Marcella had always regarded the emotion of jealousy as characteristic of a vulgar nature.  Now that it possessed her, she endeavoured to call it by other names; to persuade herself that she was indignant on abstract grounds, or anxious only with reference to Peak’s true interests.  She could not affect surprise.  So intensely sympathetic was her reading of Godwin’s character that she understood—­or at all events recognised—­the power Sidwell would possess over him.  He did not care for enlightenment in a woman; he was sensual—­though in a subtle way; the aristocratic vein in his temper made him subject to strong impressions from trivialities of personal demeanour, of social tone.

Yet all was mere conjecture.  She had not dared to utter Peak’s name, lest in doing so she should betray herself.  Constantly planning to make further discoveries, she as constantly tried to dismiss all thought of the matter—­to learn indifference.  Already she had debased herself, and her nature must be contemptible indeed if anything could lure her forward on such a path.

None the less, she was assiduous in maintaining friendly relations with the Walworths.  Christian, too, had got into the habit of calling there; it was significant of the noticeable change which was come upon him—­a change his sister was at no loss to understand from the moment that he informed her (gravely, but without expressiveness) of Mr. Palmer’s death.  Instead of shunning ordinary society, he seemed bent on extending the circle of his acquaintance.  He urged Marcella to invite friendly calls, to have guests at dinner.  There seemed to be a general revival of his energies, exhibited in the sphere of study as well as of amusement.  Not a day went by without his purchasing books or scientific apparatus, and the house was brightened with works of art chosen in the studios which Miss Walworth advised him to visit.  All the amiabilities of his character came into free play; with Marcella he was mirthful, affectionate, even caressing.  He grew scrupulous about his neckties, his gloves, and was careful to guard his fingers against corroding acids when he worked in the laboratory.  Such indications of hopefulness caused Marcella more misgiving than pleasure; she made no remark, but waited with anxiety for some light on the course of events.

Just before dinner, one evening, as she sat alone in the drawing-room, Christian entered with a look which portended some strange announcement.  He spoke abruptly: 

‘I have heard something astonishing.’

‘What is that?’

’This afternoon I went to the matinee at the Vaudeville, and found myself among a lot of our friends—­the Walworths and the Hunters and the Mortons.  Between the acts I was talking to Hunter, when a man came up to us, spoke to Hunter, and was introduced to me—­a Mr Warricombe.  What do you think he said?  “I believe you know my friend Peak, Mr. Moxey?” “Peak?  To be sure!  Can you tell me what has become of him?” He gave me an odd look.  “Why, I met him last, some two months ago, in Devonshire.”  At that moment we were obliged to go to our places, and I couldn’t get hold of the fellow again.  Hunter told me something about him; he knows the Walworths, it seems—­belongs to a good Devonshire family.  What on earth can Peak be doing over there?’