I haven’t been to Casa Rolandi, lest I should meet him.  It was better to see you first.”

“You were not prepared for this news?”

“His failure to return made me speculate, of course.  I suppose they have met several times at Mrs. Baske’s?”

“That at once occurred to me, but Cecily assures me that is not so.  There is a mystery.  I have no idea how they saw each other privately at Pompeii on Monday.  But, between ourselves, Mr. Mallard, I can’t help suspecting that he had learnt from his sister the particulars of the excursion.”

“You think it not impossible that Mrs. Baske connived at their meeting in that way?”

“One doesn’t like to use words of that kind, but—­”

“I suppose one must use the word that expresses one’s meaning,” said Mallard, bluntly.  “But I didn’t think Mrs. Baske was likely to aid her brother for such a purpose.  Have you any reason to think the contrary?”

“None that would carry any weight.”

Mallard paused; then, with a restless movement on his chair exclaimed: 

“But what has this to do with the matter?  What has happened has happened, and there’s an end of it.  The question is, what ought to be done now?  I don’t see that we can treat Miss Doran like a child.”

Mrs. Lessingham looked at him.  She was resting one arm on a table by which she sat, and supporting her forehead with her hand.

“You propose that things should take their natural course?”

“They will, whether I propose it or not.”

“And if our next information is that they desire to be married as soon as conveniently may be?”

“That is another matter.  They will have no consent of mine to anything of the kind.”

“You relieve me.”

Mallard looked at her frowningly.

“Miss Doran,” he continued, “will not marry Elgar with my consent until she be one-and-twenty.  Then, of course, she may do as she likes.”

“You will see Mr. Elgar, and make this clear to him?”

“Very clear indeed,” was the grim reply.  “As for any thing else, why, what can we do?  If they insist upon it, I suppose they must see each other—­of course, under reason able restrictions.  You cannot make yourself a duenna of melodrama, Mrs. Lessingham.”

“Scarcely.  But I think our stay at Naples may reasonably be shortened—­unless, of course, Mr. Elgar leaves.”