His eyes were now agleam, and the beauty of his countenance fully manifest.  He held his head in a pose of superb confidence.  There was too much real force in his features to make this seem a demonstration of idle vanity.  Miriam regarded him, and continued to do so.

“To be sure, my powers are in your eyes valueless,” he pursued; “or rather, your eyes have never been opened to anything of the kind.  The nineteenth century is nothing to you; its special opportunities and demands and characteristics would revolt you if they were made clear to your intelligence.  If I tell you I am before everything a man of my time, I suppose this seems only a cynical confession of all the weaknesses and crimes you have already attributed to me?  It shall not always be so!  Why, what are you, after all, Miriam?  Twenty-three, twenty-four—­which is it?  Why, you are a child still; your time of education is before you.  You are a child come to Italy to learn what can be made of life!”

She averted her face, but smiled, and not quite so coldly as of wont.  She could not but think of Cecily, whose words a few days ago had been in spirit so like these, so like them in the ring of enthusiasm.

“Some day,” Elgar went on, exalting himself more and more, “you shall wonder in looking back on this scene between us—­wonder how you could have been so harsh to me.  It is impossible that you and I, sole brother and sister, should move on constantly diverging paths.  Tell me—­you are not really without some kind of faith in my abilities?”

“You know it has always been my grief that you put the in to no use.”

“Very well.  But it remains for you to learn what my powers really are, and to bring yourself to sympathize with my direction.  You are a child—­there is my hope.  You shall be taught—­yes, yes!  Your obstinacy shall be overcome; you shall be made to see your own good!”

“And who is to be so kind as to take charge of my education?” Miriam asked, without looking at him, in an idly contemptuous tone.

“Why not old Mallard?” cried Reuben, breaking suddenly into jest.  “The tutorship of children is in his line.”

Miriam showed herself offended.

“Please don’t speak of me.  I am willing to hear what you purpose for yourself, but don’t mix my name with it.”

Elgar resumed the tone of ambition.  Whether he had in truth definite literary schemes could not be gathered from the rhetoric on which he was borne.  His main conviction seemed to be that he embodied the spirit of his time, and would ere long achieve a work of notable significance, the fruit of all his experiences.  Miriam, though with no sign of strong interest, gave him her full attention.

“Do you intend to work here?” she asked at length.

“I can’t say.  At present I am anything but well, and I shall get what benefit I can from Naples first of all.  I suppose the sun will shine again before long?  This sky is depressing.”