The footsteps at last!  She trembled, went hot and cold, had a parched throat.  Mallard entered, and she did not offer him her hand; perhaps he might reject it.  In consequence there was an absurdly formal bow on both sides.

“Please sit down, Mr. Mallard.”

She saw that he was looking at the “St. Cecilia,” but with what countenance her eyes could not determine.  To her astonishment, he spoke of the picture, and in an unembarrassed tone.

“An odd thing that this should be in your room.”

“Yes.  We spoke of it the first time Cecily came.”

Her accents were not firm.  At once he fixed his gaze on her, and did not remove it until her temples throbbed and she cast down her eyes in helpless abashment.

“I have had a long letter from your brother, Mrs. Baske.  It seems he posted it just before they left for Capri.  I can only reply to it in one way, and it gives me so much pain to do so that I am driven to ask your help.  He writes begging me to take another view of this matter, and permit them to be married before very long.  The letter is powerfully written; few men could plead their cause with such eloquence and force.  But it cannot alter my determination.  I must reply briefly and brutally.  What I wish to ask you is, whether with sincerity you can urge my arguments upon your brother, and give me this assistance in the most obvious duty?”

“I have no influence with him, Mr. Mallard.”

Again he looked at her persistently, and said with deliberation: 

“I think you must have some.  And this is one of the cases in which a number of voices may possibly prevail, though one or two are ineffectual.  But—­if you will forgive me my direct words—­your voice is, of course, useless if you cannot speak in earnest.”

She was able now to return his look, for her pride was being aroused.  The face she examined bore such plain marks of suffering that with difficulty she removed her eyes from it.  Nor could she make reply to him, so intensely were her thoughts occupied with what she saw.

“Perhaps,” he said, “you had rather not undertake anything at once.”  Then, his voice changing slightly, “I have no wish to seem a suppliant, Mrs. Baske.  My reasons for saying that this marriage shall not, if I can prevent it, take place till Miss Doran is of age, are surely simple and convincing enough; I can’t suppose that it is necessary to insist upon them to you.  But I feel I had no right to leave any means unused.  By speaking to you, I might cause you to act more earnestly than you otherwise would.  That was all.”

“I am very willing to help you,” she replied, with carefully courteous voice.

“After all, I had rather we didn’t put it in that way,” Mallard resumed, with a curious doggedness, as if her tone were distasteful to him.  “My own part in the business is accidental.  Please tell me:  is it, or not, your own belief that a delay is desirable?”