mething, and something worth the doing. Reuben must have had a
thought not unlike this, for he said, later in the same day:

"I am sorry I never took up painting. I believe I could have made
something of it. To a certain extent, you see, it is a handicraft that
any man may learn; if one can handle the tools, there's always the
incentive to work and produce. By-the-bye, why do you never draw
nowadays?"

"I hold the opinion of Miss Denyer--I wonder what's become of her, poor
girl?--that it's no use 'pottering.' Strange how a casual word can
affect one. I've never cared to draw since she spoke of my 'pottering.'"

This day was the last on which Reuben was quite his wonted self.
Cecily, who was not studying him closely just now, did not for a while
observe any change, but in the end it forced itself upon her attention.
She said nothing, thinking it not impossible that he was again
dissatisfied with the fruitlessness of his life, and had been made to
feel it more strongly by associating with so many new people. Any sign
of that kind was still grateful to her.

She knew now how amiss was her interpretation. The truth she could not
accept as she would have done a year ago; it would then have seemed
more than pardonable, as proving that Reuben's love of her could drive
him into grotesque inconsistencies. But now she only felt it an injury,
and in sitting down to write her painful letter to Mrs. Travis, she
acted for the first time in deliberate resentment of her husband's
conduct.

When the reply from Mrs. Travis instructed him in what had been done,
Reuben left the house, and did not return till late at night. Cecily
stayed at home, idle. Visitors called in the afternoon, but she
received no one. After her solitary dinner, she spent weary hours, now
in one room, now in another, unable to occupy herself in any way. At
eleven o'clock she went down to the library, resolving to wait there
for Reuben's return.

She heard him enter, and heard the servant speaking with him. He came
into the room, closed the door, sauntered forwards, his hands in his
pockets.

"Why didn't you tell me you would be away all day?" Cecily asked,
without stress of remonstrance.

"I didn't know that I should be."

He took his favourite position on the corner of the table Examining
him, Cecily saw that his face expressed ennui rather than active
displeasure; there was a little sullenness about his lips, but the
knitting of his brows was not of th