st as impossible to leave him
with any one. In another year, perhaps."

Mrs. Lessingham occasionally mentioned Miriam in her letters, and
always with a jest. "I strongly suspect she is studying Greek. Is she,
perchance, the author of that delightful paper on 'Modern Paganism,' in
the current _Fortnightly_? Something strange awaits us, be sure of
that."

The winter dragged to its end, and with the spring came Mrs. Lessingham
herself. Instantly the life of the Elgars underwent a complete change.
The vivacious lady from Paris saw in the twinkling of an eye how
matters stood; she considered the situation perilous, and set to work
most efficaciously to alter it. With what result, you are aware. The
first incident of any importance in the new life was that which has
already been related, yet something happened one day at the Academy of
which it is worth while speaking.

Cecily had looked in her catalogue for the name of a certain artist,
and had found it; he exhibited one picture only. Walking on through the
rooms with her husband, she came at length to the number she had in
mind, and paused before it.

"Whose is that?" Reuben inquired, looking at the same picture.

"Mr. Mallard's," she answered, with a smile, meeting his eyes.

"Old Mallard's? Really? I was wondering whether he had anything this
year."

He seemed to receive the information with genuine pleasure. A little to
Cecily's surprise, for the name was never mentioned between them, and
she had felt uneasy in uttering it. The picture was a piece of
coast-scenery in Norway, very grand, cold, desolate; not at all likely
to hold the gaze of Academy visitors, but significant enough for the
few who see with the imagination.

"Nobody looks at it, you notice," said Elgar, when they had stood on
the spot for five minutes.

"Nobody."

Yet as soon as they had spoken, an old and a young lady came in front
of them, and they heard the young lady say, as she pointed to Mallard's
canvas:

"Where is that, mamma?"

"Oh, Land's End, or some such place," was the careless reply. "_Do_
just look at that _sweet_ little creature playing with the dog! Look at
its collar! And that ribbon!"

Reuben turned away and muttered contemptuous epithets; Cecily cast a
haughty and angry glance at the speaker. They passed on, and for the
present spoke no more of Mallard; but Cecily thought of him, and would
have liked to return to the picture before leaving. There was a man who
_did_ so