r. Elgar was not at home.

"He is out of town?"

The servant thought so; he had not been at the house for two days.

"You are unable to tell me when he will return?"

Mr. Elgar was often away for a day or two, but not for longer than
that. The probability was that he would, at all events, look in before
evening, though he might go away again.

Miriam left a card--which the servant inspected with curiosity before
the door was closed--and turned to depart. It was raining, and very
windy. She had to walk some distance before she could find a
conveyance, and all the way she suffered from a painful fluttering of
the heart, an agitation like that of fear. All night she had wished she
had never returned to England, and now the wish became a dread of
remaining.

By the last post that evening came a note from Reuben. He wrote in
manifest hurry, requesting her to come again next morning; he would
have visited her himself, but perhaps she had not a separate
sitting-room, and he preferred to talk with her in privacy.

So in the morning she again went to Belsize Park. This time the servant
was a little tidier, and behaved more conventionally. Miriam was
conducted to the library, where Reuben awaited her.

They examined each other attentively. Miriam was astonished to find her
brother looking at least ten years older than when she last saw him; he
was much sparer in body, had duller eyes and, it seemed to her, thinner
hair.

"But why didn't you write sooner to let me know you were coming?" was
his first exclamation.

"I supposed you knew from Cecily."

"I haven't heard from her since the letter in which she told me she had
got to Rome. She said you would be coming soon, but that was all. I
don't understand this economy of postage!"

He grew more annoyed as he spoke. Meeting Miriam's eye, he added, in
the tone of explanation:

"It's abominable that you should come here all the way from Chelsea,
and be turned away at the door! What did the servant tell you?"

"Only that your comings and goings were very uncertain," she replied,
looking about the room.

"Yes, so they are. I go now and then to a friend's in Surrey and stop
overnight. One can't live alone for an indefinite time. But sit down.
Unless you'd like to have a look at the house, first of all?"

"I'll sit a little first."

"This is my study, when I'm working at home," Reuben continued, walking
about and handling objects, a book, or a pen, or a paper-knife.