“I proposed it, but other counsels prevailed.  All through Italy Miss Doran was distracted between desire to get to Naples and misery at not being able to see the towns we passed.  At last she buried herself in the ‘Revue des Deux Mondes,’ and refused even to look out of the window.”

“I suppose we may go and see her in the morning?” said Miriam.

“My express instructions are,” replied Mallard, “that you are on no account to go.  They will come here quite early.  Miss Doran begged hard to come with me now, but I wouldn’t allow it.”

“Is it the one instance in which your authority has prevailed?” inquired Spence.  “You seem to declare it in a tone of triumph.”

“Well,” replied the other, with a grim smile, leaning forward in his chair, “I don’t undertake to lay down rules for the young lady of eighteen as I could for the child of twelve.  But my age and sobriety of character still ensure me respect.”

He glanced at Mrs. Baske, and their eyes met.  Miriam smiled rather coldly, but continued to observe him after he had looked away again.

“You met them at Genoa?” she asked presently, in her tone of habitual reserve.

“Yes.  I came by sea from London, and had a couple of days to wait for their arrival from Paris.”

“And I suppose you also are staying at Mrs. Gluck’s?”

“Oh no!  I have a room at old quarters of mine high up in the town, Vico Brancaccio.  I shall only be in Naples a few days.”

“How’s that ?” inquired Spence.

“I’m going to work at Amalfi and Paestum.”

“Then, as usual, we shall see nothing of you,” said Mrs. Spence.  “Pray, do you dine at Mrs. Gluck’s this evening?”

“By no means.”

“May we, then, have the pleasure of your company?  There is no need to go back to Vico Brancaccio.  I am sure Mrs. Baske will excuse you the torture of uniform.”

With a sort of grumble, the invitation was accepted.  A little while after, Spence proposed to his friend a walk before sunset.

“Yes; let us go up the hill,” said Mallard, rising abruptly.  “I need movement after the railway.”

They left the villa, and Mallard grew less restrained in his conversation.

“How does Mrs. Baske answer to your expectations?” Spence asked him.

“I had seen her photograph, you know.”

“Where?”

“Her brother showed it me—­one taken at the time of her marriage.”

“What is Elgar doing at present?”

“It’s more than a year since we crossed each other,” Mallard replied.  “He was then going to the devil as speedily as can in reason be expected of a man.  I happened to encounter him one morning at Victoria Station, and he seemed to have just slept off a great deal of heavy drinking.  Told me he was going down to Brighton to see about selling a houseful of furniture there—­his own property.  I didn’t inquire how or why he came possessed of it.  He is beyond help, I imagine.  When he comes to his last penny, he’ll probably blow his brains out; just the fellow to do that kind of thing.”