Yet none the less he thought of Madeline with affection.  He was piqued that she made no effort to bring him back to her feet.  To be sure, her mother’s behaviour probably implied Madeline’s desire of reconciliation, but he wished her to make personal overtures; he would have liked to see her approach him with humble eyes, not troubling himself to debate how he should act in that event.  With Mrs. Denyer he was once more on terms of apparent friendliness, though he held no private dialogue with her; he was willing that she should suppose him gradually coming over to her views.  Barbara and Zillah showed constraint when he spoke with them, but this he affected not to perceive.  Only with Madeline he did not converse.  Her air of unconcernedness at length proved too much for his patience, and so it came about that Madeline received by post a letter addressed in Clifford’s hand.  She took it to her bedroom, and broke the envelope with agitation.

“Your behaviour is heartless.  Just when I am in deep distress, and need all possible encouragement in the grave struggle upon which I have entered—­for I need not tell you that I am resolved to remain an artist—­you desert me, and do your best to show that you are glad at being relieved of all concern on my account.  It is well for me that I see the result of this test, but, I venture to think, not every woman would have chosen your course.  I shall very shortly leave Naples.  It will no doubt complete your satisfaction to think of me toiling friendless in London.  Remember this as my farewell.—­ C. M.”

The next morning Clifford received what he expected, a reply, also sent by post.  It was written in the clearest and steadiest hand, on superfine paper.

“I am sorry you should have repeated your insult in a written form; I venture to think that not every man would have followed this course.  For myself, it is well indeed that I see the result of the test to which you have been exposed.  But I shall say and think no more of it.  As you leave soon, I would suggest that we should be on the terms of ordinary acquaintances for the remaining time; the present state of things is both disagreeable and foolish.  It will always seem to me a very singular thing that you should have continued to live in this house; but that, of course, was in your own discretion.—­M.  D.”

This was on the morning when Cecily and her companions went to Pompeii.  Towards luncheon-time, Clifford entered the drawing-room, and there found Mrs. Lessingham in conversation with Madeline.  The former looked towards him in a way which seemed to invite his approach.

“Another idle morning, Mr. Marsh?” was her greeting.

“I had a letter at breakfast that disturbed me,” he replied, seating himself away from Madeline.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Mr. Marsh is very easily disturbed,” said Madeline, in a light tone of many possible meanings.

“Yes,” admitted Clifford, leaning back and letting his head droop a little; “I can seldom do anything when I am not quite at ease in mind.  Rather a misfortune, but not an uncommon one with artists.”