n of harbouring? Why must she be mysteriously
conscious of his inner being, rather than take him ingenuously for what
he seemed? She had instruction and wit, but she was only a girl; her
experience was as good as nil. Mallard repeated that to himself as he
looked at Mrs. Baske. To a great extent Cecily did, in fact, inhabit an
ideal world. She was ready to accept the noble as the natural.
Untroubled herself, she could contemplate without scepticism the image
of an artist finding his bliss in solitary toil. This was the ground of
the respect she had for him; disturb this idea, and he became to her
quite another man--one less interesting, and, it might be, less lovable
in either sense of the word.

Spence maintained a conversation with Miriam, chiefly referring to the
characteristics of the scene about them; he ignored her peculiarities,
and talked as though everything must necessarily give her pleasure. Her
face proved that at all events the physical influences of this day in
the open air were beneficial. The soft breeze had brought a touch of
health to her cheek, and languid inattention no longer marked her gaze
at sea and shore; she was often absent, but never listless. When she
spoke, her voice was subdued and grave; it always caused Mallard to
glance in her direction.

At Baiae they dismissed the boat, purposing to drive back to Naples. In
their ramble among the ruins, Mallard did his best to be at ease and
seem to share Cecily's happiness; in any case, it was better to talk of
the Romans than of personal concerns. When in after-time he recalled
this day, it seemed to him that he had himself been well contented; it
dwelt in his memory with a sunny glow. He saw Cecily's unsurpassable
grace as she walked beside him, and her look of winning candour turned
to him so often, and he fancied that it had given him pleasure to be
with her. And pleasure there was, no doubt, but inextricably blended
with complex miseries. To Cecily his mood appeared more gracious than
she had ever known it; he did not disdain to converse on topics which
presupposed some knowledge on her part, and there was something of
unusual gentleness in his tone which she liked.

"Some day," she said, "we shall talk of Baiae in London, in a November
fog."

"I hope not."

"But such contrasts help one to get the most out of life," she
rejoined, laughing; "At all events, when some one happens to speak to
me of Mr. Mallard's pictures, I shall win credit by