gaze from the blank visage; she thought unceasingly of the
bright, confident girl she had known years ago, and the sunny shore of
Naples.

The doctor looked in at nine o'clock. He stayed only a few minutes.

At half-past ten there came a loud knocking at the house-door, and the
servant admitted Mrs. Denyer, who was alone. In the little room above,
the two watchers were weeping over the dead girl.

CHAPTER XVI

THE TWO FACES

Mallard, when he had taken leave of Cecily by Regent's Park, set out to
walk homewards. He was heavy-hearted, and occasionally a fit of savage
feeling against Elgar took hold of him, but his mood remained that of
one who watches life's drama from a point of vantage. Sitting close by
Cecily's side, he had been made only more conscious of their real
remoteness from each other--of his inability to give her any kind of
help. He wished she had not come to him, for he saw she had hoped to
meet with warmer sympathy, and perhaps she was now more than ever
oppressed with the sense of abandonment. And yet such a result might
have its good; it might teach her that she must look for support to no
one but herself. Useless to lament the necessity; fate had brought her
to the hardest pass that woman can suffer, and she must make of her
life what she could. It was not the kind of distress that a friend can
remedy; though she perished, he could do nothing but stand by and
sorrow.

Coming to his own neighbourhood, he did not go straight to the studio,
but turned aside to the Spences' house. He had no intention of letting
his friends know of Cecily's visit, but he wished to ask whether they
had any news of Elgar. No one was at home, however.

The next morning, when surprised by the appearance of Elgar himself, he
was on the point of again going to the Spences'. The interview over, he
met forth, and found Eleanor alone. She had just learnt from Miriam
what news Reuben had brought, and on Mallard's entrance she at once
repeated this to him.

"I knew it," replied the artist. "The fellow has been with me."

"He ventured to come? Before or after his coming here?"

"After. I think," he added carelessly, "that Mrs. Baske suggested it to
him."

"Possibly. I know nothing of what passed between them."

"Do you think Mrs. Baske has any idea on the subject?" Mallard
inquired, again without special insistence.

"She spoke rather mysteriously," Eleanor replied. "When I said that
Mrs. Lessingham probably cou