faced her
again.

"One word--a yes or no. Do you believe what I have told you? Do you
believe it absolutely? Look at me, and answer."

She flushed, and met his gaze almost as intensely as when he compelled
her confession.

"Do you put absolute faith in what I have said?"

"I do."

"That is something."

He smiled very kindly, and so this dialogue of theirs ended.

A few days later, the Spences gathered friends about their
dinner-table. Mallard was of the invited. The necessity of donning
society's uniform always drew many growls from him; he never felt at
his ease in it, and had a suspicion that he looked ridiculous. Indeed
it suited him but ill; it disguised the true man as he appeared in his
rough travelling apparel, and in the soiled and venerable attire of the
studio.

As he entered the drawing-room, his first glance fell on Seaborne, who
sat in conversation with Mrs. Baske. The man of letters was just
returned from Italy. Going to shake hands with Miriam, Mallard
exchanged a few words with him; then he drew aside into a convenient
corner. He noticed that Miriam's eyes turned once or twice in his
direction. Informed that she was to be his partner in the solemn
procession, he approached her when the moment arrived. They had nothing
to say to each other, until they had been seated some time then they
patched together a semblance of talk, a few formalities, commonplaces,
all but imbecilities. Finding this at length intolerable, each turned
to the person whom he had once before met, a pretty, bright, charming
on the other side. In Mallard's case this was a young lady girl;
without hesitation, she abandoned her companion proper, and drew the
artist into lively dialogue. It was continued afterwards in the
drawing-room, until Mallard, observing that Miriam sat alone, went over
to her.

"What's the matter?" he asked, as he seated himself.

"The matter? Nothing."

"I thought you looked unusually well and cheerful early in the evening.
Now you are the opposite."

"Society soon tires me."

"So it does me."

"You seem anything but tired."

"I have been listening to clever and amusing talk. Do you like Miss
Harper?"

"I don't know her well enough to like or dislike her."

Mallard was looking at her hands, as they lay folded together; he
noticed a distinct tension of the muscles, a whitening of the knuckles.

"She has just the qualities to put me in good humour. Often when I have
got stupid and bearish