At the same time, nothing that suggested idle expense or vanity.  To dwell at all upon the subject would be a disproportion, but for the note of contrast that was struck.  In an assembly of well-dressed people, no one would have remarked Cecily’s attire, unless to praise its quiet distinction.  In the Spences’ sitting-room it became another matter; it gave emphasis to differences of character; it distinguished the atmosphere of Cecily’s life from that breathed by her old friends.

“We are going to read together Goethe’s ‘Italienische Reise,’” continued Mrs. Lessingham.  “It was of quite infinite value to me when I first was here.  In each town I tuned my thoughts by it, to use a phrase which sounds like affectation, but has a very real significance.”

“It was much the same with me,” observed Spence.

“Yes, but you had the inestimable advantage of knowing the classics.  And Cecily, I am thankful to say, at least has something of Latin; an ode of Horace, which I look at with fretfulness, yields her its meaning.  Last night, when I was tired and willing to be flattered, she tried to make me believe it was not yet too late to learn.”

“Surely not,” said Eleanor, gracefully.

“But Goethe—­you remember he says that the desire to see Italy had become an illness with him.  I know so well what that means.  Cecily will never know; the happiness has come before longing for it had ceased to be a pleasure.”

It was not so much affection as pride that her voice expressed when she referred to her niece; the same in her look, which was less tender than gratified and admiring.  Cecily smiled in return, but was not wholly attentive; her eyes constantly turned to Miriam, endeavouring, though vainly, to exchange a glance.

Mrs. Lessingham was well aware of the difficulty of addressing to Mrs. Baske any remark on natural topics which could engage her sympathy, yet to ignore her presence was impossible.

“Do you think of seeing Rome and the northern cities when your health is established?” she inquired, in a voice which skilfully avoided any presumption of the reply.  “Or shall you return by sea?”

“I am not a very good sailor,” answered Miriam, with sufficient suavity, “and I shall probably go back by land.  But I don’t think I shall stop anywhere.”

“It will be wiser, no doubt,” said Mrs. Lessingham, “to leave the rest of Italy for another visit.  To see Naples first, and then go north, is very much like taking dessert before one’s substantial dinner.  I’m a little sorry that Cecily begins here; but it was better to come and enjoy Naples with her friends this winter.  I hope we shall spend most of our time in Italy for a year or two.”

Conversation took its natural course, and presently turned to the subject—­inexhaustible at Naples—­of the relative advantages of this and that situation for an abode.  Mrs. Lessingham, turning to the window, expressed her admiration of the view it afforded.