He spoke as though the hints fell from him involuntarily; he wished to be understood as implying no censure, but merely showing an unfortunate state of things.  When he broke off, it was with a shrug and a shake of the head.

“But I suppose she reads a good deal?” said Miriam; “and has friends to visit?”

“She seems to care very little about reading nowadays.  And as for the friends—­yes, she is always going to some house or other.  Perhaps it would have been better if she had had no friends at all.”

“You mean that they are objectionable people?”

“Oh no; I don’t mean to say anything of that kind.  But—­well, never mind, we won’t talk about it.”

He threw up an arm, and began to pace the floor again.  His nervousness was increasing.  In a few moments he broke out in the same curious tone, which was half complaining, half resigned.

“You know Cecily, I dare say.  She has a good deal of—­well, I won’t call it vanity, because that has a vulgar sound, and she is never vulgar.  But she likes to be admired by clever people.  One must remember how young she still is.  And that’s the very thing of which she can’t endure to be reminded.  If I hint a piece of counsel, she feels it an insult.  I suppose I am to blame myself, in some things.  When I was working here of an evening, now and then I felt it a bore to have to dress and go out.  I don’t care much for society, that’s the fact of the matter.  But I couldn’t bid her stay at home.  You see how things get into a wrong course.  A girl of her age oughtn’t to be going about alone among all sorts of people.  Of course something had to precede that.  The first year or two, she didn’t want any society.  I suppose a man who studies much always runs the danger of neglecting his home affairs.  But it was her own wish that I should begin to work.  She was incessantly urging me to it.  One of the inconsistencies of women, you see.”

He laughed unmelodiously, and then there was a long silence.  Miriam, who watched him mechanically, though her eyes were not turned directly upon him, saw that he seated himself on the writing-table, and began to make idle marks with a pencil on the back of an envelope.

“Why didn’t you go abroad with her?” she asked in a low voice.

“I would have gone, if it hadn’t been quite clear that she preferred not to have my company.”

“Are you speaking the truth?”

“What do you mean, Miriam?  She preferred to go alone; I know she did.”

“But didn’t you make the excuse to her that you couldn’t leave your work?”

“That’s true also.  Could I say plainly that I saw what she wished?”

“I think it very unlikely that you were right,” Miriam rejoined in a tone of indecision.

“What reason have you for saying that?”

“You ought to have a very good reason before you believe the contrary.”

She waited for him to reply, but he had taken another piece of paper, and seemed absorbed in covering it with a sort of pattern of his own design.