“I suppose he hasn’t done it already?  His sister has heard nothing of him for two years at least, and this account of yours is the latest I have received.”

“I should think he still lives, He would be sure to make a coup de theatre of his exit.”

“Poor lad!” said the elder man, with feeling.  “I liked him.”

“Why, so did I; and I wish it had been in my scope to keep him in some kind of order.  Yes, I liked him much.  And as for brains, why, I have scarcely known a man who so impressed me with a sense of his ability.  But you could see that he was doomed from his cradle.  Strongly like his sister in face.”

“I’m afraid the thought of him troubles her a good deal.”

“She looks ill.”

“Yes; we are uneasy about her,” said Spence.  Then, with a burst of impatience:  “There’s no getting her mind away from that pestilent Bartles.  What do you think she is projecting now?  It appears that the Dissenters of Bartles are troubled concerning their chapel; it isn’t large enough.  So Miriam proposes to pull down her own house, and build them a chapel on the site, of course at her own expense.  The ground being her freehold, she can unfortunately do what she likes with it; the same with her personal property.  The thing has gone so far that a Manchester firm of architects have prepared plans; they are lying about in her room here.”

Mallard regarded the speaker with humorous wonder.

“And the fact is,” pursued Spence, “that such an undertaking as this will impoverish her.  She is not so wealthy as to be able to lay out thousands of pounds and leave her position unaltered.”

“I suppose she lives only for her religious convictions?”

“I don’t profess to understand her.  Her character is not easily sounded.  But no doubt she has the puritanical spirit in a rather rare degree.  I daily thank the fates that my wife grew up apart from that branch of the family.  Of all the accursed—­But this is an old topic; better not to beat one’s self uselessly.”

“A Puritan at Naples,” mused Mallard.  “The situation is interesting.”

“Very.  But then she doesn’t really live in Naples.  From the first day she has shown herself bent on resisting every influence of the place.  She won’t admit that the climate benefits her; she won’t allow an expression of interest in anything Italian to escape her.  I doubt whether we shall ever get her even to Pompeii.  One afternoon I persuaded her to walk up here with me, and tried to make her confess that this view was beautiful.  She grudged making any such admission.  It is her nature to distrust the beautiful.”

“To be sure.  That is the badge of her persuasion.”