“Why should you?  Mr. Mallard is so much older; he has long been fixed in his course.”

“Older, yes,” assented Elgar, with satisfaction.”  Perhaps at his age I too may have done something worth doing.”

“Who could doubt it?”

“It does me good to hear you say that!”

He moved from his distant place, and threw himself in one of his usual careless attitudes on a nearer chair.  “But Miriam has no faith in me, not a jot Does she speak harshly of me to you?”

“No.”

Cecily shook her head, and seemed unable to speak more than the monosyllable.

“But she has nothing encouraging to say?  She shows that she looks upon me as one of whom no good can come?  That is the impression you have received from her?”

Cecily looked at him gravely.

“She has scarcely spoken of you at all—­scarcely more than the few words that were inevitable.”

“In itself a condemnation.”

Cecily was mute.  Before Elgar could say anything more, the door opened.  With a sudden radiance on her features, the girl looked up to greet Mrs. Lessingham’s entrance.

“How long you have been, aunt!”

“Yes; I am sorry.  How do you do, Mr. Elgar?  Tea, Cecily, lest I perish!”

From the doorway her quick glance had scrutinized both the young people.  Of course she betrayed no surprise; neither did she make exhibition of pleasure.  Her greeting of the visitor was gracefully casual, given in passing.  She sank upon a low chair as if overcome with weariness.  Mrs. Lessingham had nothing to learn in the arts wherewith social intercourse is kept smooth in spite of nature’s improprieties.  When she chose, she could be the awe-inspiring chaperon, no less completely than she was at other times the contemner of the commonplace.

“So you leave us to-morrow, Mr. Elgar?  I have just met Mr. Spence, and heard the news from him.  I am glad you could find a moment to call.  You are going to be very busy, I hear, for the rest of the winter.”

“I hope so,” Elgar replied, walking across the room to fetch his half-emptied teacup.

“We shall look eagerly for the results of your work.”

For ten minutes the conversation kept a rather flat course.  Cecily only spoke when addressed by her aunt; then quite in her usual way.  Elgar took the first opportunity to signal departure.  When Cecily gave him her hand, it was with a moment’s unfaltering look—­a look very different from that which charmed everyday acquaintances at their coming and going, unlike anything man or woman had yet seen on her countenance.  The faintest smile hovered about her lips as she said, “Good-bye;” her steadfast eyes added the hope which there was no need to speak.

When he was gone, Mrs. Lessingham sipped her tea in silence.  Cecily moved about and presently brought a book to her chair by the tea-table.

“No doubt you had the advantage of hearing Mr. Elgar’s projects detailed,” said her aunt, with irony which presumed a complete understanding between them.