Lessingham and her niece at all; he "didn't know that he cared
much." He had met Cecily Doran twice. The second time was on the Strada
Nuova di Posillipo, where he encountered a carriage in which Cecily and
her aunt were taking the air; he talked with them for three minutes. It
was the undeniable fact that he had broken away from "old Mallard"
merely to see Cecily again. He had never tried to blind himself to it;
that kind of thing was not in his way. None the less was it a truth
that he thought himself capable of saying good-bye to the wonderful
girl, and posting off to his literary work. Why expose himself to
temptation? Because he chose to; because it was pleasant; surely an
excellent reason.

If only he hadn't come up against that confounded artist-fellow! That
had upset him, most absurdly. A half good-looking sort of fellow: a
fellow who could prate with a certain _brio_; not unlikely to make
something of a figure in the eyes of a girl like Cecily. And what then?

Before now, Elgar had confessed to a friend that he couldn't read the
marriage-column in a newspaper without feeling a distinct jealousy of
all the male creatures there mentioned.

He sought out a _caffe_, and sat there for an hour, drinking a liquor
that called itself lacryma-Christi, but would at once have been
detected for a pretender by a learned palate. He drank it for the first
time, and tried to enjoy it, but his mind kept straying to alien
things. When it was nearly four o'clock, he again went forth, took a
carriage, and bade the man drive quickly.

This time he was successful. A servant conducted him by many stairs and
passages to Mrs. Lessingham's sitting-room. He entered, and found
himself alone with Cecily.

"Mrs. Lessingham will certainly be back very soon," she said, in
shaking hands with him. "They told me you had called before, and I
thought you would like better to wait a few minutes than to be
disappointed again."

"I think of going to Amalfi to-morrow morning, perhaps for a long
time," remarked the visitor. "I wished to say good bye."

The accumulated impatience and nervousness of the whole morning
disturbed his pulses and put a weight upon his tongue; he spoke with
awkward indecision, held himself awkwardly. His own voice sounded
boorish to him after Cecily's accents.

Cecily began to speak of how she had spent the day. Her aunt was making
purchases--was later in returning than had been expected. Then she
asked for an accoun