Cecily was amused; she looked at Madeline and exchanged a friendly glance with her.  At the same time she was becoming aware that Mr. Marsh, who sat opposite, vouchsafed her the homage of his gaze rather too frequently and persistently.  It was soon manifest to her, moreover, that Madeline had noted the same thing, and not with entire equanimity.  So Cecily began to converse with Mrs. Lessingham, and no longer gave heed to the artist’s utterances.

She was going to spend an hour with Miriam this evening, without express invitation.  Mr. Bradshaw would drive up the hill with her, and doubtless Mr. Spence would see her safely home.  Thus she saw no more for the present of the Denyers’ friend.

Those ladies had a private sitting-room, and thither, in the course of the evening, Clifford Marsh repaired.  Barbara and Zillah, with their mother, remained in the drawing room.  On opening the door to which he had been directed, Marsh found Madeline bent over a book.  She raised her eyes carelessly, and said: 

“Oh, I hoped it was Barbara.”

“I will tell her at once that you wish to speak to her.”

“Don’t trouble.”

“No trouble at all.”

He turned away, and at once Madeline rose impatiently from her chair, speaking with peremptory accent.

“Please do as I request you!  Come and sit down.”

Marsh obeyed, and more than obeyed.  He kicked a stool close to her, dropped upon it with one leg curled underneath him, and leaned his head against her shoulder.  Madeline remained passive, her features still showing the resentment his manner had provoked.

“I’ve come all this way just to see you, Mad, when I’ve no right to be here at all.”

“Why no right?”

“I told you to prepare yourself for bad news.”

“That’s a very annoying habit of yours.  I hate to be kept in suspense in that way.  Why can’t you always say at once what you mean?  Father does the same thing constantly in his letters.  I’m sure we’ve quite enough anxiety from him; I don’t see why you should increase it.”

Without otherwise moving, he put his arm about her.

“What is it, Clifford?  Tell me, and be quick.”

“It’s soon told, Mad.  My step-father informs me that he will continue the usual allowance until my twenty-sixth birthday—­ eighteenth of February next, you know—­and no longer than that.  After then, I must look out for myself.”

Madeline wrinkled her brows.

“What’s the reason?” she asked, after a pause.

“The old trouble.  He says I’ve had quite long enough to make my way as an artist, if I’m going to make it at all.  In his opinion, I am simply wasting my time and his money.  No cash results; that is to say, no success.  Of course, his view.”

The girl kept silence.  Marsh shifted his position slightly, so as to get a view of her face.

“Somebody else’s too, I’m half afraid,” he murmured dubiously.