more resolute in independence. Added to
this, there was, in truth, something of that conflict between
theoretical and practical morality of which his wife spoke. It
developed in the course of argument; he recognized that, whilst having
all confidence in Cecily, he could not reconcile himself to her
associating with a woman whose conduct was under discussion. The more
he felt his inconsistency, the more arbitrary he was compelled to be.
Motives confused themselves and harassed him. In his present mood, the
danger of such a state of things was greater than he knew, and of quite
another kind than Cecily was prepared for.

"What is all this about Mrs. Travis?" inquired Mrs. Lessingham, with a
smile, when she came to visit Cecily. Reuben was out, and the ladies
sat alone in the drawing-room.

Cecily explained what had happened, but in simple terms, and without
meaning to show that any difference of opinion had arisen between her
and Reuben.

"You have heard of it from Mrs. Travis herself?" she asked, in
conclusion.

"Yes. She expressed no resentment, however; spoke as if she thought it
a little odd, that was all. But what has Reuben got into his head?"

"It seems he has heard unpleasant rumours about her."

"Then why didn't he come and speak to me? She is absolutely blameless:
I can answer for it. Her husband is the kind of man-- Did you ever read
Fielding's 'Amelia'? To be sure; well, you understand. I much doubt
whether she is wise in leaving him; ten to one, she'll go back again,
and that is more demoralizing than putting up with the other indignity.
She has a very small income of her own, and what is her life to be?
Surely you are the last people who should abandon her. That is the kind
of thing that makes such a woman desperate. She seems to have made a
sort of appeal to you. I am but moderately in her confidence, and I
believe she hasn't one bosom friend. It's most fortunate that Reuben
took such a whim. Send him to me, will you?"

Cecily made known this request to her husband, and there followed
another long dialogue between them, the only result of which was to
increase their mutual coldness. Cecily proposed that they should at
once leave town, instead of waiting for the end of the season; in this
way all their difficulties would be obviated. Elgar declined the
proposal; he had no desire to spoil her social pleasures.

"That is already done, past help," Cecily rejoined, with the first note
of bitterness. "