Yes, she was beginning to feel the allurement of Italy.  Instead of sitting turned away from her windows when musing, she often passed an hour with her eyes on the picture they framed, content to be idle, satisfied with form and colour, not thinking at all.  Habits of personal idleness crept upon her; she seldom cared to walk, but found pleasure in the motion of a carriage, and lay back on the cushions, instead of sitting quite upright as at first.  She began to wish for music; the sound of Eleanor’s piano would tempt her to make an excuse for going into the room, and then she would remain, listening.  The abundant fruits of the season became a temptation to her palate; she liked to see shops and stalls overflowing with the vineyard’s delicious growth.

She knew for the first time the seduction of books.  From what unutterable weariness had she been saved when she assented to Eleanor’s proposal and began to learn Italian!  First there was the fear lest she should prove slow at acquiring, suffer yet another fall from her dignity; but this apprehension was soon removed.  She had a brain, and could use it; Eleanor’s praise fell upon her ears delightfully.  Then there was that little volume of English verse which Eleanor left on the table; its name, “The Golden Treasury,” made her imagine it of a religious tone; she was undeceived in glancing through it.  Poetry had hitherto made no appeal to her; she did not care much for the little book.  But one day Cecily caught it up in delight, and read to her for half an hour; she affected indifference, but had in reality learnt something, and thereafter read for herself.

The two large mirrors in her room had, oddly enough, no unimportant part among the agencies working for her development.  It was almost inevitable that, in moving about, she should frequently regard her own figure.  From being something of an annoyance, this necessity at length won attractiveness, till she gazed at herself far oftener than she need have done.  As for her face she believed it pas sable, perhaps rather more than that; but the attire that had possessed distinction at Bartles looked very plain, to say the least, in the light of her new experience.  One day she saw herself standing side by side with Cecily, and her eyes quickly turned away.

To what was she sinking!

But Dante lay unopened, together with the English books.  Miriam had spent a day or two of alternate languor and irritableness, unable to attend to anything serious.  Just now she had in her hand Cecily’s letter, the letter which told of what had happened.  There was no reason for referring to it again; this afternoon Cecily herself had been here.  But Miriam read over the pages, and dwelt upon the

At dinner, no remark was made on the subject that occupied the minds of all three.  Afterwards they sat together, as usual, and Eleanor played.  In one of the silences, Miriam turned to Spence and asked him if he had seen Mr. Mallard.