urther debate of this subject. It was
not much after one o'clock; all lunched together in private, talking
only of Capri. Later they walked to the villa of Tiberius. Elgar kept
up an appearance of light-hearted enjoyment; Cecily was less able to
disguise her preoccupation. Mrs. Lessingham seemed to have accepted the
inevitable. Her first annoyance having passed, she was submitting to
that personal charm in Elgar which all women sooner or later confessed;
her behaviour to him was indulgent, and marked only with a very gentle
reserve when he talked too much paradox.

Elgar went to his hotel for dinner, and left the others to themselves
through the evening. The next day was given to wandering about the
island. On the return at sunset, Miriam and Reuben had a long talk
together, in which it was made manifest that the "plans" were just as
vague as ever. Reuben had revived the mention of literary work, that
was all, and proposed to make his head-quarters in Paris, in order that
he might not be too far from Cecily, who would, it was presumed, remain
on the Continent. This evening he dined with the ladies. Afterwards
Cecily played. When Miriam and Mrs. Lessingham chanced to be conversing
together, Elgar stepped up to the piano, and murmured:

"Will you come out into the garden for a few minutes? There's a full
moon; it's magnificent."

Cecily let her fingers idle upon the keys, then rose and went to where
her aunt was sitting. There was an exchange of words in a low tone, and
she left the room. Elgar at once approached Mrs. Lessingham to take
leave of her.

"The Grotta Azzurra to-morrow," he said gaily. "Perhaps you won't care
to go again? My grave sister will make a very proper chaperon."

"Let us discuss that when to-morrow comes. Please to limit your
moon-gazing to five minutes."

"At the utmost."

From the hotel garden opened a clear prospect towards Naples, which lay
as a long track of lights beyond the expanse of deep blue. The coast
was distinctly outlined against the far sky glowed intermittently the
fire of Vesuvius. Above the trees of the garden shone white crags,
unsubstantial, unearthly in the divine moonlight. There was no sound,
yet to intense listening the air became full of sea-music. It was the
night of Homer, the island-charm of the Odyssey.

"Answer me quickly, Cecily; we have only a few minutes, and I want to
say a great deal. You have talked with Miriam?"

"Yes."

"You know that she repeats wha