Why had not the housekeeper made her appearance?  She rang the bell, and the woman came.  With as much composure as she could command, Cecily inquired whether Mr. Elgar had spoken of her expected arrival.  Yes, he had done so; everything had been made ready.  And had he left word when he himself should be back?  No; he had said nothing.

Naturally, she thought of going to the Spences’; but her dignity resisted.  How could she seek information about her husband from friends?  It was difficult to believe that he kept away voluntarily.  Would he not in any case have sent word, even though the excuse were untruthful?  What motive could he have for treating her thus?  His last letter was longer and kinder than usual.

She was troubling herself needlessly.  The simple explanation was of course the true one.  He had been away in the country, and had arranged to be back in time to meet her at the station; then some chance had intervened.  Doubtless he would very soon present himself.  Her impatience and anxiety would never occur to him; what difference could a few hours make?  They were not on such lover-like terms nowadays.

Compelling herself to rest in this view, she made a change of clothing, and again summoned the housekeeper, this time for discussion of domestic details.  Cecily had no feminine delight in such matters for their own sake; the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick-maker were necessary evils, to be put out of mind as soon as possible.  She learned incidentally that Reuben had been a great deal from home; but this did not surprise her.  She had never imagined him leading a methodical life, between Belsize Park and the British Museum.  That was not in his nature.

At the usual hour she had luncheon.  Shortly after, when her patience was yielding to fears—­fears which, in truth, she had only masked with the show of explanation—­a letter was brought in.  But nothing to the purpose.  It came from Zillah Denyer, who began with apologies for writing, and expressed uncertainty whether Mrs. Elgar had yet returned from abroad; then went on to say that her sister Madeline had been suffering dreadfully of late.  “Perhaps you know that Mrs. Travis has left us.  Madeline has missed her company very much, and often longs to see the face of some visitor.  She speaks of the one visit you paid her, and would so like to see you again.  Forgive me for asking if you could spare half an hour.  The evening is best; I venture to say this, as you came in the evening before.”

Cecily forgot herself for a few minutes in sorrows graver than her own.  Her impression after the one visit had been that Madeline would not greatly care for her to repeat it; this, it seemed, was a mistake.  So Mrs. Travis had left her lodgings?  She heard of it for the first time.

About half-past three there sounded the knock of a visitor at the house door.  Expecting no one, Cecily had given no directions; the parlour-maid hurried upstairs to ask if she was “at home.”  She replied that the name must first be announced to her.