excellent friends--or have been. Such a delightful day as we had at
Baiae! I have always liked him."

"At Baiae? You didn't go alone with him?"

"No; Miriam was there and Mr. Spence. We found him dreaming at
Pozzuoli, and carried him off in the boat with us."

"He never thought much of me, and now he hates me."

"No; that is impossible."

"If you had heard him speaking to me last night, you would think
differently. He makes it a crime that I should love you."

"I don't understand it."

"What's more, he has feared this ever since I came; I feel sure of it.
When I was coming back from Pompeii, he took me with him to Amalfi all
but by force. He dreaded my returning and seeing you."

"But why should he think of such a thing?"

"Why?"

Elgar led her a few paces, until they stood before a mirror.

"Don't look at me. The other face, which is a little paler than it
should be."

She hid it against him.

"But you don't love me for my face only? You will see others who have
more beauty."

"Perhaps so. Mallard hopes so, in the long time we shall have to wait."

She fixed startled eyes on him.

"He cannot wish me so ill--he cannot! That would be unlike him."

"He wishes _you_ no ill, be sure of it."

"Oh, you haven't spoken to him as you should! You haven't made him
understand you. Let me speak to him for you."

"Cecily."

"Dearest?"

"Suppose he doesn't wish to understand me. Have you never thought, when
he has pretended to treat you as a child, that there might be some
reason for it? Did it never occur to you that, if he spoke too roughly,
it might be because he was afraid of being too gentle?"

"Never! That thought has never approached my mind. You don't speak in
earnest?"

Why could he not command his tongue? Why have suggested this to her
imagination? He did not wholly mean to say it, even to the last moment;
but unwisdom, as so often, overcame him. It was a way of defending
himself; he wished to imply that Mallard had a powerful reason for
assailing his character. He had been convinced since last night that
Mallard was embittered by jealousy, and he half credited the fear lest
jealousy might urge to the use of any weapons against him; he was
tempted by the satisfaction of putting Cecily on her guard against
interested motives. But he should not have troubled her soul with such
suspicions. He read on her face how she was pained, and her next word
proved his folly.

"If you are right, I can never