lt the incongruity, and laughed.

Two or three chambers of the Vatican sufficed for one day. Cecily would
not trust herself to remain after her interest had begun to weary; it
was much that she had won two hours of intellectual calm. Her
companions had no wish to stay longer. Just as they came again into the
Sala Rotonda, they found themselves face to face with Miriam.

"Did you know we were coming here?" asked Eleanor.

"I thought it likely."

She shook hands with Mallard, but did not speak to him. Eleanor offered
to stay with her, as this would be their last visit, but Miriam said in
a friendly manner that she preferred to be alone. So they left her.

At the exit, Mallard saw his companions into a carriage, and himself
walked on; but as soon as the carriage was out of sight, he turned
back. He had taken care to recover his _permesso_ from the attendant,
in the common way, when he came out, so that he could enter again
immediately. He walked rapidly to the place where they had left Miriam,
but she was gone. He went forward, and discovered her sitting before
the Belvedere Apollo. As his entrance drew her attention, he saw that
she had an impulse to rise; but she overcame it, and again turned her
eyes upon him, with a look in which self-control was unconsciously like
defiance.

He sat down by her, and said:

"I came to the Vatican this morning for the chance of meeting you."

"I hope that was not your only reason for coming," she returned, in a
voice of ordinary civility.

"It was, in fact I should have asked you to let me have your company
for an hour to-day, as it is practically your last in Rome; but I was
not sure that you would grant it, so I took my chance instead."

She waited a moment before replying.

"I am afraid you refer to your invitation of a few days ago. I didn't
feel in the mood for going to a studio, Mr. Mallard."

"Yes, I was thinking of that. You refused in a way not quite like
yourself. I began to be afraid that you thought me too regardless of
forms."

His return had gratified her; it was unexpected, and she set her face
in a hard expression that it might not betray her sudden gladness. But
the look of thinly-masked resentment which succeeded told of what had
been in her mind since she encountered him in the company of Cecily.
That jealous pain was uncontrollable; the most trivial occasions had
kept exciting it, and now it made her sick at heart. The effort to
speak conventionally wa