under reason able restrictions. You cannot make
yourself a duenna of melodrama, Mrs. Lessingham."

"Scarcely. But I think our stay at Naples may reasonably be
shortened--unless, of course, Mr. Elgar leaves."

"You take it for granted, I see, that Miss Doran will be guided by our
judgment," said Mallard, after musing on the last remark.

"I have no fear of that," replied Mrs. Lessingham with confidence, "if
it is made to appear only a question of postponement. This will be a
trifle compared with my task of yesterday morning. You can scarcely
imagine how astonished she was at the first hint of opposition."

"I can imagine it very well," said the other, in his throat. "What else
could be expected after--" He checked himself on the point of saying
something that would have revealed his opinion of Mrs. Lessingham's
"system"--his opinion accentuated by unreasoning bitterness. "From all
we know of her," were the words he substituted.

"She is more like her father than I had supposed," said Mrs.
Lessingham, meditatively.

Mallard stood up.

"You will let her know that I have been here?"

"Certainly."

"She has expressed no wish to see me?"

"None. I had better report to her simply that you have no objection to
Mr. Elgar's visits."

"That is all I would say at present. I shall see Elgar tonight. He is
still at Casa Rolandi, I take it?"

"That was the address on his letter."

"Then, good-night. By-the-bye, I had better give you my address." He
wrote it on a leaf in his pocket-book. "I will see you again in a day
or two, when things have begun to clear up."

"It's too bad that you should have this trouble, Mr. Mallard."

"I don't pretend to like it, but there's no help."

And he left Mrs. Lessingham to make her comment on his candour.

Yes, Signor Elgar was in his chamber; he had entered but a quarter of
an hour since. The signor seemed not quite well, unhappily--said
Olimpia, the domestic, in her chopped Neapolitan. Mallard vouchsafed no
reply. He knocked sharply at the big solid door. There was a cry of
"Avanti!" and he entered.

Elgar advanced a few steps. He did not affect to smile, but looked
directly at his visitor, who--as if all the pain of the interview were
on him rather than the other--cast down his eyes.

"I was expecting you," said Reuben, without offering his hand.

"So was I you--three days ago."

"Sit down, and let us talk. I'm ashamed of myself, Mallard. I ought at
all events to have wri