“Heavens!” cried Spence, when they were alone; “what astounding capacity of growth was in that child!”

“She is a swift and beautiful creature!” said Eleanor, in a warm undertone characteristic of her when she expressed admiration.

“I wish I could have overheard the interview in Miriam’s room.”

“I never felt more curiosity about anything.  Pity one is not a psychological artist.  I should have stolen to the keyhole and committed eavesdropping with a glow of self-approval.”

“I half understand our friend Mallard.”

“So do I, Ned.”

They looked at each other and smiled significantly.

That evening Spence again had a walk with the artist.  He returned to the villa alone, and only just in time to dress for dinner.  Guests were expected, Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw of Manchester, old acquaintances of the Spences and of Miriam.  When it had become known that Mrs. Baske, advised to pass the winter in a mild climate, was about to accept an invitation from her cousin and go by sea to Naples, the Bradshaws, to the astonishment of all their friends, offered to accompany her.  It was the first time that either of them had left England, and they seemed most unlikely people to be suddenly affected with a zeal for foreign travel.  Miriam gladly welcomed their proposal, and. it was put into execution.

When Spence entered the room his friends had already arrived.  Mr. Bradshaw stood in the attitude familiar to him when on his own hearthrug, his back turned to that part of the wall where in England would have been a fireplace, and one hand thrust into the pocket of his evening coat.

“I tell you what it is, Spence!” he exclaimed, “I’m very much afraid I shall be committing an assault.  Certainly I shall if I don’t soon learn some good racy Italian.  I must make out a little list of sentences, and get you or Mrs. Spence to translate them.  Such as ’Do you take me for a fool?’ or ‘Be off, you scoundrel!’ or ’I’ll break every bone in your body!’ That’s the kind of thing practically needed in Naples, I find.”

“Been in conflict with coachmen again?” asked Spence, laughing.

“Slightly!  Never got into such a helpless rage in my life.  Two fellows kept up with me this afternoon for a couple of miles or so.  Now, what makes me so mad is the assumption of these blackguards that I don’t know my own mind.  I go out for a stroll, and the first cabby I pass wants to take me to Pozzuoli or Vesuvius—­or Jericho, for aught I know.  It’s no use showing him that I haven’t the slightest intention of going to any such place.  What the deuce! does the fellow suppose he can persuade me or badger me into doing what I’ve no mind to do?  Does he take me for an ass?  It’s the insult of the thing that riles me!  The same if I look in at a shop window; out rushes a gabbling swindler, and wants to drag me in—­”

“Only to take you in, Mr. Bradshaw,” interjected Eleanor.