how things are between you and Madeline, and she is a young lady of very proper behaviour.  In no case, as you of course understand, could she be so indelicate as anything of this kind would imply.  No; but you are vexed with Madeline about some silly little difference, and you play with her feelings.  There has been enough of it; I must interfere.  And now let us talk a little about your position.  Madeline has, of course, told me everything.  Listen to me, my dear Clifford; you must at once accept Mr. Hibbert’s kindly meant proposal—­you must indeed.”

Marsh had reflected anxiously during this speech.  He let a moment of silence pass; then said gravely: 

“I cannot consent to do anything of the kind, Mrs. Denyer.”

“Oh yes, you can and will, Clifford.  Silly boy, don’t you see that in this way you secure yourself the future just suited to your talents?  As an artist you will never make your way; that is certain.  As a man with a substantial business at your back, you can indulge your artistic tastes quite sufficiently, and will make yourself the centre of an admiring circle.  We cannot all be stars of the first magnitude.  Be content to shine in a provincial sphere, at all events for a time.  Madeline as your wife will help you substantially.  You will have good society, and better the richer you become.  You are made to be a rich man and to enjoy life.  Now let us settle this affair with your step-father.”

Still Clifford reflected, and again with the result that he appeared to have no thought of being persuaded to such concessions.  The debate went on for a long time, ultimately with no little vigour on both sides.  Its only immediate result was that Marsh left the house for a few days, retiring to meditate at Pompeii.

In the mean time there was no apparent diminution in Madeline’s friendliness towards Cecily Doran.  It was not to be supposed that Madeline thought tenderly of the other’s beauty, or with warm admiration of her endowments; but she would not let Clifford Marsh imagine that it mattered to her in the least if he at once transferred his devotion to Miss Doran.  Her tone in conversing with Cecily became a little more patronizing,—­though she spoke no more of impressionism,—­in proportion as she discovered the younger girl’s openness of mind and her lack of self-assertiveness.

“You play the piano, I think?” she said one day.

“For my own amusement only.”

“And you draw?”

“With the same reserve.”

“Ah,” said Madeline, “I have long since given up these things.  Don’t you think it is a pity to make a pastime of an art?  I soon saw that I was never likely really to do anything in music or drawing, and out of respect for them I ceased to—­to potter.  Please don’t think I apply that word to you.”

“Oh, but it is very applicable,” replied Cecily, with a laugh.  “I think you are quite right; I often enough have the same feeling.  But I am full of inconsistencies—­as you are finding out, I know.”