Her chief solace was in the society of Mrs. Spence.  Formerly she had not been prepared for appreciating Eleanor, but now she felt the beauties of that calm, self-reliant character, rich in a mode of happiness which it seemed impossible for herself ever to attain.  Fortune had been Eleanor’s friend.  Disillusion had come to her only in the form of beneficent wisdom; no dolorous dead leaves rustled about her feet and clogged her walk.  Happy even in the fact that she had never been a mother.  She was a free woman; free in the love of her husband, free in the pursuit of knowledge and the cultivation of all her tastes.  She had outlived passion without mourning it; what greater happiness than that can a woman expect?  Cecily had once believed that life was to be all passion, or a failure.  She understood now that there was a middle path.  But against her it was closed.

In a few days she could talk with Eleanor even of bygone things in a perfectly simple tone, without danger of betraying the thoughts she must keep secret.  One such conversation reminded her of something she had learnt shortly before she left London.

“Do you remember,” she asked, “a family named Denyer, who were at Mrs. Gluck’s?”

Eleanor recollected the name, and the characteristics attached to it.

“An acquaintance of mine who has rooms at Hampstead happened to speak of the people she is with, and it surprised me to discover that they were those very Denyers.  One of the daughters is paralyzed, poor girl; I was shocked to remember her, and think of her visited by such a fate.  I believe she was to have married that artist, Mr. Marsh, who gave Mr. Bradshaw so much amusement.  And the eldest—­”

She broke off to inquire why Eleanor had looked at her so expressively.

“I’ll tell you when you have finished your story.  What of the eldest?”

“She has recently married Mr. Musselwhite, who was also one of our old acquaintances.  Mrs. Travis—­the lady who tells me all this—­ says that Mrs. Denyer is overjoyed at this marriage, for Mr. Musselwhite is the brother of a baronet!”

“Very satisfactory indeed.  Well, now for Mr. Marsh.  Edward heard from Mr. Bradshaw when we were in Sicily, and this young gentleman had a great part in the letter.  It seems he has long abandoned his artistic career, and gone into commerce.”

“That most superior young man?  But I remember something about that.”

“His business takes him often to Manchester, and he has been cultivating the acquaintance of the Bradshaws.  And now there is an engagement between him and their eldest daughter.”

“Charlotte?  What a queer thing to happen!  Isn’t she about my age?”

“Yes; and, if she fulfils her promise, one of the plainest girls in existence.  Her father jokes about the affair, but evidently doesn’t disapprove.”

It was Thursday, and the Spences had decided to start for London on Friday night.  Miriam had been keeping much alone these last few days, and this morning was out by herself in the usual way.  Spence was engaged with Seaborne.  Mrs. Lessingham, Eleanor, and Cecily went to the Vatican.