e on the terms of
ordinary acquaintances for the remaining time; the present state of
things is both disagreeable and foolish. It will always seem to me a
very singular thing that you should have continued to live in this
house; but that, of course, was in your own discretion.--M. D."

This was on the morning when Cecily and her companions went to Pompeii.
Towards luncheon-time, Clifford entered the drawing-room, and there
found Mrs. Lessingham in conversation with Madeline. The former looked
towards him in a way which seemed to invite his approach.

"Another idle morning, Mr. Marsh?" was her greeting.

"I had a letter at breakfast that disturbed me," he replied, seating
himself away from Madeline.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Mr. Marsh is very easily disturbed," said Madeline, in a light tone of
many possible meanings.

"Yes," admitted Clifford, leaning back and letting his head droop a
little; "I can seldom do anything when I am not quite at ease in mind.
Rather a misfortune, but not an uncommon one with artists."

The conversation turned on this subject for a few minutes, Madeline
taking part in it in a way that showed her resolve to act as she had
recommended in her note. Then Mrs. Lessingham rose and left the two
together. Madeline seemed also about to move; she followed the
departing lady with her eyes, and at length, as though adding a final
remark, said to Clifford:

"There are several things you have been so kind as to lend me that I
must return before you go, Mr. Marsh. I will make a parcel of them, and
a servant shall take them to your room.

"Thank you."

Since the quarrel, Madeline had not worn her ring of betrothal, but
this was the first time she had spoken of returning presents.

"I am sorry you have had news that disturbed you," she continued, as if
in calm friendliness. "But I dare say it is something you will soon
forget. In future you probably won't think so much of little
annoyances."

"Probably not."

She smiled, and walked away, stopping to glance at a picture before she
left the room. Clifford was left with knitted brows and uneasy mind; he
had not believed her capable of this sedateness. For some reason,
Madeline had been dressing herself with unusual care of late (the
result, in fact, of frequent observation of Cecily), and just now, as
he entered, it had struck him that she was after all very pretty, that
no one could impugn his taste in having formerly chosen her. His
refe