'The doctor? Why?'

'You don't seem up to the mark,' he replied, avoiding her look.

Adela kept silence.

'You were well enough in London, I suppose?'

'I am never very strong.'

'I think you might be a bit more cheerful.'

'I will try to be.'

This submission always aggravated his disease--by what other name
to call it? He would have had her resist him, that he might know the
pleasure of crushing her will.

He walked about the room, then suddenly:

'What is that man Eldon doing?'

Adela looked at him with surprise. It had never entered her thoughts
that the meeting with Eldon would cost him more than a passing
annoyance--she knew he disliked him--and least of all that such
annoyance would in any way be connected with herself. It was possible,
of course, that some idle tongue had gossiped of her former friendship
with Hubert, but there was no one save Letty who knew what her feelings
really had been, and was not the fact of her marriage enough to remove
any suspicion that Mutimer might formerly have entertained? But the
manner of his question was so singular, the introduction of Eldon's name
so abrupt, that she could not but discern in a measure what was in his
mind.

She made reply:

'I don't understand. Do you mean how is he engaged?'

'How comes he to know Mrs. Westlake?'

'Through common friends--some people named Boscobel. Mr. Boscobel is an
artist, and Mr. Eldon appears to be studying art.'

Her voice was quite steady through this explanation. The surprise seemed
to have enabled her to regard him unmoved, almost with curiosity.

'I suppose he's constantly there--at the Westlakes'?'

'That was his first visit. We met him a few evenings before at
the Boscobels', at dinner. It was then he made Mrs. Westlake's
acquaintance.'

Mutimer moved his head as if to signify indifference. But Adela had
found an unexpected relief in speaking thus openly; she was tempted to
go further.

'I believe he writes about pictures. Mrs. Boscobel told me that he had
been some time in Italy.'

'Well and good; I don't care to hear about his affairs. So you dined
with these Boscobel people?'

'Yes.'

He smiled disagreeably.

'I thought you were rather particular about telling the truth. You told
Alice you never dined out.'

'I don't think I said that,' Adela replied quietly.

He paused; then:

'What fault have you to find with Alice, eh?'

Adela was not in the mood for evasions; she answered in much the