a would be
anything but welcome; but she must see Miriam.

She drove up by herself, and first of all saw the Spences. From them
she learnt that Miriam, as usual on Sunday, was keeping her own room.

"Do you think I may venture, Mrs. Spence?"

"Go and announce yourself, my dear. If you are bidden avaunt, come back
and cheer us old people with your brightness."

So Cecily went with light step along the corridor, and with light
fingers tapped at Miriam's room. The familiar voice bade her enter.
Miriam was sitting near the window, on her lap a closed book.

"May I--?"

"Of course you may," was the quiet answer.

Cecily closed the door, came forward, and bent to kiss her friend. Then
she glanced at the "St. Cecilia;" then examined herself for a moment in
one of the mirrors; then took off her hat, mantle, and gloves.

"I want to stay as long as your patience will suffer me."

"Do so."

"You avoid saying how long that is likely to be."

"How can I tell?"

"Oh, you have experience of me. You know how trying you find me in
certain moods. To-day I am in a very strange mood indeed; very
malicious, very wicked. And it is Sunday."

Miriam did not seem to resent this. She looked away at the window, but
smiled. Could Cecily have been aware how her face had changed when the
door opened, she would not have doubted whether she was truly welcome.

"What book is that, Miriam?"

Cecily had been half afraid to ask; to her surprise it proved to be
Dante.

"Do you read this on Sunday?"

Miriam deigned no reply. The other, sitting just in front of her, took
up the volume and rustled its leaves.

"How far have you got? This pencil mark? 'Amor ch'a null' amato amar
perdona.'"

She read the line in an undertone, slowly towards the close. Miriam's
face showed a sudden and curious emotion. Glancing at the book, she
said abruptly:

"No; that's an old mark--a difficulty I had. I'm long past that."

"So am I. 'Amor ch'a null'--'"

Miriam stretched out her hand and took the volume with impatience.

"I'm at the end of this canto," she said, pointing. "Never mind it now.
I should have thought you would have gone somewhere such a fine
afternoon."

"That sounds remarkably like a hint that patience is near its end."

"I didn't mean it for that."

"Then let us get a carriage and drive somewhere together, we two alone."

Miriam shook her head.

"Because it is Sunday?" asked Cecily, with a mischievous smile, leaning
her hea