“At the Hotel Bristol, with some very disagreeable people who have just landed on their way from India—­a military gentleman, and a more military lady, and a most military son, relatives of ours.  We spent last evening with them, and I implored to be let off to-day.”

Mallard propped himself idly, and from under the shadow of his hat often looked at her.  He had begun to wonder at the unreserved joy with which she greeted his joining the party.  Of course she could have no slightest suspicion of what was in his mind; one moment’s thought of him in such a light must have altered her behaviour immediately.  Altered in what way?  That he in vain tried to imagine; his knowledge of her did not go far enough.  But he could not be wrong in attributing unconsciousness to her.  Moreover, with the inconsistency of a man in his plight, he resented it.  To sit thus, almost touching him, gazing freely into his face, and yet to be in complete ignorance of suffering which racked him, seemed incompatible with fine qualities either of heart or mind.  What rubbish was talked about woman’s insight, about her delicate sympathies!

“Mrs. Spence is very sorry not to see you occasionally, Mr. Mallard.”

It was Miriam who spoke.  Mallard was watching Cecily, and now, on turning his head, he felt sure that Mrs. Baske had been observant of his countenance.  Her eyes fell whilst he was seeking words for a reply.

“I shall call to see her to-morrow morning,” he said, “just to say good-bye for a time.”

“You really go to-morrow?” asked Cecily, with interest, but nothing more.

“Yes.  I hope to see Mrs. Lessingham for a moment also.  Can you tell me when she is likely to be at home?”

“Certainly between two and three, if you could come then.”

He waited a little, then looked unexpectedly at Miriam.  Again her eyes were fixed on him, and again they fell with something of consciousness.  Did she, perchance, understand him?

His speculations concerning Cecily became comparative.  In point of age, the distance between Cecily and Miriam was of some importance; the fact that the elder had been a married woman was of still more account.  On the first day of his meeting with Mrs. Baske, he had thought a good deal about her; since then she had slipped from his mind, but now he felt his interest reviving.  Surely she was as remote from him as a woman well could be, yet his attitude towards her had no character of intolerance; he half wished that he could form a closer acquaintance with her.  At present, the thought of calm conversation with such a woman made a soothing contrast to the riot excited in him by Cecily.  Did she read his mind?  For one thing, it was not impossible that the Spences had spoken freely in her presence of himself and his odd relations to the girl; there was no doubting how they regarded him.  Possibly he was a frequent subject of discussion between Eleanor and her cousin.  Mature women could talk with each other freely of these things.