“You know,” she said, again turning her eyes to the pictures, “that I used to pretend to draw, to make poor little sketches.  Would there be any hope of my doing anything, not good, but almost good, if I began again and worked seriously?”

He would rather have avoided answering such a question; but perhaps the least dangerous way of replying was to give moderate approval.

“At all events, you would soon find whether it was worth while going on or not.  You might take some lessons; it would be easy to find some lady quite competent to help you in the beginning.”

She kept silence for a little; then said that she would think about it.

Mallard had left his seat, and remained standing.  When both had been busy with their thoughts for several minutes, Cecily also rose.

“I must ask a promise from you before you go,” Mallard said, as soon as she had moved.  “If you are still alone tomorrow, you promise me to communicate with Mrs. Lessingham.  Whether you wish to do so or not is nothing to the point.”

She hesitated, but gave her promise.

“That is enough; your word gives me assurance.  You are going straight home?  Then I will send for a cab.”

In a few minutes the cab was ready at the gate.  Mallard, resolved to behave as though this were the most ordinary of visits, put on his hat and led the way downstairs.  They went out into the road, and then Cecily turned to give him her hand.  He looked at her, and for the first time spoke on an impulse.

“It’s a long drive.  Will you let me come a part of the way with you?”

“I shall be very glad.”

They entered the hansom, and drove off.

The few words that passed between them were with reference to Mrs. Lessingham.  Mallard inquired about her plans for the summer, and Cecily answered as far as she was able.  When they had reached the neighbourhood of Regent’s Park, he asked permission to stop the cab and take his leave; Cecily acquiesced.  From the pavement he shook hands with her, seeing her face but dimly by the lamplight; she said only “Thank you,” and the cab bore her away.

Carried onward, with closed eyes as if in self-abandonment to her fate, Cecily thought with more repugnance of home the nearer she drew to it.  It was not likely that Reuben had returned; there would be again an endless evening of misery in solitude.  When the cab was at the end of Eel size Park, she called the driver’s attention, and bade him drive on to a certain other address, that of the Denyers.  Zillah’s letter of appeal, all but forgotten, had suddenly come to mind and revived her sympathies.  Was there not some resemblance between her affliction and that of poor Madeline?  Her own life had suffered a paralysis; helpless amid the ruin of her hopes, she could look forward to nothing but long endurance.

On arriving, she asked for Mrs. Denyer, but that lady was from home.  Miss Zillah, then.  She was led into the front room on the ground floor, and waited there for several minutes.